Seven Days: The Complete Story (20 page)

As I head into
the bar, my phone tings in my pocket so I pull it out, motioning to
Jill I’ll catch her up. The screen shows it’s Mason and a wave of
guilt rushes over me. Geez. I haven’t even done anything. All I did
was look. I can’t help it if Joel has a cute bum in his work
pants.

I stop at the
window, leaning on the sill.

“Hi. How was
your second day?” Mason asks.

“Awesome.” I
can feel myself smiling as I blither on excitedly telling him about
the things I did and saw today. I try not to gush about how cool it
is to work with Nicholas and Joel but I can’t help myself. I mean,
the guys are seriously gush-worthy, even if I’m only espousing
their professional talents. Mason listens without interruption.
Most people wouldn’t care less but I know he gets it. He totally
gets my love affair with landscaping. He has the same one with
classic architecture.

“Sounds like
you’ve had a good day. What are you up to now?”

“I’m going for
a drink with a few of the staff.”

And my two hot
bosses.

“Do you want
to have dinner after? I thought I might chuck a roast in the oven.
It’s payday. I’m splurging.”

Bless Mason.
He knows how much I loathe cooking — possibly because I suck. He
also knows I won’t have given a thought to dinner. I can survive on
toast.

“Sounds yummy.
You’re not doing it at yours, are you?” The very idea is gross.
I’ve seen inside Mason’s oven and the experience was enough to make
me want to become a raw food convert. I almost threw up at the
crunchy things on the grill rack and had to cover the entire thing
with silver foil before I felt safe enough to put a slice of bread
on it.

“I thought I’d
cook at yours if that’s okay. We haven’t seen a lot of each other
this week and I finished my assignments this afternoon. We can have
a night in, watch the telly. Taking in the wafting scent of
roasting lamb and potatoes. Get a little head.”

He knows how
to get to a girl.

“Okay,” I say,
even though binge-watching
True Detective
isn’t my idea of a
romantic evening in. Mason’s love of all things visual media
related is the one moot point between us. Okay, that and the fact
that his idea of living dangerously is wearing odd socks. I would
have liked that once but things seemed to have changed in the last
six months. “You know where the spare key is don’t you?”

“Yep.”

I’m about to
hang up when I hit on an idea. “Why don’t you come meet me for a
drink after you get dinner started? We have an hour or so while it
cooks. My shout.”

We make a plan
and I step into the bar confident that I can navigate this
situation without falling into some pathetic lust puddle if I have
Mason to lean on. Then I see Nicholas staring at me from a table in
the corner and I know I was wrong.
Sooo
wrong. Even covered
in dust with flecks of something that looks like spider web stuck
to his shirt, he’s a dream. God, I want him. I want him so bad it
hurts.

Chastising
myself, I walk to the bar and order a water. I concentrate on the
industrial look of the shelves and the way they’ve used uncovered
lampshades and mountains of cord to construct a sort of
deconstructed chandelier. I’m going to be professional if it kills
me, which it will at this rate. My heart feels like I’ve run two
marathons in succession and my hand is shaking for no reason I can
fathom.

The barman
gives me my glass and I head to where the staff have pulled a
couple of tables together and set themselves up. Nicholas and Joel
are at one end of the table and of course, the only empty seats are
next to them. Dammit. I stand at the edge of the group like an
undecided fool. If I sit next to them they’ll start it up, I know
they will but if I don’t, it will look weird, like I’m purposely
avoiding them. Which I would be.

“You don’t
need an invitation to sit,” Nicholas says.

Not exactly
what was worrying me but I give a small smile and sit beside
Joel.

I sit and
listen. The staff at Hardwick & Lawson has clearly been working
together for a while, they’re talking about wives and children,
football matches, someone’s moonlighting gig in a bar on Friday
night and who’s going along. They discuss what they’re doing on the
weekend and buy each other rounds of drinks. I don’t contribute to
the conversation but I feel somehow included. It’s nice to be part
of such a vibrant crowd of people who clearly get along so well, a
testament to the working environment created by their bosses.

