Love is the New Black

by Chrissie Keighery

  It was ridiculous. In what world would Mason Wakefield, media mogul, A-list nightclubber, boyfriend of a supermodel, be interested in her? And anyway, it was like he couldn’t wait to get rid of her after what she’d said about the magazine.

  She could hear Dylan’s voice in her head. His work philosophy. Work’s work. Just do your job and go home. No big deal.

  Piper deleted the lines on her screen. She closed the laptop and lay back on the pillow, and very soon she was asleep.

  In Piper’s dream, she was lying naked on her side. A man lay behind her, spooning her. She snuggled back, feeling the closeness of his warm, naked body. He pressed himself against her, and his hand cupped her breast, then moved downwards to where she wanted him. Desire flooded through her as he circled her, and her body responded with a series of small shudders, a pleasant throbbing.

  She turned her head, searching for Dylan’s kiss. And saw Mason.

  Piper awoke, disoriented. That she was in Gaynor’s spare room in Melbourne and not her own in Mission Beach was a bit of a surprise.

  But the real surprise was the dream she’d just had, and its effect on her body. It was pretty hard to reach orgasm with Dylan in real life – in fact, she’d never quite made it. What was her body doing now, just getting off by itself?

  Piper tried not to dwell on it. Obviously you can’t control your dreams – or, it seems, your body while you’re sleeping. Was it a betrayal to dream about somebody else? No. Now that she was truly awake, she was convinced it meant nothing.

  She picked up her phone and texted Dylan.

  Morning, my man x

  His reply came back quickly.

  Right back at you, beautiful girl.

  She stared at the screen, letting her boyfriend’s message wipe away any vestige of the dream. She closed her eyes, conjuring up the spooning body, the touch, the feeling of the dream, and put Dylan’s face there for the kiss. As it should be.

  Then she concentrated on getting ready for work.

  She pulled on a knee-length skirt with a frill at the hem and looked at herself in the mirror. She was starting to feel self-conscious about the outfits her mum had helped her choose for work. It was becoming obvious to her that there was nothing there that said ‘fashion’. She rifled through her limited wardrobe and pulled out a sheer top. She put on her loveliest, laciest bra, then switched the skirt to a mini she used to wear out partying in Mission Beach. Racy had to be better than frumpy, right?

  Piper hoped Vivian had loads of work for her. She wanted to be super busy. She needed both body and mind to be fully occupied so that silly thoughts, or fantasies, couldn’t seep in.

  You probably won’t even run into him today, she told herself. It’s not like he’s always around.

  She strode quickly into the bustling reception area, setting the pace for the day. Which would have been fine, except that her miniskirt kept riding up. She put her bag on the floor and tugged the skirt down to a better position. When she looked up again, Mason Wakefield was looking right at her. He was leaning back against the reception desk.

  Don’t think about his cameo in your dream, Piper warned herself. A stupid fear that he might somehow be able to detect how her traitorous body had responded to thoughts of him while she was sleeping rose through her. Every part of her seemed to be on high alert. Maybe it was what she was wearing – there was a lot more of her exposed than usual. But she was painfully conscious even of putting one foot in front of the other, as though the simple task required concentration. To top it all off, she couldn’t decide whether to stop and say hello or just walk past.

  It was a relief when he waved. Piper felt herself relax a bit. Of course he had no idea about his guest appearance in her dream. It wasn’t like there was a neon sign above her head. What was important was that there had been a mutual respect between them in the boardroom, which was great, given that he was the CEO. The rest, the other stuff, was just a distraction she should put out of her head.

  Piper decided she’d say hello to him. And she would let him know that she’d remembered who wrote the article she’d told him about. Megan Roach, Megan Roach, she repeated inside her head in case she got ditzy again. As she approached the reception desk, Mason moved forward to greet her.

  Standing in front of him, it was difficult not to notice how hot he looked in a white shirt and navy V-neck sweater.

