Struggle: Beautiful Series, book one

by Anderson, Lilliana

  It takes everything I have not to laugh.

  “They’re all yours,” I reply magnanimously, handing him the pile.

  “Thanks.” Tapping the pile on the inside of his other hand, he turns and heads for the door, pausing before turning back and saying, “See you round, Katrina.”

  I smile at his pointed use of my name and nod in return. The moment he’s out of sight, I put my hand over my mouth, smothering my laugh. I made Mr Hotstuff himself get a little tongue-tied. I guess he isn’t used to women ‘forgetting’ his name. Score one, Katrina.

  Kayley walks in with a conspiratorial grin on her face. “What was that about?” she asks in a low voice.

  “What was what about?”.

  “Don’t play all coy. Elliot just walked out of here with a very confused look on his face. What did you say to the guy?” she asks with her hands on her hips.

  “Nothing. He was looking at a book then asked me for the microfiche some arse left lying all over the place yesterday. I gave them to him. He left. That’s the extent of it.”

  “Yes, but what did you say to each other?”

  “‘Can I have the microfiche?’ ‘Yes, you can’,” I parrot somewhat robotically.

  “Seriously? That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Hmm, if you say so.” She narrows her eyes. “I just haven’t seen the cool, calm and collected Elliot Roberts look confused over anything before.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Kayley. Maybe he read something confusing in his book.”

  “You’re playing games. I can tell. But, all right, I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

  “For now?” I laugh as I set my iPad down on my desk.

  “You’ll tell me everything, eventually. I just have to be patient.” She grins as she leaves the library, giving me this crazy eyebrow wiggle as she sidles out the door.

  With a huge grin on my face, I slide my iPad back into my bag and tear open a new law book update. My parents always made out that working was akin to being imprisoned. But so far, I’m really enjoying it. Especially the look on Elliot’s face when I called him Evan. I squash down yet another laugh.

  That’ll teach him for being so rude.

  * * *

  When lunch hits, I change into my running gear and head straight for the Botanic Gardens. It’s the beginning of August and spring has come to the city of Sydney. The gardens will be beautiful to run through with all the newly blooming flowers and sweet-smelling air. It’ll make a great change from the river run I normally go on at home.

  There’s an excited pep in my step as I jog the short distance between work and the gardens as my warmup. I can already smell the blossoms mixed with the ocean air when I hit the entrance. It’s invigorating.

  I stop to stretch in front of one of those signs that provide information on the plants nearby, using it to balance as I take in my surroundings. People laze about on the grass in their office wear, eating their lunch and enjoying the sun. Others are in the distance doing tai chi, and I see a couple of women with a personal trainer doing burpees and looking unhappy about it. No one likes burpees. Not even me.

  The running track is dotted with people who all have the same idea as I do. And who could blame them with this view? Sydney harbour to my left and gorgeous gardens under my feet. I could get used to this.

  Shaking out my legs, I twist back and forth at the waist as I check my watch for time. Since I have an hour for lunch, I figure I can run for twenty minutes in one direction then turn around with enough time to get back to the office, shower and return to my desk before my time is up. I set a timer.

  “Katrina?” A newly familiar voice breaks into my calm. I turn around and come face-to-face with Elliot. So, now he wants to talk to me.

  “Are you following me, Evan?” I ask with a cheeky lopsided smile on my face. I can’t help myself. He’s making it too easy with his inconsistent personality.

  Elliot laughs. “No. I'm not following you. I workout most days: a run or the gym. I go stir crazy sitting behind a desk all day.” He catches my eyes with a curious glare. “You do know it’s Elliot, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I tease. “There’s this guy who works in my office called Elliot, you see. He’s a bit of an arsehat. Grunts at people when they say hi. He looks a lot like you, actually. And I’m confused because I saw him today, and I thought he was the same friendly guy I was talking to in the lift on Monday. But, no. It was some guy I’m assuming is your evil twin?” I keep a straight face, my hands on my hips.