With everyone
else deep in conversations, Nicholas pulls his chair a little
closer to mine. “You’re quiet.”

“It’s been a
big day. I’m trying to process.”

“Are you
enjoying yourself so far?”

“It’s the
best, Nicholas. Thank you so much for agreeing to take me on.” I
suck in a breath and look him in the eye. I have to look at him if
we’re being professional. “I’m glad I didn’t ring the placement
office this morning.”

“I don’t know
what it was that made you change your mind but I’m glad too. The
whole point of you being at Hardwick & Lawson is to learn. I
don’t want what happened between us to destroy an opportunity for
you and I’m well aware what sort of opportunity a placement with us
offers for future jobs.”

I’m glad he’s
said this. It makes me feel more positive about coping with the
feelings that are galloping around under my disguise. “I’m super
grateful.”

“I know.”

I give a
little giggle. “You know, if I’d said that to Joel he would have
asked me to demonstrate exactly how grateful. In his jokey-sexy
way, of course, with that eyebrow thing he does.”

Nicholas
grins. “That’s Wonder Boy for you. Ever the charmer. That smooth
tongue of his is the reason female clients line up round the
block.”

“You’re not
exactly the Hunchback of Notre Dame, Nicholas.” So much for
professional conversation.

“And
you
didn’t have to hide yourself under that jumper. I’m not
going to jump your bones—”

More’s the
pity.

“I wasn’t
hiding. I was cold.”

He gives me a
look that tells me he disagrees. “If we weren’t here and this
wasn’t now, I could think of a myriad of ways to warm you up.”

He’s done that
simply by implying, damn him.

“Nicholas.”

“Just saying.
Doesn’t mean I can’t fantasise, though.”

Oh no. No, no,
no. I don’t want to fantasise. I want to think about plants and
pavers and ways to make gravel paths look innovative. Then there’s
topiary and espalier and potted baskets…

“You’re
blushing.”

“You’re making
me,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Now, stop it or I’ll go home.”
I stand, making my intentions clear and as I do I spot Mason coming
in the door. My body physically sags with the relief of seeing him.
I wave in his direction and he nods and smiles.

“Who’s that?”
Nicholas is looking from Mason to me. He seems confused.

“My boyfriend,
Mason.” I know I sound smug, like I’ve dodged a bullet. “I invited
him for a drink before we head home. I hope that’s okay. He’s in
his final year of architecture. You’re like his idol, so play
nice.”

Nicholas has a
look on his face that says he’d rather Mason be playing chicken
with a road train. “Sure.”

Mason
approaches and I do the introductions. He sits in the empty chair
next to mine and a discussion ensues about his studies and
interests in the architecture world. Nicholas is saying the right
things and showing the appropriate level of interest but his eyes
don’t leave Mason’s hand, which is holding mine. Joel, on the other
hand decides he doesn’t like the conversation one iota and swipes
his glass from the table as he leaves and goes to the bar.

“What’s up
with him?” Mason whispers to me.

I shrug.

I watch Joel
at the bar. There’s a girl there he knows and he’s kissing her
hello and offering to buy her a drink. He’s leaning close to her
and tucking a hair behind her ear, laughing in that sexy way he
does. My blood heats up a little, even though my brain tells it not
to. He’s giving me a bit of my own medicine, I think. He’s trying
to make me jealous or trying to prove to me that I mean nothing,
that the things he said were stories to get into my pants again.
What is with him and Nicholas? They say one thing but they never
practise what they preach. Their main focus appears to be making me
lose mine.

Deciding to
ignore both of them, I excuse myself and go to the ladies room. I
need to breathe. Alone.

*****

In the
bathroom I stand for a minute staring at myself in the mirror. I
hold a dampened hand to my forehead and contemplate what seems to
be playing out in front of me. This being professional thing is
going to be harder than I thought. Both Nicholas and Joel seem to
assume they have a licence to say whatever they want as long as I’m
the one person hearing it. Giving the odd wink and longing stare
doesn’t seem out of the realms of possibility either. It’s
absolutely not fair of them to play dirty like that.

