Anybody But Him

by Claire Baxter

  Silently, he passed an A4 page to her.

  She scanned the spreadsheet and her eyebrows rose. ‘Over a hundred and forty thousand dollars? How can it be so much?’

  ‘He normally oversees three projects at once, and he’s been here for close to four years, so that’s more than forty projects he’s worked on. Each payment is—’

  ‘Over a thousand dollars, I know. I’ve been signing cheques for them.’ She could give herself an almighty kick for handing over the company’s money without a qualm. No wonder he could afford a flashy car. ‘Corinne’s going to be devastated. And I’m pretty sure Hayden only dated me to distract me from asking questions about those suppliers.’

  Why was she so gullible when an attractive man was involved?

  Chapter 14

  On Friday, after her night out dancing with Lainey, Nicola arrived home in a taxi and went straight to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. She’d had a reasonable amount to drink. Enough, she knew, to make her feel rough the next morning if she didn’t hydrate herself well before going to sleep. That was the thing about being almost thirty – she’d lived through enough hangovers to know what to do about them, but not quite enough to compel her to avoid them entirely.

  It had been a good night, and just what she’d needed after her week at work, which had culminated in the police arresting Hayden and escorting him off the premises. She was so ashamed of not seeing through him sooner, but Corinne had been very appreciative that, between them, she and Travis had discovered the fraud at all.

  She yawned, exhausted from all the dancing. As she tossed the empty water bottle in the recycling bin, the smell of rotten vegetables assailed her nostrils. She’d intended to empty the garbage bin earlier, but had forgotten. She probably should be composting them or something for Una, but she had no idea about all that; she just wanted to get the smell out of the kitchen.

  Sighing, she took the liner out of the bin. It was heavy. As well as the leftover vegetables, she’d half-filled it earlier with chipped and cracked plates and dishes that she’d found in Una’s kitchen cupboards and which she intended to replace with brand-new ones before she left. After tying off the top of the plastic bag, she switched on the exterior light.

  Nothing happened.

  Great.

  It had worked a few days ago, so why not now? But the wheelie bin was only a matter of metres from the back steps. She couldn’t possibly get lost on the way, and this wasn’t the city. She was confident that there was no one lurking in the darkness.

  She left the back door open and the kitchen light illuminated the concrete square at the top of the steps, but not much more. On the second step, she trod on something wet and squelchy, and her foot skidded forward. With a squeak, she grabbed for the rail, but it was slick with dew, and her hand slid straight down it. Unable to save herself, she descended the steps on her butt, sideways, and the garbage bag that she’d managed to hang on to slammed into her chest. She yelled out in pain as the heavy crockery made contact with her ribs.

  She couldn’t get up. She couldn’t even move. All she could do was concentrate on trying to breathe –which had become a very difficult thing to do, and not at all the natural reflex action it was supposed to be. She was going to be stuck here all night. Maybe longer. She tried, very slowly, to at least manoeuvre herself into a more comfortable position. Something hard jabbed her hip. Her phone! In her jeans pocket where she’d pushed it after calling for the taxi.

  Please, please let it still work.

  She moved a bit too quickly and cried out with pain, then more carefully, she reached into her pocket. The phone seemed to be fine, but who was she going to call? No good dialling Lainey because she’d had too much to drink to drive over, and in fact, too much to help if she came over in a taxi. Lainey couldn’t hold her drink, unlike her, but then, she’d clearly had much less practice.

  Her dad didn’t drive in the dark. Good thing too. He was bad enough in broad daylight.

  What about … Blair Morrissey? Damn. Why had he come to mind? Because, she told herself, she had his number in her phone, and he lived close by. Because it was the logical call to make, even if she didn’t like it.

  Sighing, she accepted the inevitable and made the call. Would he even be home on a Friday night? If he was at home, he might not be alone. She’d barely finished the thought when he answered.

  ‘It’s Nicola.’ She was shocked at how weak and croaky her voice sounded.

  ‘Nicki? What’s wrong? Where are you?’

  ‘At home.’ She bit her lip until it stopped wobbling. ‘I mean, I’m at Una’s. I fell down the back steps. I’ve hurt my ribs.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’ He clicked off before she’d even had a chance to ask him for help.

  Only a few minutes later, she heard his car turn into the driveway, gravel crunching beneath its tyres. A door slammed, and in a very short time, he knelt beside her. ‘Which side?’

  ‘My left.’

  ‘It’s dark out here. Why didn’t you put the light on?’

  ‘I tried. It doesn’t work.’

  He tutted and reached for one of her red stilettos, still lying where it had landed a metre or so away. ‘And you were wearing these?’

  ‘It wasn’t the fault of my shoes.’ She tried to snap at him, but the most she could manage was a breathless whine. ‘I trod on something squelchy.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to go to hospital. I’ll carry you to the car.’

  ‘No, no, don’t. Just help me up. I’ll walk there. Really.’

  He looked at her dubiously. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Oh, God. She didn’t know which was more horrifying: the pain, or the thought of him carrying her.