  He laughs, amused and a little uneasy as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I try to keep to myself at work. Don’t enjoy being the subject of office gossip.”

  “Are you often the subject of office gossip?”

  He laughs, but only offers a shrug for an answer. “I’ve been working there a while and find it’s best you keep to yourself around those people. Don’t take offence if I don’t stop to chat.”

  “Those people? How do you know I’m not ‘those people’?”

  “Just a hunch.” He grins. “You running?” He jogs backwards along the path. I take a deep breath as I eye him up and down. He’s wearing running shorts and a quick-dry tank top, giving me a perfect view of how well sculpted his arms and legs are. My head spins a little as those dirty images flash through my mind again. Get a grip, girl. He’s just a guy.

  “Yeah, I’m running.”

  “Come on, then.” He turns the right way around when I fall into step beside him.

  “Are you sure you can be seen with me?” I ask, pressing start on my timer as we pick up the pace.

  “This isn’t the office, and I don’t normally see any of the gossip mongers out running. Productive people run. Layabouts gossip.”

  “They’re productive. It takes a lot of effort sticking your nose in other people’s business. There’s a certain finesse to manipulating a story and making people believe the worst about others for your own entertainment.”

  “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

  “Let’s just say high school came with some interesting pitfalls.”

  “Is that a nice way of saying the bitchy girls bullied you?”

  A laugh catches me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to have a sense of humour. “Bullied. Spread ridiculous stories. Whichever suits.”

  “Ridiculous stories? I’ve gotta hear these.”

  “Maybe another time. I don’t think I’m ready to share my high school embarrassment with you just yet.”

  “How about I tell you something about me to make it easy?”

  “You’re going to tell me something embarrassing about yourself from high school?”

  “Sure. Why not?” He shrugs, his footfalls matching mine. When his arm brushes against me, I have to force myself to focus so my knees don’t buckle. What the hell?

  “I’m waiting for this story.”

  “Give me a minute, I’m trying to think of a good one.”

  “Jesus. How many embarrassing stories can you have?”

  “There are a lot. Believe me. I was a big kid in high school. Bit of a nerd too. Prime bully material.”

  “I never would have pictured that.”

  “Nothing like the stinging welts from a round of pink belly to encourage a guy to pick up the weights.”

  I wince a little. “Ouch. Pink belly is when they hold you down and slap your stomach, right?”

  He nods. “That’s the one. We were getting changed after PE and a group of guys thought it would be funny to pick on the fat kid. I had handprints on my stomach for days.”

  “Harsh.” I have a sudden urge to go back in time and protect teenage Elliot. No one deserves that.

  “Embarrassing enough for you?”

  “Heart breaking, more like it. But it deserves a story in return. Although, my tormentor sounds like an angel in comparison.”

  “All boys' school,” he says, like it’s the explanation to everythi
ng.

  “Mine was co-ed. Which is just as well because my best friend in the world is a guy. We’ve known each other since we were nine and the friendship tends to complicate everything else.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, this girl, Cassie had a massive thing for him all the way through high school. We were all friends at first, but when things didn’t work out between her and David, she took it out on me. Spread a rumour that David and I were half-siblings who were sleeping together—which has never happened—but she got everyone calling us the incest twins. Bathroom wall graffiti and all. It sucked.”

  “You must be close if your friendship survived all that.”

  “Yeah. We’ve been through it all. He’s like family, you know?”

  “Just without the incest.”

  I meet his eyes and grin. “Definitely without incest.”

  “OK. So we’ve covered the shittiness of high school. What about since then?”

  “Life since high school?” Uncomfortable memories surface and flash behind my eyes, causing a falter in my step.

  “Whoa. Gotcha,” he says, catching me about the waist before I face plant on the concrete.

  “Thanks.” I turn and push the hair out of my face, realising how close we are as the heat of his body presses against mine.

  “You OK?” He knits his brow, releasing me as I push away and nod.

  “Let’s keep going.”