  ‘Hi Mason,’ she said. ‘I remember who wrote that …’

  ‘Rufus,’ Mason said. He extended his hand, reaching past Piper. Her face burnt as she stepped aside – the wave hadn’t been for her at all. As Mason shook hands with an important-looking grey-haired elderly man in a suit, he threw Piper a look. He actually looked baffled that she’d even tried to approach him. It was in his furrowed brow, in the way he shook his head. It was a small movement, but it was definitely there.

  Awkward. The blonde receptionist, who had seen everything, stifled a laugh and gave Piper a sympathetic look.

  He’d made himself clear: she was an employee, nothing more. She’d obviously been imagining any connection between them in the boardroom.

  Piper barely knew what she was doing as she walked to her office, she was so lost in a daze of embarrassment. She tried to focus and plan her day. First, she would get straight onto her computer and continue updating the list of stockists for all the clothing labels that were going to appear in that month’s Aspire. That would mean making loads of phone calls to confirm her information was current. She wouldn’t comment if Vivian clicked her fingers or barked orders. She’d ignore all that and just get on with it.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, Piper.

  Arriving at her office, Piper gave a little sigh of relief that no-one was in there. Even Lucy would have been tough to face at the moment. Obviously the cleaners had been in during the night; they’d moved her Mac and the plug had pulled out from the wall. But they hadn’t done a very good job cleaning her desk – there was still a fine layer of dust. She gave the area a quick wipe.

  As Piper waited for her computer to start up, she made her first phone call. She was still on hold to speak to the retail manager at Michael Kors when Vivian walked in. She looked as though she’d put on an extra thousand layers of foundation, but it still didn’t cover the bags under her eyes.

  ‘What’s-her-name called in sick,’ she barked. ‘Go get everyone’s coffee orders, if you’re not too special for the job. As in, now!’

  Piper walked fast. Vivian without her caffeine fix was not pretty. It certainly wasn’t a wonder that poor Bronwyn had called in sick; she wasn’t getting paid a cent, and Vivian was such a cow to her. It was a wonder she came in at all.

  There was a long queue at Cafe Condor. Piper took an instant dislike to the place – it was jammed with industry types and celebrity wannabes. Piper took her place in the queue and tried not to worry about how long it was taking, but the waiter kept taking orders from people that he recognised – even ones in the queue behind her.

  I don’t have time for this, she thought, as the waiter continued to ignore her, air-kissing someone else who’d just walked in the door. She turned and walked out, coffee-less.

  Surely there are other places around here to get coffee? She cast her eyes down the boulevard. Ice-cream shops, fancy restaurants, designer stores. She veered left, checking the shop signs.

  A vertical sign was hanging outside a doorframe. O’Dwyer’s. That didn’t give away too much. She poked her head in the door. Soft, low music greeted her ears as she stepped inside. Piper relaxed, her panic about getting coffee slipping away.

  An older man leant on the bar, a checked tea towel slung over his shoulder. ‘Hello, love,’ he called. ‘Anything I can do for you?’

  Piper stepped inside. There were two other men in the bar, drinking something stronger than coffee. Piper guessed the average age in here to be something in the vicinity of ancient. But there was something lovely about the barman. His eyes were kind of twinkly, like he was thinking of a private joke.<
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  ‘I’m just after some coffees,’ Piper said. ‘Do you … um … do you do takeaway coffee?’

  ‘Only the best coffee in town,’ the old guy said. Piper was doubtful. The place screamed bar more than cafe. But there was a big old espresso machine at the bar, and she didn’t fancy taking a second shot at Cafe Condor, or wandering around looking for another option.

  ‘Okay, here’s the list,’ Piper said, handing him an order for ten coffees.

  ‘I take it you’re on coffee duty. Do you work nearby?’ the old guy asked, getting to work at the espresso machine.

  Piper perched on a barstool. ‘Yes. But it’s only my third day,’ she said, glad someone was taking an interest in her life, rather than just ignoring her like they had in Cafe Condor.

  ‘New girl, eh? Is the job what you wanted?’ he asked, pouring milk into a silver jug.

  Piper leant back while he steamed the milk. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. She tried not to look stricken, but the question brought stuff up for her. She was stuck in Plan B. And it felt like shit. God, she’d been such an idiot to even fantasise about getting an article published in Aspire. Her job was to do what she was told. Update stockist lists. Run errands. Fill in spreadsheets. Be clicked at. And now she’d told the boss that the editorial content of the magazine was rubbish.