  With his assistance, she got to her feet and made her way slowly to the car. He opened the passenger door, and helped her in. The whole manoeuvre took a lot longer than it should have done. Then she told him where her keys were so that he could go back and lock up the house before they set off to the hospital, and as if every breath hurting wasn’t bad enough, every bump in the road added to the pain.

  It was the early hours of Saturday morning when Nicola left the hospital, walking cautiously and clutching the painkillers that were already working their magic. Redgum Valley hospital was small, and nothing like a metropolitan hospital, but for once Nicola saw the contrast as a point in its favour. When she’d arrived, the emergency department had been empty except for one registered nurse who’d triaged and assessed her, and then phoned the on-call doctor. Within minutes, the young female doctor had arrived, examined and x-rayed her, and prescribed the painkillers she so badly needed.

  As she’d suspected, a cracked rib was the diagnosis, and now that the drugs had taken the edge off the pain, she berated herself in silence. For venturing out in the dark. For not taking off her heels. For not emptying the bin before she’d gone to the pub. For filling the bin with hard, rib-cracking crockery.

  ‘I won’t be able to drive to work,’ she said, breaking her silence when they reached Blair’s car.

  Blair had hovered nearby, dashing forward to open doors and generally easing her way. ‘I don’t think you’ll be able to work anyway, so driving there is a non-issue.’

  Keeping her arm close to her chest, she got into the car. By the time she’d found a comfortable position, Blair was in the driving seat and starting the engine.

  ‘I’m an idiot.’

  He didn’t argue with her, she noticed, which would be an improvement on the normal state of play between them except that, perversely, she wanted him to argue with her, or more accurately, to tell her she wasn’t an idiot; that it had been an accident, pure and simple. She bit her trembling lip.

  ‘So, did you have a good time?’

  ‘Are you crazy? I broke my rib. What could be good about that?’

  ‘Cracked, not broke. But I meant earlier, in the pub. You looked like you were enjoying yourself, dancing.’

  ‘You were there? I didn’
t see you.’

  ‘I saw you.’

  ‘Right. Well, yes, it was good fun. Do they that have that sort of band there often?’

  ‘Only when people with good taste can’t talk them out of it.’

  ‘What were you doing there if you don’t like disco?’

  ‘Did I say I didn’t like it?’

  She looked away, covering her eyes. ‘You’re giving me a headache.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  He parked the car in the driveway and jumped out. She had to wait for him to come around to her door and open it for her. She couldn’t open it herself, so she didn’t have a choice.

  Inside the house, he said, ‘Is there anything you need before I go? A hot drink? An ice pack?’

  ‘What I’d really like is a shower.’

  ‘Will you be able to manage?’

  ‘I imagine so. I usually shower alone.’

  ‘Well, why don’t I hang around? Just in case you need help with anything afterwards?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine.’

  By the time she’d gathered some clean clothes into a pile and made her way into the bathroom with them under one arm, she knew that fine was an overstatement. But it was when she tried to undress that she had to admit that she wasn’t going to be able to manage on her own. Nowhere near, in fact. She’d definitely spoken too soon. The painkillers were helping, but not enough to allow her to lift her left arm in the air, or to move it much at all. After her first attempt to remove the skin-tight striped top she’d worn to the pub, she had to blink back tears. This wasn’t going to work.

  She was relieved to find Blair in the kitchen, reading the local paper.

  He looked up, eyes wide. ‘Blimey, that was quick. I knew you weren’t like other women, but that—’

  He must have realised that she was still in the same clothes because he frowned. ‘What’s wrong? I mean, other than the obvious.’

  ‘I have a problem.’ She grimaced, grateful that he hadn’t listened to her and left. ‘I need your help, and I wouldn’t ask if there was any other option.’

  ‘Got it. I’m your last resort.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I need you to take off my top.’ She hesitated. ‘And my bra.’

  He lowered the newspaper slowly. ‘Are you kidding me?’

  She gave her head a small shake.

  He made a noise in his throat. ‘I’m not usually a last resort when it comes to women who want undressing,’ he said lightly.

  She knew his lousy joke was an attempt to ease the tension, so she smiled and headed back to the bathroom, hoping he’d follow her. He did.

  ‘If you lift it up from the bottom, I can pull my right arm out. It’s moving my left arm that’s the problem.’

  He did as she suggested, then helped her to pull her head through the hole, eased the top over her shoulder, and finally slid it carefully down her left arm as if he’d done it a thousand times. Well, she didn’t need to take that thought any further.

  Blair gasped as he lifted the T-shirt away from her left side, before dropping it on the bathroom floor.

  She looked down at the multicoloured bruise over her side and felt a bit queasy. ‘Not a pretty sight, is it?’

  The intimacy of him looking at her bare skin, even if it was disgusting purple and blue skin, sent a ripple of heat out from her belly, down her thighs, all the way to her toes. As it slithered beneath the surface of her skin, she shivered.

  ‘You’re cold. This could be shock setting in.’

  ‘No.’

  He lifted his eyes from the bruising, and she knew the exact moment when his gaze caught on her bra because a muscle twitched along his jaw. It wasn’t a provocative style she was wearing, but it was lacy, and hid nothing. She was practically topless in front of him, and soon she would be, for real.

