“Are you sure he’s okay with it?” I ask anxiously.
“He would tell us if he wasn’t,” he assures me.
We drive back to the furniture warehouse, and Finn pulls up a few minutes later in a shiny red Triton. I have to admit, it’s impressive. As is the man driving it. Today, he’s wearing a grey tank that shows off his toned biceps, which I can see because the driver side window is down and one arm is resting casually on the door.
He pushes his black Wayfarers up on top of his head and grins.
“Did someone call a moving guy?”
Jules fans himself. “Oh my God! Look at you. You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
He wrinkles his brow. “Did what?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You’re giving off that I’ve-just-come-from-hunting vibe.”
“Um, are you sure you’re not mistaking it with the I-just-came-from-the-gym vibe?”
“That’s practically the same thing.”
“Thanks so much for doing this,” I cut in before it gets any more awkward. “I would have paid to have everything delivered, but Jules said you wouldn’t mind…”
He smiles at me. “It’s no problem. I just finished my workout and had nothing better to do.”
“I really appreciate it.”
The three of us carry the bed and cabinet out to the truck and Finn expertly ties them into the tray. I’m always impressed by a guy who’s a bit handy. I know that’s not a very feminist thing to admit, but I can’t help it. Not that I need to be impressed by Finn. He’s my attached roommate.
It doesn’t take long to transport my belongings home safely. The guys help me bring everything inside before I shoo them off, assuring them that I’m capable of setting up my room on my own. Jules tells me he’s going to head off, so I give him a quick hug and promise to send him a photo of the finished product later.
I push the bed into the back right corner and slide my cute little table into position beside it. I set up the lamp beside the door, because it’s the only place it will fit, and lean the posters against the wall on the floor until I get some picture hooks. I then prepare a load of washing, to ensure my linen is ready for bedtime. When I venture out into the hall, I see Finn sitting at the kitchen table, reading something on his phone.
“Thanks again for helping me move,” I say.
He looks up and smiles. “It was totally fine. Oh, by the way, my dryer isn’t working properly at the moment. The washing machine is fine, but if your stuff isn’t dry by tonight, feel free to borrow whatever you need. Do you have towels?”
“Actually, I forgot to buy towels. Thank you. I might take you up on that offer. I’ll share my beer with you when I buy some from the shop later.”
“I won’t say no to that.”
I stand there for an extra moment and then realise I’m gawping. “I, uh, should get started with this.” I readjust the unruly bundle of sheets and covers in my arms.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
I hurry off to the laundry. Jeez. What is wrong with me? Maybe it’s time I got on Tinder or something. I’m starting to act wacky around any straight male with a pulse.
The last thing I need is some misguided crush on my roommate.
***
I arrive before Jules on Monday morning. I didn’t think I was early, so maybe I should take it as a compliment that he feels secure enough to leave me in charge when he’s not in.
Just before eight-thirty, I see a familiar face outside the glass door. Patrick.
I wince, thinking about how hideous I looked when I last saw him. At least I’m presentable today. My skin is back to normal, my hair and makeup are immaculate, and I have on my raspberry-coloured skirt. Actually, scratch that. I’m not just presentable. I look awesome.
Patrick smiles sheepishly at me and motions to the card swiper, holding up his hands to show he doesn’t have his card.
I head over to the door on my side and let him in.
“You know, Terry warned me I shouldn’t let in anyone without a card before eight-thirty,” I tease.
“Yes, well, I might have to give Terry a list of exceptions.” His eyes twinkle. “Ariel told me what happened the other day.”
I blush. “For the record, it was my first day and Jules wasn’t around for me to check…”
“Relax, it’s fine. Ariel likes to complain, and you weren’t to know. Between you and me, I would have loved to have seen her face when you refused her entry.” He winks at me.
I breathe out in relief. “I promise to be better informed next time.”
He leans in, just a few inches from my face, and for a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I freeze and automatically start to close my eyes. But then he steps back and I hear him say, “Your skin looks great today.”
Oh. My eyes fly open. And because I’m so flustered thinking he was going in for the kiss, I misinterpret his comment.
“Uh, thank you. I use this great little exfoliator from a Queensland-based business…” I trail off when I see his bemused expression.
And then it clicks. “You mean because of the whole redness thing I had going on the other day,” I say slowly.
He nods, looking like he’s trying hard not to laugh.
“Yes, well, I don’t think I’ll be going back to that beautician again.”
“I think that’s a wise decision.”
He senses my discomfort and changes the subject. “So, how have you found your first few days here?”
“Great. It’s a really nice place to work.”
“I’m glad to hear that. And it was easy enough relocating from Brisbane to Sydney?”
“Mostly, although I still I have to figure out how I’m going to bring the rest of my clothes and belongings back. I’ll probably hire a van one of these days.”
“If you can wait until the weekend, I’m going up again for another meeting. I could book you a seat on the same flight and save you a bit of cash.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Besides, I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford all the luggage fees.”
He smiles. “Sorry, I probably should have clarified, I’ve hired a private charter. As long as you can arrange to have your stuff delivered to the airport, I’ll make sure it’s all stowed on the way back.”
