She had her hand on the knob, ready to make her escape, when she remembered Rhys’s ruined shirt. Grinding her teeth at her own stupid conscience, she went back into the living room. A quick scan of the messy space located a memo pad by the phone. By some miracle a pen rested beside it and she scribbled a quick note.
Thanks for last night. I had a great time. Sorry about your shirt, and good luck with everything.
Charlie
She reread it, displeased with the overly effusive tone. She tore the note free and crumbled it into a ball, stuffing it into her purse. She tried again but stalled halfway.
For God’s sake, what is wrong with you? You’re never going to see this man again. Write the note and get the hell out of here.
She scrawled a quick note. Then she pulled two fifty-dollar bills from her purse and left them and her missive on the coffee table. She had no idea how much a shirt cost these days, but if she gave him any more she wouldn’t have the taxi fare to get home. It would have to do.
Mission completed, she bolted for the door. Only when she was on the street, walking away from his building, did she allow herself to breathe easily.
It was cool this early in the morning and her wet hair didn’t help any. She leaned against a tree for balance while she tugged on her shoes, then wrapped her arms around herself as she walked slowly up the hill toward what looked like a coffee shop.
A woman walking her dog gave her a disdainful head to toe as they crossed paths. Charlie ducked her head and reached into her handbag for her phone. She dialed for a cab, only then realizing that she had no idea where she was. She asked the operator to wait while she walked to the nearest corner and found a street sign. Twenty minutes later she was in the back of a taxi that smelled of stale vomit and cigarette smoke, heading for Gina’s house in Balmain.
She felt as though she’d scaled Mount Everest by the time she paid the driver and climbed the two steps to Gina’s front door. Last night she’d had the good sense to take the key Gina had given her and she let herself in. Slipping her shoes off, she made her way to her room.
“Hey.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see Gina standing in her bedroom doorway wearing a pair of shorty pajamas, knuckling her eyes blearily.
“Sorry. Did I wake you? I tried to be quiet,” Charlie said.
“No worries. You okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Okay. Good. See you in the morning, then.”
“I hate to break it to you, but it’s morning already,” Charlie said, amused despite herself by her friend’s muzzy-headedness.
“See you in the afternoon, then. I plan on sleeping through my hangover so I don’t have to actually live through it.”
Waving goodbye, Gina shuffled into her room. Charlie shed her clothes and grabbed her towel, then went straight to the bathroom. Stepping beneath the shower, she leaned against the tiled wall and bowed her head, simply letting the water roll over her. After long minutes she stirred and soaped herself down. She felt infinitely better by the time she toweled herself dry.
Returning to her room, she dressed in the pajamas she’d purchased yesterday and pulled her laptop from her carry-on. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep but her head was whirling and she knew herself well enough to know sleep was out of the question. She opened up the folder for her first client, a boutique stationery business that had been set up by a former comrade in arms, and spent the next three hours refining her design concepts and building a template for the landing page.
She heard Gina stir at a certain point, and at midday there was a tap at her door.
“You awake?” Gina asked quietly.
“Yep.”
“Good.”
The door swung open to reveal Gina with a tray bearing two tall glasses of orange juice and a big pile of buttered toast with Vegemite. Her friend had wet hair from the shower and was wearing a pair of cotton pants and a tank top.
“Oh, hey, thanks,” Charlie said, touched by the thoughtfulness. She put her laptop to one side.
Gina set the tray in the middle of the bed, sitting cross-legged on the other side. “So?” she asked as she reached for the first piece of toast.
“So what?”
“So, did you have a good time? Is he going to call? Are you going to call him?”
Charlie shifted uncomfortably. This being her first one-night stand and therefore her first morning-after debrief, she wasn’t sure what the protocol was. She didn’t want to offend Gina by telling her to butt out, but she wasn’t about to spill the intimate details of what she’d shared with Rhys, either. It may have been a one-off, it may mean nothing in the larger scheme of her life, but right now it felt far too immediate and fresh for her to share with anyone else.
“It’s okay, I don’t want gory details,” Gina said, apparently reading her reluctance. “Just tell me if he passed the I-want-to-see-him-again test.”
“I’m not seeing him again,” Charlie said firmly.
Gina pulled a face. “Really? That bad, huh? And he looked so promising. Don’t tell me he was one of those good-looking guys who figures that all he has to do is lie there and be gorgeous and he’s done his bit?”
The need to correct Gina’s misinterpretation overrode Charlie’s natural modesty. “He didn’t just lie there. That part was…fine. But I realized this morning that there was no future in it, so I left.”
Gina paused, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. “The bastard. What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He was sleeping and I figured that I should probably get out of there before he woke up. So I did.” She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could as she reached for a piece of toast.
