by Joss Wood
‘I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my guests,’ Nick said, picking up a coffee cup from between his knees and raising it to his lips. Clem sighed; she hadn’t had a chance to have any more of her coffee than a couple of quick hot gulps.
‘So, because I’m basically a reasonable guy, you get a choice of duties.’
Yeah, reasonable like the Black Friday or January sales shoppers.
‘The Baobab and Buffalo Lodge and Animal Rehabilitation Centre employs trainee game rangers and they start at the bottom of the food chain. In addition to their studies—fauna and flora—they are the general skivvies.’ Nick smiled. ‘You’re the latest intern.’
‘So, do people do this willingly or do you blackmail them into being slaves for you too?’ Clem demanded.
‘Blackmail is a harsh word but, in your case, remarkably accurate.’ Nick rested his elbow on the steering wheel. The morning sun caught his two day stubble and picked up the sun-lightened tips of his hair. He looked tough and hard in his Two-B uniform of a navy-blue golf shirt and khaki shorts, a tiny tree embroidered onto the pocket of his shirt above the company name.
This morning his eyes were the shade of moonlight.
‘Normally, I’d never give interns a choice of duties but what the hell. You can clean out the staff bar, called The Pit for a reason. On good nights you need a tetanus jab to go in.’
Clem pretended to think. ‘No.’
‘Ironing? Sheets, duvets, pillowcases.’
‘Still no.’
‘Cleaning toilets?’
‘As if.’
She couldn’t do this, Clem thought. Maybe she should just bite the bullet and go back to London. How bad could it be …? She’d be stalked and hassled by the press everywhere she went but they’d back off. Eventually.
On the plus side, there would be no cleaning, ironing and skanky bars to clean.
Clem stared at her hands and opened her mouth to tell Nick to call her father and ask him for the jet. He beat her to the punch.
‘Yeah, I thought so. You’re just good at looking decorative.’
Clem stared at him as his dismissive words sliced deeper and deeper until they hit her soul.
Temper, hot and wild, shot up from the core of her being and flashed in her eyes. ‘What did you say to me?’ she hissed.
‘I—’
‘How dare you? You don’t get to say that to me. Nobody says that to me any more.’
‘Red …’
‘I took it from him for far too many years but I will not take it from you!’ Clem shouted. Her hands gripped the edge of the ragged seat as she started to shake. Her voice was wobbly but her words were coated with determination. ‘I can take anything that you throw at me.’
Clem, feeling as if she was having an out of body experience, looked at her furious other self and shook her head. No, she couldn’t. She was a pampered society girl …
‘You sure about that, Princess?’
No, not at all sure. Clem wanted to recant but the crazy woman inside had her biting her tongue instead. ‘Do your worst.’
She looked at Nick’s handsome, amused face and his certainty that she would fail stiffened her spine. How dare he dismiss her, assume that he knew her? She was not just a pretty face. She did have more depth than the average puddle.
Maybe. Hopefully.
‘I won’t quit,’ she muttered, mostly to herself.
The man had ears like a bat. ‘Oh, you so will,’ Nick assured her.
She gritted her teeth. ‘Watch me. Do your damnedest, Sherwood.’
‘Seriously?’ Nick laughed. ‘Are you challenging me?’
‘Yeah. I’m tired of stupid men telling me what I am and am not, what I can and cannot do.’ Clem caught the speculative look in his eye and wondered if she hadn’t pushed him a touch too far.
Two voices were clamouring for air time in her head.
Just call your father and go home, the coward in her begged.
But the louder voice was more encouraging. You can do anything you want to. You’re only good at looking decorative, my sweet butt.
That voice sounded strong and powerful and sounded as if it knew what it was talking about.
CHAPTER THREE
Luella Dawson’s blog:
So, we had a taster of the second series of The Crazy Cs from the interview I did with Cai and his new lady-love. They were in his home in LA, into which Kiki has been installed. One word, Cai—tacky! Then again, the man is taking tacky to a new art form lately.
