Heller (13 page)

I beamed at
him and nodded in relief, my anger melting away instantly. I loved
working in his business and would have hated to be fired. Not to
mention losing my flat and wardrobe and styling and free food . .
.

“I don’t
understand you,” he confessed, eyebrows pressing together in
genuine puzzlement. “One minute you are angry at me, the next you
are smiling. How can your mood change so quickly? I don’t know what
to make of you sometimes.”

I laughed out
loud. It was as if he had only discovered women. Impulsively, I
hugged him. “Thank you, Heller,” I said, smiling up at him. “I
won’t disappoint you. I promise.” And in my defence for such
unprofessional behaviour, I was overjoyed at that very moment.

His body
tensed and I immediately regretted my impetuous act, feeling like a
fool. He clearly wasn’t used to receiving spontaneous gestures of
affection from his staff, but after a second he put his arms around
me too and drew me close. We stayed like that for a very pleasant
moment before he pushed me gently away and returned to his desk. I
refused to leave though and waited until his eyes moved back to
mine.

“Now that I’m
confirmed, you have to stop calling me Ms Chalmers. I hate it.”

He gave me a
searing blue stare and said quite deliberately, “Can you bring me
in the Wilcott file please, Matilda. I want to discuss some
approaches with you before we meet him next week.”

I glared at
him.
Matilda?

“Tilly,” I
remonstrated, not moving.

“Did you hear
what I said, Matilda? The Wilcott file please.”

“Heller! Not
Matilda. Tilly.”

“Matilda, the
file please.” He looked at me with frosty detachment. It was clear
that he wasn’t going to budge, so I did what I was told, but I
wasn’t happy about it.

A few days
later a ringing noise intruded into my sleep and it was a moment or
so before I realised that it was the phone next to my bed. I sat up
bleary-eyed and fumbled for it, pressing buttons wildly before
managing to hit the answer button.

“Yeah?” I
croaked.

“Get dressed,”
Heller’s voice commanded. “We have to meet the VIP client Daniel
was telling us about at the staff meeting the other day.”

“What?” I
tried to focus on my clock. “But it’s four-thirty in the
morning.”

“He’s just
flown in and wants to meet with us before resting. You’ve got
fifteen minutes to get ready. I’ll pick you up on the way
down.”

I couldn’t
argue – after all I was being very well paid to be on-call. My
mouth felt furry and I had a slight headache. As I stumbled into
the shower I wished I hadn’t had that last glass of wine the
previous night, Daniel and I staying up far too late chatting up on
the roof-top. Somehow I managed to get ready in time in a russet
skirt-suit with gold-coloured silk blouse and was popping a couple
of paracetamol when there was a soft knock on my door. I snatched
my handbag off the dresser and answered.

“Good morning,
Matilda,” Heller said pleasantly, looking fresh and gorgeous in a
dark charcoal suit and pale blue shirt that emphasised his eyes. I
grunted something unintelligible in reply. As we drove he briefed
me on the client, a very wealthy Jordanian businessman in town to
close a multi-million dollar development deal. He wanted his young
wife chaperoned during the next week while he was occupied with
business. We were the last of three firms he was interviewing, the
others were two of the city’s biggies and it would be a lucrative
job for the winner.

They were
staying at the city’s only six-star hotel. We were met by a
well-dressed respectful servant in the opulent foyer and conveyed
to the penthouse suite. The sheer luxury of the suite was
overwhelming and I glanced around it in awe. Antique furniture vied
for attention with gilt-framed oil paintings and beautifully
crafted and magnificently-coloured authentic Persian rugs. I
couldn’t even imagine being rich enough to afford this
splendour.

Mr Hayek was a
small, self-important man with clever black eyes, a thin mouth and
matching moustache, dressed in a beautifully tailored suit. I
didn’t care for the way he stared at me during our introduction
though, his eyes lingering on my boobs and legs. His wife sat
demurely by his side on the brocaded eighteenth-century sofa, her
eyes modestly downcast. She was dressed more traditionally than
him, her hair covered by a black scarf and her entire body covered
by a long shapeless black smock and loose pants. She looked very
young, no older than twenty I would have guessed, which made her
perhaps half the age of her husband. I watched her carefully as the
men discussed business and was relieved to see her dare to peek up
at Heller a few times – she was human after all! She glanced at me
through her eyelashes and when I gave her a friendly smile, she
smiled back shyly.