My eyes almost fall out of their sockets. “I…I can’t accept that. It’s too generous.”
“It’s not. I’d be going anyway. It won’t cost me any extra, and it will hardly take any time at all to load and unload your things. Unless you have a whole house full of furniture you need to move?”
I feel like I should argue more, but I’m finding speech difficult right now. “Um, no. Not a whole house full of furniture.”
“I’ll take that as a confirmation, then. I’m leaving on Friday night and coming back late Saturday. Obviously, it will be a quick visit, but it should be enough time for you collect your belongings. Meet me out the front here on Friday at 6pm.”
“Th-thank you,” I say faintly.
Patrick heads off to the elevator, whistling to himself. I’m sure he finds this all very amusing.
I, on the other hand, am in shock. I hardly ever fly, and I’ve certainly never been on a private plane.
Jules finally makes an appearance and pauses when he sees me staring into space, doing a great impression of a goldfish.
“Big night?” he wrongly guesses.
“No, no,” I say absently. “Patrick just offered to fly me to Brisbane in his private plane on Friday.”
“Seriously?” Jules pouts as he takes his place beside me. “I’ve been here for four years and the only thing Patrick has ever given me is a leftover sandwich. Granted, I was hungry and it was a pretty amazing sandwich, but compared to a private plane…” He trails off for a second and then seems to collect himself. “How come?”
“Oh, I mentioned I still have my stuff in Brisbane and he offered the use of his charter to transport ever
ything.”
“I wish I had some packages that needed relocation. Hey, could you sneak me on as hand luggage?”
I giggle. “He’d probably notice.”
“Do you think he has a thing for you?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it.” He definitely couldn’t be interested after seeing me on Saturday. Besides, I’m not sure I’d be his type.
“Well, don’t think for a second you aren’t his type,” Jules says, reading my mind. “You’re gorgeous. And young. He likes them young.”
I look away. “I’m sure he was just being polite. And I did save him a lot of money on a mobile phone contract the other week, so it’s probably just his way of saying thank you.”
He smiles knowingly. “Okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Anyway, where were you this morning?”
He looks at the time on the computer in front of him. “It’s only eight-forty.”
“Yeah, but I thought we were supposed to arrive around eight.”
“That’s just a guideline. And it’s not like we do much until the doors open. As long as we both don’t show up late on the same day, it’s fine.”
I don’t point out that he didn’t communicate with me in advance that he was going to be late.
“All right. Well, I’ll make sure I’m here every day at eight unless it’s an absolute emergency, and then I’ll text you.”
“Sounds great, honey. Now, how about you go across the street and get us a couple of mochas and cinnamon scrolls?”
THIRTEEN
The rest of the week goes pretty smoothly. I called Katie on Monday afternoon to tell her to expect me in a few days, and jokingly asked her to schedule a turndown service for my bed in preparation. She seemed a little distracted on the phone, and it made me sad that our friendship has suffered since I left. I hope seeing her again will help us reconnect on a deeper level.
When Friday rolls around, I am so excited, I can barely concentrate. All day, I keep glancing over at the small suitcase I brought with a change of clothes and some toiletries. Jules can tell my head’s not in the game, and is kind enough to take the majority of phone calls.
“Sweetie, you need to chill a little,” he tells me just before lunch. “You’re going to have a heart attack if you keep up this level of anxiety.”
“Sorry. It’s just, going on a private plane is so new to me.”
“It’s new to most people,” he says dryly.
“I know. Sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel bad because you’re not invited.”
“Don’t worry. I’m over it now. I have a hot date tonight.”
“Ooh—really? Anyone I know?”
“Um, no. Who do you know in Sydney besides a handful of the staff here, your brother, and Finn?”
I laugh. “True. I used to ask that question to my friends in Brisbane all the time, because about nine times out of ten, I did actually know the person.”
“Yes, well, we all know Brisbane is an incestuous pit of debauchery.”
I giggle, possibly a little on the manic side.
Jules shakes his head. “I’m worried about you.”
I wave my hand with an exaggerated air. “I’ll be fine.”
Ariel appears. It’s the first time I’ve seen her properly since the first day, apart from the mornings she charges through reception, usually on her mobile phone, yelling at someone.
She approaches the both of us and plants her hands on the counter.
“A truck will arrive out the front in a minute with some stuff for the set. I need one of you to bring it through.”
“I’ll do it,” I say eagerly. I still feel bad about our first encounter. This could be a good opportunity to impress her.
“I don’t care who does it, as long as it gets done.” Ariel strides off again.
“Oh, honey,” Jules says, patting my shoulder. “There is such a thing as trying too hard. Ariel doesn’t like that. Just be your awesome self, and she’ll soon see what I see in you.”
“Sorry. I’m not normally like this. I think it’s just moving to a new place and working somewhere I’m not familiar with. It’s messing with my equilibrium.”
“You’re doing great, I promise.”