I walk toward
the stall and am about to go in when the rest room door swings open
and Joel fills the space. It takes a mere two strides for him to be
standing in front of me, glaring, his hands blocking the toilet
door so I can’t shut it. His eyes are angry and I can see he’s
fighting something. I wish I knew what it was. He’s not exactly an
open book.

“What was that
out there?” he demands, as he walks me into the stall and snips the
‘engaged’ sign after us.

“
What
?”

“The
‘boyfriend’?” His fingers do the air quote thing, which looks
slightly bizarre given how cross he is.

Incensed, my
hands go to my hips. “Mason is my boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each
other about three months.”

“And yet no
mention of him.”

I roll my
eyes. This is ridiculous. We’re going to stand in a toilet having
an argument over a boyfriend? I don’t think so. “You and I had sex
a couple of times, Joel and now you’re my boss. I’m not going to
throw a boyfriend casually into the conversation like, ‘oh hey, by
the way since your head was last between my legs I got a
boyfriend’. And anyway, it’s none of your business.”

“I would have
thought it was common decency.”

“But we’re not
in a relationship. And disclosure of personal relationships isn’t a
prac requirement.”

“You know what
I mean.”

“I could say
the same thing about you. You rushed to the bar faster than a mouse
to cheese when that girl came in. Is she your latest shag? Why
didn’t you tell me?”

Joel steps
toward me and I feel the back of my legs brush against the toilet.
His fingers tilt my jaw to his face. His eyebrow rises in question.
“Jealous?”

My tongue
slides over my lip and I suck it into my mouth. “Not in the
least.”

“Liar.” He
moves closer, making me go slightly off balance but for the life of
me, I can’t get out of his radius. He’s drawing me in again. The
rope is winding tighter and tighter, squeezing my heart. The worst
part is, I want it to. I want him to be mine. My breath is ragged
now. My pulse is racing. My resolve has disappeared along with any
recollection that Mason is waiting for me a mere wall and a few
metres away.

“You were
jealous, too,” I whisper.

“Not in the
least,” Joel counters. He pulls me to him, gazing down into my
eyes. Then his lips descend and I’m expecting to be ravaged but he
doesn’t. The kiss is soft and tender and totally unlike the way he
kissed me on other occasions. Tingles of desire and anticipation
are shooting through my body. Oh, this is worse. Worse. I have no
resistance toward this type of kiss. Joel is passion and heat and
fire. He’s heart-poundingly sexy, not tender liquid warmth. I could
drown in this kiss. Seriously, drown.

We pull apart,
not breathless but confused. Something has happened, changed and
it’s not good.

“We shouldn’t
do this,” I say.

“You think I
don’t know that? You think I haven’t been fighting my conscience
for the last forty-eight hours you’ve been back in my life? The
problem is, I don’t know how to stop. All I want is for this month
to be over so we can be together.”

“I’m with
Mason. I like Mason.”

“I don’t care
about Mason.”

“There’s
Nicholas.”

“Damn him too
if he can’t see the good thing in front of him. I should never have
let you go, Sadie.” His hands move to my shoulders, gripping my
bulky jumper and pulling it aside. My heart is racing as he bends
his head to sink his lips into my neck. I can feel his breath, hot
against my skin, his fingers twining in my hair. This is the
passion I know, this I can control.

I think.

My fingers are
in the loops of his pants, unzipping his fly before I even know how
they got there. Realising what I’m about to do, I leap away from
him, like I’ve scalded myself on a hotplate.

“Stop!” I
gasp, clutching for air. “We can’t. It’s wrong.”

I know full
well neither of us believes that. How can something so wrong feel
so right? If I stop this now, will I lose the one chance I’ll ever
have? Can I go back to boring, sweet and dependable when I have the
chance for hot, sexy and unstable? I slip around the side of him
and make to go. My hand is on the lock. I need to get out of here
before we’re either caught or I do something really dreadful.

“I’m going
back to the table to get
my boyfriend
. Then I’m going home.
I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Joel zips up
his fly, assuming his look of carefree playboy-about-town. God, I
hate him.

“I’m counting
the minutes.”

Oh fuck.