She leaned
over and whispered in her husband’s ear. He turned back to speak to
Heller.

“My wife would
like to know if it would be this young lady here,” indicating me,
“who would be her escort if your business was successful?”

“Yes,” Heller
confirmed.

“And I would
be very pleased to take Mrs Hayek to some of the city’s attractions
or shopping during the week. As she prefers,” I added, in my most
persuasive and charming manner, smiling nicely at her again.

She leaned
over to her husband and again whispered in his ear.

“My wife has
indicated that she would like me to offer the job to you, Mr
Heller. We are both very pleased that you are able to provide her
with a female escort at all times during her stay. Unfortunately
neither of the other firms was able to guarantee that for us, and
it would not be acceptable to me for my wife to be in the care of
another man. Please have a contract delivered to me at noon for
signing. We are going to rest now, but it would be appreciated if
the young lady would return in the early afternoon, as I have
meetings today that will continue well into the evening.”

I nodded
agreement and we all stood up and shook hands.

Mr Hayek faced
Heller again. “I almost forgot to ask, but I assume the young lady
has security training? I wish to ensure my wife’s safety during
this visit as well as her entertainment.”

“Oh yes,” I
lied blithely, before Heller had an opportunity to open his mouth.
“Rest assured, Mr Hayek, I’m fully-trained in all aspects of
security.”

I felt Heller
stiffen beside me as Mr Hayek nodded in satisfaction and his wife
gave me another shy smile. We made our farewells and left. I
deliberately avoided Heller’s livid eyes in the lift and while we
waited for the valet to bring around our car. His anger crackled in
the air like lightning. When we were safely alone inside his
Mercedes and driving away, he turned to me, enraged.

“You shouldn’t
lie to clients! It’s unethical.”

“It was only a
little white lie and if I hadn’t, he might have changed his mind,”
I argued. “I mean, how hard is it going to be? I’ll take her to the
zoo and for a harbour cruise or something and we’ll do some
shopping. There’s nothing dangerous about that. There’s no need to
be so uptight about it.”

He closed his
eyes briefly as if he was marshalling his temper and gave a sharp
shake of his head in exasperation.

“Besides,” I
cajoled, “you can give me some quick training this morning. I’m a
fast learner.”

“I’ll have to,
won’t I?” he flung back through gritted teeth. We drove in silence
for a while.

“Can I have a
gun?” I asked.

“No!”

“Just a little
one? For my handbag? It’ll give me some street cred with the
client.”

“
No! No!
No!
” His clenched fists pounded the steering wheel with each
word.

“Geez, take a
chill pill,” I sulked, slouching in my seat.

We screeched
down the driveway of the Warehouse and into the basement. He
slammed the door of the Mercedes when he got out and bolted up the
stairs. I followed, scurrying to catch up to him in my high heels.
At the ground floor, he detoured to the security section and flung
the door back. Even at that early hour, several security staff were
at work and glanced up startled as the Boss burst angrily into the
room.

“Where’s
Clive?” he barked. One of them pointed to the far corner where
Clive was talking to a small group of men. He noticed us with
surprise and Heller gestured him over. He pulled Clive to one side
to speak in private.

“This idiotic
woman has just told a client that she is a fully-trained security
officer,” he spat out, looking at me with disgust. I noted that his
accent became more pronounced when he was angry, which he certainly
was at that moment. Clive stared at me in disbelief.

“It was just a
little white lie . . .” I began again, rolling my eyes at their
over-reaction. Heller held up his hand to silence me, his eyes
sparking with fury. He turned back to Clive.

“I hate to do
this, Clive, but you’re going to have to give her a crash course
this morning. She starts working this afternoon. Just the basics so
she doesn’t look even more like a fool than she is. And do not let
her talk you into giving her a gun.” And with that said, he stalked
off slamming the door behind him.