A couple of minutes later, we see the truck pull up. The driver gets out, loads several boxes onto a trolley and wheels them in. While Jules signs for them, I pick one up and stagger down the hall. I should have worn more sensible shoes, but I wanted to look the part for my trip tonight, and decided to wear a pair of black patent-leather four-inch heels. I slip and slide all over the shiny tiled floor, but manage to cart the first few boxes through to Ariel without a problem. There’s a big central area in the middle of the set, with a bunch of smaller rooms around the outside. It appears that the contents of the boxes contain vases and decorations for the latter.
It’s my first look ‘behind the curtain’, and even though nothing’s happening, a thrill of excitement races through my body.
I wonder what it is about show business that makes people so starry-eyed. Is it the proximity to fame? But is fame actually that good? I already know I don’t want to be in front of the camera. At least not just for the sake of it. There would have to be a pretty good reason. And as I don’t have any acting skills, I couldn’t be an actor. Besides, wouldn’t it be weird doing a love scene with someone if you already had a partner in real life? I know people are supposed to be able to compartmentalise, but you always hear about co-stars hooking up in the real world. It must be pretty hard to avoid an emotional attachment when you’re living in someone’s pockets for so long.
I’m so lost in thought on my way back to reception that I don’t see the person in front of me until we’ve actually collided. My footing goes from under me, and I start falling backwards. I automatically shoot my arms out and land awkwardly on my tailbone, but my hands take the brunt of the impact.
“Ow!” A jolt of pain shoots through my left wrist.
I look up at the person I bumped into. It’s a guy in a suit, but I don’t recognise him. He doesn’t even seem to realise I’m on the ground, because he’s too busy looking at his phone.
“Uh, sorry,” he mutters and walks off.
I rub my wrist, indignation rising in my chest.
Thanks for the concern, I want to call out, but I don’t. Knowing my luck, it will be some highly paid executive who decides I’m not worth the trouble and fires me.
Jules hurries over. “Are you okay, sweetie? I can’t believe Brian did that. He’s such a jackass.”
“Who’s Brian?” I ask, wincing as I gently rotate my wrist.
“Just one of the IT guys. And not a helpful one, I might add.”
I stand up and carefully make my way back to the last couple of boxes. I start to pick one up, but my wrist protests. When Jules sees my face, he waves me away. “I’ll do the rest. You look after the phones. And maybe call Roxie in admin and ask her if she knows where the ice packs are.”
I oblige, sitting back down and gently resting my injured hand on the counter. I locate Roxie’s number, and she soon delivers me a small ice pack wrapped in a towel.
“Thank you,” I say gratefully.
“I’m the health and safety person at the studio,” she tells me. “If that wrist gets any worse, let me know. We’ll probably need to lodge an incident report too.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I assure her. I just want to get through the rest of the day without any further drama so I’m all ready for my private plane ride tonight.
She looks at me doubtfully, but lets it go. “Okay. But call me if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
I ignore the throbbing in my wrist. Nothing is going to interfere with my plans.
***
By 6pm, my wrist is agony. It’s swollen up to double its size and is turning a nice shade of eggplant. I don’t think it’s broken, because I can still move it without any sharp pain, but it does throb continuously.
Jules kee
ps looking at it, concerned. “I think you should get that seen to,” he urges. He normally clocks off at five, but wanted to stay around and see me off.
“It’ll be fine for tonight,” I say with more bravado than I feel. “I might just grab another ice pack on my way out.”
Jules runs off to find me one, but while he’s gone, a black car pulls up out the front. An older guy exits the driver’s side and waits patiently, presumably for me.
“I have to go!” I call out to Jules. “Forget the ice pack! I’ll see you on Monday!”
I don’t know if he heard me, but I don’t want to keep Patrick waiting. I drag my suitcase outside with my good arm and the driver takes it from me, loading it into the back.
I open one of the passenger doors and slide in. Patrick is already sitting in the other seat.
“Hi,” he says, looking up from his phone.
“Hey,” I say as if I do this kind of thing all the time.
“Busy day?” he asks.
“It was all right,” I reply lightly. I pull the seatbelt clumsily across my lap, using the opposite hand.
It’s only then that Patrick notices my wrist.
“What have you done to yourself?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say, trying to downplay the whole thing. The guy must think I’m a klutz after witnessing both my facial waxing malfunction and now this.
He helps me secure my seatbelt, which feels strangely intimate, and then gently pulls my arm over so he can inspect the damage.
“That’s not nothing,” he says, furrowing his brow. “How did it happen?”
“Just a minor collision in reception.”
“You need to see a doctor.”
“No, no. It’s fine. If it’s still swollen in the morning, I’ll see my GP in Brisbane.”
“I’d feel much better if we sorted it out now. Especially if it was a workplace injury.” He leans forward to talk to the driver. “Hank, can you please stop by Crown Street before we head to the airport?”
“Certainly, sir.”
I try to protest, but Patrick ignores me. He pulls out his phone and makes a call.
“Hi, Phil? It’s Patrick James. I’m heading up to Brisbane tonight with a colleague and she seems to have injured her wrist. I was wondering if you could spare five minutes to have a quick look at it?”
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