  Piper sighed. She’d stuffed up in her final year of school. And now she’d probably stuffed up this job too. ‘I wanted to study at university, but I didn’t get in.’

  ‘Ah, interesting,’ he said. ‘You know, I was talking to a young man in here yesterday. He’s back in town for family reasons, had to give up his dream job in the States for the time being. I think he feels like his life is on hold while he’s here. But life isn’t ever really on hold. It just takes some unexpected turns, sometimes.’

  Piper thought about this for a moment. ‘Like a detour?’ she offered.

  ‘Exactly,’ he replied. ‘And a detour is just a route in another direction, after all.’

  Piper smiled. She actually felt a bit better. She watched in silence as the man worked quickly, making all the coffees.

  The man placed a couple of takeaway trays on the bar for her. ‘All right. Coffee type marked on each lid,’ he said. Then he held out his hand. ‘Sam,’ he said.

  ‘Piper,’ she answered, meeting his firm handshake. ‘Thanks, Sam,’ she said, as she got up to leave. She hoped he could tell the thanks wasn’t only for the coffee.

  The week had gone quickly; it was Friday already. In fact, Piper dared to think as she walked past the art gallery towards the Aspire headquarters, it had gone pretty well. Vivian had given her plenty of boring tasks, like checking off stock for upcoming shoots and making sure everything was dry-cleaned and ready to go back to the suppliers. But Piper had done everything she’d been asked to do, and Vivian, too busy to spread her regular cheer through the fashion department, hadn’t bitten Piper’s head off for a while. When Rose had announced that the month’s Aspire was ready for press, Piper felt like she’d played a small part.

  In a way, Vivian had been right. Piper had got ahead of herself with the ‘Sheer Sense’ article. Obviously, it was nowhere near good enough to publish. She hadn’t even looked at it again. The best thing to do was to settle into her actual job.

  It was nice, too, not having that nervy feeling she’d suffered the first few days she walked into the building. That feeling only seemed to happen when Mason Wakefield was around. Thankfully, she hadn’t had anything to do with him directly since the awkward moment in reception. Seeing him at a distance was manageable – she’d seen his back in the hallway twice. And through Rose’s office windows once. And sitting on Wendy’s desk in the features department twice. Not that she was counting.

  Piper liked how the receptionists now just looked up and nodded as she walked through the foyer. Angela had even taken to giving her a proper smile. It was as though her time of being the new girl was coming to a close.

  Now I can just be myself and get on with it, as she’d told Dylan in one of their nightly phone calls.

  In the fashion department, Lucy looked frazzled. She was struggling with a box.

  ‘Last-minute props for the Bojangles shoot,’ she said, even before Piper asked a question.

  Piper dumped her handbag on her chair and gave Lucy a hand, before starting up her computer.

  ‘Did you know you’re coming to the shoot today?’ asked Lucy. ‘I’ve got the list here, and you’re on it. Assisting Kara.’

  This was news to her. ‘Okay,’ she shrugged. She hoped Kara was in a better state today.

  Piper opened her email and instantly felt her heart in her mouth. A message from Mason Wakefield. Subject: Work attire.

  She opened the message.

  Piper, you are required to attend the Bojangles shoot today.

  This means you will have to dress like you work for a fashion magazine. While I have enjoyed seeing your transition from bank teller to nightclub dancer this week, I think you could use a small amount of guidance in this area. Albert will be expecting you in the dressing room this morning.

  Please meet me in reception at 1 p.m. sharp. I will take you to the shoot where you’re to be on hand to assist Kara Kingston.

  Mason.

  ‘Oh my god,’ Piper gasped. So much for being myself and getting on with the job. ‘Look at this email.’

  Lucy rushed over and read the email over her shoulder. She tapped her tongue stud against her teeth. ‘Ooh, burn. Don’t take it to heart, Piper, he’s just flexing his muscles.’