  ‘You’ll have to unhook me.’ Her voice was deceptively steady. Unlike her heartbeat, which was imitating a heavy metal drum solo.

  ‘I do have a general understanding of how these things work, but thanks for the tip.’ His gaze met hers. ‘Just to double-check, are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a shower half-dressed?’

  She grimaced. ‘And then what? Go to sleep in a wet bra? No, thanks.’

  After a resigned sigh, he stepped around behind her, unhooked the bra without a fumble, slipped the strap over her right shoulder, down her arm, then, reaching around her from behind, he carefully slid it down her left arm and over her hand.

  She reached for a towel to hold in front of her, but he beat her to it, draping the towel around her shoulders so that she was decent.

  ‘Skilfully done. Thank you.’

  ‘What about the jeans?’

  ‘I’m sure I can cope with them.’

  ‘And the taps?’

  She nodded.

  ‘All right, then. I’ll be in the kitchen. Call me if you need help with anything else.’

  As soon as he closed the door she eased her jeans and underwear down her legs with one hand and stepped out of them, then turned on the taps, thinking as she adjusted the temperature that she should be having a cold shower. But seriously, she didn’t think it would make a whole lot of difference. The memory of Blair’s fingertips brushing over her skin as he tried not to touch her was not something that could be washed away.

  Chapter 15

  Several hours later, Nicola was sitting at the kitchen table feeling sore and sorry for herself when she saw Blair pass the kitchen window.

  ‘It’s open,’ she called, because she didn’t fancy getting up, and because there was no point in standing on ceremony with him after last night. A man would normally have to take her on a few dates, at least, before he got to see as much of her as Blair had seen. How did she get herself into these situations?

  Dammit was the first through the door, and he race dover as if he’d missed her and was thoroughly pleased to see her again. It would be quite touching, she thought, if she didn’t know better. The last time the dog had been here, he’d been fed. It didn’t matter to him which human happened to live here. Still, it was cute the way he stood on his hind legs with his front paws on her chair while he sniffed her as if checking that she was okay. She rubbed the top of his head with her right hand.

  Blair’s entrance was more restrained. ‘How are you now that you’ve had some sleep?’

  ‘Grouchy.’

  ‘Back to normal, then.’ He pulled out a chair and sat down. Nodding at the dog, he said, ‘He likes you.’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t let anybody but me rub his ears.’

  ‘Oh. Really?’ She looked down at the dog. What had she done to deserve his affection? She didn’t even like dogs.

  ‘I thought you might need help with some things this morning, like dressing, but I see you’ve managed on your own.’

  ‘It wasn’t too difficult.’ The baggy tracksuit top had been relatively easy with its zip front, but she’d given up on the bra. She’d packed it in the bag she planned to take to her parents’ house. ‘I’m waiting for my dad to fetch me when he’s finished his errands. My mum’s going to wash my hair for me. I couldn’t do it in the shower last night with only one hand.’

  ‘How long before your dad gets here?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. He was very vague about what he had to do.’

  ‘Well, there’s no need to wait for him. I’ll drive you there.’

  She bit her lip. He’d helped her so much already and she didn’t want to suck up all his free time. ‘Shouldn’t you be working in the garden? Or painting pictures?’

  He shrugged. ‘I have to go into town, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, okay then. I’ll phone Dad and tell him not to bother calling by.’ She’d rather be a passenger in Blair’s car anyway. Far less stressful.

  She made sure she had her painkillers, and Blair carried her bag to the car. He made a stop to drop Dammit off at home, and when they set off again she sa
id, ‘Thank you for last night, by the way. I should have said it at the time.’

  He glanced at her. ‘No problem. You had other things on your mind.’

  ‘No, I mean it. I didn’t know who else to call. I was lucky you were prepared to help me.’

  ‘I meant what I said too; it was no problem. I have to wonder, though, why you didn’t call your boyfriend– the poser.’

  ‘Ah. Well, you see, he’s not my boyfriend anymore.’

  He gave her a knowing look. ‘I told you he wasn’t your type, didn’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said, her voice flat, ‘I seem to be quite partial to con men. If I have a type at all, I’d say that’s it.’

  ‘What? What did he do to you?’

  She frowned. ‘I can’t go into detail. There’s a police investigation going on.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘You were dating a criminal?’

  Indignant, she said, ‘Not by choice. I didn’t know he was a criminal at the time. I was the one who discovered what he’d been up to and reported him.’

  ‘You had him arrested?’

  Damn him, he was trying not to laugh. She pressed her lips together and ignored his question.

  ‘So,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘when you say “con men”, you’re talking about real criminal activity? I thought you meant that he told you he was single when he wasn’t.’

  ‘That’s just as bad!’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘It might not get a man arrested, but believe me, it’s just as bad to find out your man’s been duping you into believing that he’s going to marry you when he already has a fiancée in London.’ Her voice was getting higher, and she suspected tears weren’t far away. She hadn’t meant to tell him about Greg, the words had just spilled out.

  After a hesitation, he said, ‘Has that happened to you?’

  She sighed. ‘My point is, my last two boyfriends have been con artists in one form or another. I seem to be flypaper for frauds.’