  My skin tingles everywhere his hands were, causing a war between my mind and body. He’s a guy you can’t have and don’t want, Katrina. Stop being ridiculous. Still, I can’t deny the fact that every time I see Elliot, I somehow imagine him naked… on top of me… underneath me… stop it!

  “Are you in training for something? Or do you run for kicks?” he asks, interrupting my not-so-innocent thoughts.

  “Huh? Oh, I’m a triathlete,” I blurt, hoping he isn’t reading my mind.

  “Ah, explains the good pace.”

  That gets a smile out of me. “Thought you’d have to slow down running with a girl?”

  “I did actually.” He flashes me a smile. He’s gorgeous when he smiles. “You any good at triathlons?”

  “I’m decent. I’ve been competing sprint distance in under nineteens until now. Went to nationals and worlds a couple of times. But I’ve never had to race against the big guns of the sport. That’s the next goal; to be competitive against them.”

  “Worlds. I’m impressed.”

  I shrug. “Just in my age group. When I make the Elite World Championships, then you can be impressed.”

  “Nah. I think I’ll be impressed right now. I know how competitive top level sport is. I used kayak in my late teens. Qualified for nationals, but never made it to worlds or anything big like that. Anything world level is a massive achievement. Be proud.”

  “I am proud. I guess I’m just feeling behind the eight-ball these days. I had an accident, and it took a bit to recover.” Oh my god. Why did I just say that? “I, uh, came off my bike.” I recover quickly with a lie. “It was pretty bad.”

  “That’s what this scar is?” He touches his own forehead in the same location as my most obvious scar.

  “Yeah. Had a run in with a minivan. Went through their windscreen. Got pretty cut up. Broken ribs, snapped forearm. I look like I’ve had a fight with a lawn mower.” I laugh it off, uncomfortable in my lie, but happier with the narrative. I don’t want Elliot seeing me as the girl with a damaged past. I want him to see me as a fighter.

  I don’t know why that’s so important to me.

  “Well, I’m always up for a lunchtime run if you want a training partner.”

  I smile his way. “I might take you up on that.”

  “What age category are you in now?”

  “If that’s your way of fishing for my age, I’m twenty.”

  “I wasn’t fishing. But that’s good to know.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “I have no idea. I guess I’m just glad you’re twenty and not a teenager or something.”

  “Why would it matter if I was a teenager?”

  His laughter becomes a little uneasy. “Because I’d look like a dirty old man hanging around you.”

  “Dirty old man?” I raise my brow in question. “What are you? Thirty?” I tease. He doesn’t look thirty.

  “I’m twenty-five,” he says, giving me a sideways glance. “Do you seriously think I look thirty?”

  Releasing a big belly laugh I shake my head and slow my pace, my watch vibrating against my wrist. “You don’t look thirty.”

  “That’s a relief.” He stops running, turning to me with a frown. “Why are we stopping?”

  “So, I can get back in time.”

  He checks his watch. “There’s still half an hour until the end of lunch. Another five minutes and we’ll loop around.” He moves his arm in an arching motion to demonstrate, causing his muscles to flex and my mouth to go dry. My lord, this man is hot with a capital H.

  I swallow then squint against the sun. “I need to shower and what not. Gotta put my makeup back on, do my hair: pitfalls of being a girl,” I call out as I start to run away from him.

  “You don’t need makeup. You’ll be just as gorgeous without it.” He thinks I’m gorgeous?

  I laugh and shake my head. “That’s not helping.”

  Elliot frowns and holds his arms out to the side. “Helping what?”

  Helping me not visualise you naked. “Goodbye Evan.” I wave over my shoulder before running back to the office, leaving him to finish the circuit on his own.

  * * *

  I walk the last stretch along Phillip St for a cooldown and do a quick stretch before going inside to ride the elevator back up to my floor. There are maybe fifteen people waiting for the next one to arrive, and I’m not very excited to see Bianca is one of them. I try to hang back, but of course she notices me straight away.