I pulled a
face after him, once he was safely out of sight. “He’s got a real
temper on him, hasn’t he?” I marvelled. I was looking forward to
this – Clive would actually have to speak to me! But I was to be
disappointed. He called over one of the men he had been conferring
with and they murmured together quietly. The man looked over at me
with incredulity.

Oh
great!
I thought angrily,
why don’t you just bloody well
tell everybody? Let’s just put an ad in the paper while we’re at
it: ‘Tilly Chalmers is a moron!
’

Clive walked
back to his office and the man came over to me. He was a big beefy
black guy, with closely shaven tightly curled black hair, a square
head and no neck.

“I’m Tysen,”
he said in a gruff voice. “Clive said I’m to give you some basic
training. You’ve got five minutes to change and we’ll regroup down
here in our gym.”

Nice to
meet you too
, I thought sarcastically, as I virtually sprinted
upstairs in my heels to be ready in time. He didn’t look like the
kind of guy you kept waiting.

We spent the
next four hours in that smelly, testosterone-laden room going
through the fundamentals of his job – scanning, securing,
negotiating, protecting. He taught me a couple of easy self-defence
moves and some quick tricks for disarming and disabling attackers.
Despite what I’d initially thought, he was a good teacher – patient
and methodical.

“These moves
will come in handy at the mid-year sales,” I joked as I ran through
them for the fifth time. Tysen stared at me dourly.

“Security’s no
laughing matter, Miss.” I rolled my eyes again. Everyone in the
place appeared to have had a humour bypass. “You could get the Boss
in trouble telling people you’re a security officer when you’re
not. You have to have a licence with the government to be one, you
know.”

And no, I
didn’t know that and felt myself suitably reproached. I hoped my
thoughtless actions wouldn’t cause Heller any trouble. Especially
with the government. He might change his mind about keeping me on
otherwise.

By the end of
our session, my mind was spinning and I had a headache. Tysen
finished by asking Clive to unlock a cabinet in his office and
handing me a canister of capsicum spray. “Put this in your handbag,
Miss. Remember how I told you to use it, and only use it if you
really need to. It’s quite dangerous.”

I thanked
Tysen sincerely and raced up to my flat. I barely had time to
shower, change clothes and bolt down a sandwich and diet soft drink
before Rumbles knocked on my door, ready to drive me back to start
work for Mrs Hayek.

When he
dropped me at the hotel, I said with grave courtesy, “Thank you, Mr
Rumbles.”

He laughed
hugely. “It tickles me when you say that, Miss. Mr Rumbles indeed!
Nobody’s called me that for years.”

I promised to
ring him when I needed to be picked up again and gave him a
friendly wave goodbye.

I caught the
lift to the top floor and was admitted into the Hayek’s suite by
the same respectful servant who greeted us this morning.

“Madam won’t
be long,” he told me politely and led me over to a chair to wait,
advising me that Mr Hayek had left already for his business
meetings. I didn’t have to wait very long before she appeared and
stood up to shake hands with her. She was tiny, very petite, and I
felt like a half-back on steroids standing next to her. She had
bathed, but was dressed similarly to the morning with a scarf
covering her hair and modestly attired in long loose dark
clothing.

“What would
you like to do first?” I queried. “We could take a cruise of the
harbour or would you like me to take you to the art gallery? There
are some beautiful impressionist paintings on show at the
moment.”

“That sounds
lovely,” she said. The servant handed her an oversized handbag that
completely dwarfed her.

In the lift
she smiled shyly. “Have you worked for Mr Heller long, Miss
Chalmers?”

“I’ve worked
there for quite a while,” I answered vaguely. I didn’t want her to
think I was an inexperienced newbie. “And Mrs Hayek, please call me
Tilly.”

“Then you must
call me Lily.” We smiled at each other.

When the lift
hit the ground floor, we walked across the foyer and I was about to
ask the concierge to call us a cab, when she clutched my arm and
said that she really would prefer to walk – to stretch her legs.
She exited the hotel and started walking up the street at a
cracking pace.