So, was anyone more bored than me? I’ve had more fun watching mould form. Kiki is vapid and moronic and, as for that rat-on-a-rope she calls a dog? Pathetic! Come back, Clem! All is forgiven!
NICK drove into the staff village, past a building that had ‘The Pit’ stencilled across it and past the fenced off swimming pool. Veering left, away from the amenities and the houses, he made for an isolated corner, just inside the electric fence and hidden from view by a split-pole fence. He pulled the Land Rover up, hopped out and stood at the entrance.
The smell of decomposing garbage had Clem wrinkling her nose. ‘What are we doing here?’
‘This is our recycling centre.’ He led her into the enclosure, where black refuse bags were piled up on the hard packed dirt. He pulled a pair of heavy gloves off the fence and handed them to her.
Four large skips were lined up against the fence. ‘Glass, paper, tin and plastic.’ He nudged a black bag. ‘What’s in here goes in there.’ He pointed to the skips. ‘Glass in glass, paper in paper … organic matter goes on the compost heap over there. The staff are supposed to recycle but it doesn’t always happen.’
Clem, her heart sinking to her toes, shook her head. ‘Oh, no, this is too cruel. I’m wearing designer espadrilles.’
‘Hey, you said to throw my worst at you. This is it.’
Of course it was. Clem bit her lip. ‘So, I presume you’re leaving me alone here?’
‘Yep.’ Nick pulled a spare radio from his back pocket and handed it to her. ‘You’re within the electric fence so you’re good, animal wise. The radio is already set on the open channel, number two, press this button to talk. Anything you say on this channel will be broadcast to every staff member who has a radio. If you want to talk to me in private, call me and ask me to switch to channel thirteen.’
Clem took the radio and kicked the sand with her shoe, trying not to breathe. She tucked the radio into the band between her shorts and stomach and looked around, trying not to cry. ‘So, you’ll pick me up in about eight hours?’
Nick laughed, shook his head and tapped her nose. ‘No, Red, not even I am that cruel. Stick it out for the morning and we’ll call it a draw.’ He sent her a speculative look. ‘But that actually means you have to do some work, not just sitting on your butt. If you don’t work, you will do a double shift tomorrow.’
So he wasn’t a fool … She’d been planning on finding the least smelly area and waiting him out. A morning, Clem thought. She could do this for a morning. She put her hands on her hips and watched Nick walk away, then drive off. She desperately wanted to run after him but stubborn pride kept her feet glued to the spot. Then she sat down in the sand and looked around.
Crap. Figuratively.
And, obviously, literally.
7.05 a.m.
Clem, knee deep in rubbish, lifted her hot heavy hair off her neck and yanked the perspiration-covered radio from her shorts. She couldn’t do this, she really couldn’t. She wanted to go home … she wanted a macchiato, a hot stone massage, sushi. She wanted her life back, damn it!
She pushed the call button to cry uncle. ‘Nick, this is Clem.’
‘Giving up already, Red?’
I was until you said that. ‘No, I thought I’d just let you know that I think you are a loathsome toad.’
‘Switch to channel thirteen, Red, if you’re going to curse me.’
‘Oh, I haven’t even started to curse you and I think I’ll stay on the open channel. People of Two-B, your b
oss is a loathsome toad.’
‘You said that already.’
‘Give me a minute to come up with something a bit more creative.’
9.35 a.m.
Nick, sitting down at a table in the staff dining room, remembered that Clem hadn’t eaten yet. He sighed, thumbed his radio and called in. ‘You hungry, Red?’
Clem’s voice was sharper than the canine teeth on a leopard. ‘I’m knee-deep in fetid organic waste, gunky tin cans and soaked paper, Sherwood. Of course I’m not hungry. Tu es complètement débile!’
Nick looked up, saw the amusement on the faces of his staff and raised a hand. ‘I know I’m going to regret this, but can anyone translate?’
Janet, a junior receptionist, giggled. ‘Um, I think she called you a moron, boss.’
Nick hauled in a deep breath. Giving her a radio was not his brightest idea. ‘Channel thirteen, Red.’
‘Bite me.’
10.45 a.m.
‘Nick …’
Was he ever going to get any work done today? ‘What now?’