  But Piper felt crushed. Despite seeming interested in her opinion when they’d eaten pizza in the boardroom, it was clear Mason thought she wasn’t good enough for the magazine. Her fake Marc Jacobs bag hadn’t fooled anyone – except herself. She looked down at today’s outfit: the black mini again with a black bandeau and an unbuttoned white shirt over the top. Nightclub dancer!

  ‘Piper, you’re okay, right?’ Lucy’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘There’s an upside, you know, so milk it,’ she said. ‘Albert will have amazing stuff that hasn’t even made it into the fashion cupboard yet. You’re going to get a free makeover from the best in the business.’

  Piper could see her point. Maybe she should take advantage of the situation. It wasn’t that she didn’t like designer clothes, it was just that she couldn’t afford them. But she was still annoyed. Okay, she might look a bit under par in this glamorous office. But did Mason Wakefield have to be so rude about it? She angrily typed up a response.

  Dear Mason

  I’m sorry if my work attire is not fashionable enough for you. Unfortunately I don’t have the kind of salary that allows me to dress in haute couture every day. If you would like to rectify that, I’d be happy to accept.

  Piper

  Then she pressed send.

  Piper opened the dressing room door. It was huge inside. A dozen or so clothes racks were dotted around and there were four dressing tables and mirrors running down one side.

  Albert looked pretty wild today, with his white Mohawk and a gold three-piece suit. He strutted towards her.

  ‘Oh, goody!’ he said, looking Piper up and down. ‘I get to start from scratch!’

  Piper shifted uncomfortably. What’s that supposed to mean? she wondered. So her clothes were lacking something. And obviously she was no Kara Kingston, but still …

  ‘Oh dear, girl, I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said, as though reading her thoughts. ‘It’s just that I normally get the Amazons in here. It will be lovely to work with a petite for a change. I don’t believe the lovely Lucy has formally introduced us. I’m Albert.’

  ‘Piper.’

  ‘Spin, petite Piper,’ he said, twirling his index finger in the air.

  Piper turned around full circle.

  ‘I’ve got just the thing!’ Albert announced. He searched through one of the clothes racks and came back with a dress. ‘This one was a gift from a happy client. It doesn’t have to go back to Sass and
Bide.’ He handed it to Piper and rushed back to the rack, returning with a gorgeous burnt-orange leather jacket. ‘Same deal,’ he said, ‘except this is J Brand. How do you feel about the combination?

  ‘Oh, I guess I could cope if I have to,’ Piper joked, running her hand over the black mini that now seemed horribly trashy.

  Albert laughed. ‘See, that’s what’s good about us small folk,’ he beamed. ‘We have to grow big personalities.’

  ‘Let your hair down for me, dear,’ Albert said. Piper released her hair from the ponytail.

  ‘Oh. My. God. Do you get it cut at the butcher’s?’

  Piper rolled her eyes exaggeratedly into the dressing table mirror. She’d been going to the same hairdresser in Mission Beach for years; Leanne had left Piper’s school early and got an apprenticeship. Piper had a sudden memory of the familiar salon. Leanne liked to play Beyoncé on full blast while she worked and would argue with anyone who asked her to turn it down. For some reason, the memory jarred. She pushed it aside.

  ‘Settle down, short stuff,’ Piper said. In her silver wedges, Piper now towered over Albert. The yellow Sass and Bide dress clung to her body, the diamond-shaped cutaways revealing her smooth, brown skin. Just a hint of cleavage. Even without make-up or her hair done, Piper knew she looked better than she ever had.

  Albert tilted his head to the side. His chubby cheeks scrunched up comically with his smile. ‘All right, upstart, sit down and let me go to town on that lovely bone structure. Then I’ll summon the troops to salvage your poor mangled locks.’

  Piper sat on the turquoise leather couch in reception, waiting for Mason Wakefield and feeling … well … conspicuous. Did she look ridiculous? She’d been staring at herself in the mirror for over an hour while the hairdresser worked on her and she’d liked what the hairdresser had done, but still, just fifteen minutes after the makeover, she was in danger of losing the initial boost of confidence that had surged through her. Plus, there was an odd, high-on-a-swing feeling about unveiling her new look to Mason that made her antsy.