  “Oh, it’s you. I thought you were a man with muscles like that.” She titters as she looks me up and down, grimacing like my running gear is covered in cockroaches. “What are you wearing?”

  I take up her challenge and do the same to her, slowly sliding my eyes over her clothing with an unimpressed look on my face. “I don’t think you’re really in a situation to be giving out style advice,” I say, even though her skirt and blouse combo is actually quite pretty.

  She rolls her eyes and huffs out some air. “Why don’t you use the gym upstairs like everyone else. We shouldn’t have to look at, or smell you when you’re like that.”

  Most girls would gasp at a slight like that. But the thing about us Western Sydney girls is we’re not afraid to put our fists forward. It takes a lot of effort not to grab her hair and throw down in the elevator bay. Growing up, I quickly learned that you either keep your mouth shut, or you prepare for things to get physical. Normally, I opt to keep my mouth shut. But with Bianca, I’m willing to make an exception.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I level with her, already tired of her horrible attitude towards me. “Why don’t you use that stick up your arse and go fuck yourself?”

  Her mouth falls open, and I can hear some muffled snickers from the people waiting around us. She narrows her eyes, surely preparing some witty retort, but the chime on the elevator cab pings, stealing her moment as the small crowd waiting with us surges forwards.

  We stand in opposite corners, ignoring each other as we ride up eighteen floors. When the doors open, she’s quick to storm out in front of me. I pretend not to notice and make my way to the bathrooms to shower and change, trying to put the energy of the altercation behind me.

  Why is it that those kind of women exist everywhere I go? Sometimes, I feel like high school will never be over.

  Four

  “Hey, Mrs Mahoney,” David calls out as he saunters into the kitchen after letting himself in. Years of coming and going has made him like a family member. If the door’s open, he comes right on in.

  “Hey, ba
by girl.” He smiles when he spots me in the kitchen too, walking over to kiss us both on the cheek.

  “Did you come straight from the station?” I ask. He’s still in his button-down shirt from work, dress pants and Hi-Tops. He had to work back later than me so we caught different trains home.

  “Yeah. Didn’t want to miss dinner.” He leans against the bench next to me. “Smells good, Mrs M. Your carbonara is the best.”

  Mum looks up from the pasta she’s stirring and smiles. “You know I always make extra just for you, David.”

  “A woman after my own heart.” He gives her a cheeky grin then steals a piece of the garlic bread I’ve just cut up. I tap his hand playfully, and he just chuckles as he pops it in his mouth.

  “You’re the worst.”

  He winks while he happily chews. “You love me.”

  Don’t I know it. I ignore the pang in my heart as I transfer the bread from the cutting board to the basket.

  “I was just about to tell Katrina about my tennis game today,” Mum says as she taps the spoon on the edge of the pot. “It was my first game since you kids were all little.”

  “I remember hanging out at the courts during school holidays,” David says.

  “How’d your wrist pull up?” I ask, knowing tendinitis was the reason she gave up.

  “I wore a brace, so it was OK. I’ll see how it feels tomorrow before I pay my membership fees. But I had a wonderful time. Met a few lovely ladies. One of whom is the mother of someone you might know from work, Katrina.”

  “Really? What a small world,” I say, genuinely surprised. “Although, I’m not sure I’ll know them; I haven’t even met everyone yet.”

  “Well, her name is Katey Roberts, and her son's name is Elliot. She said he’s a junior solicitor there.”

  “Elliot, huh?” I place the cutting board next to the sink to mask my surprise at hearing Elliot’s name. David watches me closely, obviously recognising the name also, and I shoot him a warning glance. I have to think carefully about how I respond as my mother has a tendency to see relationship potential where there isn’t any. Her life’s goal is to see me married off and popping out gran-babies. She’s never really gotten off my back about how much time I spend with David. Even though both David and I have been adamant that our relationship wouldn’t work as anything but friends, she clings to the hope that one day David will officially become her son.