‘There’s a monkey.’
Nick stared at the requisition form in front of him and dashed his signature at the bottom of the page. ‘Uh huh. We have them. What’s it doing?’
‘Looking at me.’
‘Looking at you how?’
‘Um … just looking. Kind of cocking its head …’
Nick grinned. ‘Maybe it’s just surprised to see an It girl in a rubbish dump. Ignore the monkey and get back to work, Princess.’
Nick picked her up at twelve and Clem ran out to meet the Landy, barely allowing him to stop before hopping up on the running board.
‘It’s about time you got here.’
Nick put his hand to his nose when she climbed up next to him. Shaking his head, he jerked his thumb to the back seat. ‘There is no way you’re sitting next to me!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you reek? Good grief, what did you do? Roll in something dead? Sit in the back, on the edge of the back seat and as far away from me as possible.’
Clem considered refusing, then the thought occurred to her that he might make her walk home, wild animals or not. She was tired and stiff and … starving. So she climbed over to the back seat, sat on the edge and held onto it with a death grip. If she fell out and he drove over her then it would serve him right! Not that that would work for her … but she’d like to see him trying to explain her demise to her father.
Hah … whoah! She wobbled and clutched the seat in front of her. ‘Will you take it easy? I’m used to sitting on a seat!’
On the drive back to the house, Clem’s eyes kept returning to the back of his strong neck, the breadth of his shoulders. He needed a haircut and she spent far too much time looking at his hands, easy on the wheel. They were worker’s hands, she thought. Tanned, with short nails, a couple of nicks and scars. He held the wheel like she’d imagine he’d hold a woman, easily and competently, as if he’d been doing it his whole life.
She wondered how they would feel on her skin …
‘Red, we’re here.’
Nick’s voice shattered her reverie and she jerked her eyes up and looked around. They were parked on the patch of grass outside his house so she stood up and jumped down from the side of the Landy, her ruined shoes in her fingers. She looked at them and sighed … Poor shoes.
Clem started for the house but a pair of fingers snagged the waistband of her denim shorts and she was brought to a sudden halt.
‘What—?’
‘Where do you think you are going?’ Nick growled.
‘I am going to shower.’
‘You are not going into my house smelling like that,’ Nick told her, pulling her backwards. Clem twisted in an effort to get out his grip and nearly managed it until a strong arm bounded around her waist and hauled her against his chest.
Nick swore. ‘You’ve given me your stench!
Damn it, Red!’
He easily held her with one hand and grabbed hold of the spigot of the garden hose, flipping the tap open with his knee. Without warning, he dropped Clem and turned the hose on her and she gasped when a stream of cold water hit her in the face.
Clem slapped her hands to her face and turned her back to the deluge. ‘Nick!’
‘Princess?’ The water hit her shoulder, the back of her neck, drenched her hair.
‘I’m going to disembowel and string you up for the hyenas!’ she shouted in between her splutters.
‘You can try,’ Nick said, aiming the water at her bottom. ‘What on earth did you sit in, Red?’
Clem twisted to look. ‘A bag burst and I slipped. I think it’s a mixture of rotten tomatoes and cabbage.’ She tipped her head back as Nick aimed the water at her chest. ‘Actually, that’s kind of nice. It’s the first time I’ve felt cool since I got here.’
‘I think that’s a spinach leaf on your ankle.’
‘Eeew.’ Clem reached down and picked the leaf off her skin. ‘So, am I clean enough to go into your precious house?’
‘Not in those clothes. Strip.’
Clem lifted her eyebrows. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Nick looked impatient. And amused. ‘I can still smell you and ninety per cent of the smell is in your clothes. I’ll get you a towel if you’re feeling modest.’
Oh, she was very tired of that smirky smile, that expression that said he was dealing with the village idiot. He wanted her to strip?
Well, OK then …
Clem narrowed her eyes and, without removing her annoyed gaze from his face, lifted her vest and pulled it up and over her head and dropped it to the grass. Standing in her low-cut lacy scarlet bra, she reached for the snap of her denims.
Nick tried to looked insouciant but she saw the telltale muscle jump in his jaw. So she flipped open the buttons and deliberately wiggled her shorts down her legs, slowly revealing a brief pair of matching panties. The hosepipe in Nick’s hand dropped as she stepped out of the denims—destined to be burnt—and she swung her hips as she sauntered up to him.
His eyes were everywhere they shouldn’t be and, for once, she was OK with that because he didn’t notice what she was doing. In a flash she lifted the pipe and directed a stream of water at his crotch before whipping it up and directing it into his open-with-shock mouth.
Grinning, she dropped the hose and, listening to him splutter, walked into the house. She hadn’t been a lingerie model for nothing.
When Nick brought Clem back to the house it was after five and she was shattered. She showered, hopped out and could still smell the rubbish dump on her skin so she hopped back in. She’d used up half a bottle of her favourite shampoo and she still reeked of … something vile.
It had been a dismal day, she decided. After her hose down—with neither of them referring to her impromptu striptease—a shower and a huge salad sandwich in the staff canteen at lunch time, Nick had carted her off to the laundry room, where she was given a pile of sheets to iron. After she’d burnt two million-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, the housekeeper had thrown a hissy fit, picked up the sheet and cursed her in her native language. She’d been hustled out of the laundry, told that she was useless, that she was making the sheets smell and was put to work cleaning out The Pit.
That was an experience she’d rather not repeat. Not as bad as the recycling but sticky floors, grimy bar, dirty glasses. Ugh.
Clem pulled on a sleeveless sage-green patterned top, cream shorts and flip-flops and walked into the lounge, towelling her hair dry.
Nick was also freshly showered, dressed in white cargo shorts and a button down navy shirt, and he looked up from his laptop that sat on the kitchen counter.
‘Do you want a glass of wine? Or a beer?’
‘Something soft?’ Clem responded, rubbing the ends of her hair. ‘I don’t drink alcohol.’
Nick looked surprised. ‘At all?’
‘Yeah. And no, I’m not a recovering alcoholic, nor have any addiction problems. My mum was killed
in a car accident and the other driver was drunk and stoned.’
Why had she told him that? Apart from the very rare comment to Jason, she never discussed her mother with anyone.
‘I’m sorry.’ Nick turned away from her and looked in the fridge. He pulled out a box of fruit juice. ‘This OK?’
‘Thanks.’ Clem watched him as he pulled out a glass and poured her juice. Their fingers brushed as he handed the glass over and sparks shot up her arm. OK, now she was just being pathetic.
Clem bunched the towel in her hand and wrinkled her nose. ‘Nick, I still stink.’
Nick grinned and her heart pitter-pattered. ‘I’m sure you don’t.’
Clem shook her head, and lifted her forearm to her nose. ‘I can still smell it. Can you?’
Nick put his beer down and walked over to her, his feet bare on the wooden floor. Standing beside her, her heartbeat picked up when he took her arm and lifted her wrist to his nose. He shook his head and Clem sucked in her breath as he sniffed his way up her arm, past her elbow and onto her shoulder. Clem stood statue-still, trying not to squirm as his nose tickled the wet hair under her ear. He lifted her heavy hair with his hand, wrapped it around his fist and moved his nose across the back on her neck, her shoulder and down her other arm.
By that time, all the saliva in her mouth had disappeared and her limbs were heavy with desire.
Oh no, this wasn’t good.
Nick dropped her hair and stepped away from her. When she felt some of her self-control returning, she looked at him. He’d moved to the other side of the kitchen counter and was scowling at his laptop screen.
‘I think it’s your hair,’ Nick eventually said, his voice low.
Her hair? What about her hair …? Oh, the stink. Get a grip, Clem.
She had stinky hair. Ick. Well, she could sort that out. And easily. Clem slung the towel over her shoulder and moved to the kitchen. ‘Do you have a pair of scissors?’
Nick looked up and she noticed that his eyes had changed from moonlight to the colour of dark thunder clouds. Heavy, passionate. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that he looked as turnedon as she was. That was ridiculous on so many levels that it simply wasn’t possible.