“Wha-huh? You left before he woke up? Am I getting this straight?”
Charlie chomped into her toast, eyeing her friend stubbornly. Gina’s eyebrows rose toward her hairline.
“Why would you do that if last night was fine? Don’t you want to see him again, see if it goes anywhere? You seemed really into him last night.”
“Last night was last night. This morning is this morning.”
“I don’t really know what that means.”
No way was Charlie about to give a blow-by-blow accounting of the reasoning behind her decision to flee. She knew Gina well enough to know that if she pointed out the fundamental disparity between godlike, perfect Rhys and plain-Jane her, her friend would spend the next hour trying to convince Charlie that she was beautiful and desirable and Rhys’s equal in every way. Last night, with the aid of good lighting, great makeup, a sexy wardrobe and generous quantities of alcohol, she’d allowed herself to be sucked into the same illusion. This morning, in the brutal light of a new day, she knew better.
“It’s really not a big deal. I had a nice time, it was what it was, and now it’s over,” she said firmly.
“So he’ll simply wake up and find you gone?”
“He’s going to wake up and heave a huge sigh of relief that I saved him an awkward morning-after conversation.”
“You don’t know that, Charlie.”
Charlie smiled grimly. She knew that, absolutely. She’d seen herself in the bathroom mirror. She knew how the world worked. She’d known how the world worked ever since Billy Hendricks had refused to go into the closet with her during a game of Spin the Bottle when she was thirteen years old.
“I was thinking that we could go car shopping today, if you’re up to it,” Charlie said. “Is there some area around here with lots of car yards?”
“I take it that’s your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Bingo.”
“Okay. All right. If you want to drop it, we’ll drop it. But I’d like it on the record that I think it’s a damn shame. He seemed like
a decent guy and he was really into you.”
“Duly noted. So, tell me, who did you buy your car from? Should I go private or dealer? What do you think?”
This time Gina followed her lead, and by the time the plate of toast had been cleared, they’d formulated a plan of attack. Gina took the tray to the kitchen, while Charlie dressed. She spotted her borrowed clothes scrunched in the corner as she was about to exit the room and took the time to rescue them, smoothing the cool mesh of the top with her hand before folding the satin trousers neatly.
She felt an odd sense of…not quite regret, but something similar to it as she remembered those few heady hours when she’d felt amazing and invincible and glamorous.
It may have ended with a whimper, not a bang, but seeing how the other half lived had been fun while it lasted. But as she’d said to Gina, last night was last night, and today was today.
She set the clothes on the end of the bed, collected her handbag and headed for the door. She would get the outfit dry-cleaned on Monday, then she would hand back her borrowed plumage and get on with carving out a new life for herself. After all, she was a grown-up and a realist. She knew the score.
RHYS WOKE with the mother and father of all hangovers beating down a door in his brain. Rolling over in bed, he pressed his hands against his aching skull for long minutes before making his way to the en suite to stick his mouth beneath the tap. He gulped enough water to fill a wading pool then sluiced a couple of big handfuls over his face. It was only when he lifted his head to inspect his bleary-eyed reflection that he remembered he hadn’t come home alone last night.
“Charlie.”
He stepped into the bedroom. The bed was empty. Frowning, he grabbed a towel and slung it around his waist.
“Charlie?” he called, walking into the living area.
It was empty. Which meant she really had gone without waking him up to say goodbye or leave her number or anything. Unless she’d left him a note…
It only took him a few seconds to spot the piece of paper and the two fifties sitting on his coffee table. He crossed the room and collected the paper.
I had a nice time. I hope this covers a new shirt.
Thanks, Charlie
He read the note three times, but each time he reached the same conclusion: she’d blown him off.
After one of the hottest nights of his life, she’d sneaked away in the early hours and left him a hundred bucks to cover his shirt. As though he was some down-on-his-luck gigolo who needed a handout.
Wow.
He screwed the note into a tight little ball. He’d thought they’d had a good time last night. A great time. He’d thought they’d really connected.
Sure, he’d been a little worse for wear, but not so drunk that he was making things up. He could remember it all.
The interested, engaged light in her eyes.
The way she’d stroked the stem of her glass unconsciously as she talked to him.
The way she’d tasted.
The smooth, warm satin of her skin.
The needful, heated rush of making love to her.
Yet she’d simply rolled out of bed and out of his life without so much as a backward glance. And no, the money for the shirt didn’t count.
I had a nice time.
That was what she’d said. Nice. Was there a more lukewarm, halfhearted word in the English language? She might as well have patted him on the head and given him an elephant stamp for effort.
He strode into the kitchen and hit the button on his coffee machine. It would take at least forty minutes to warm up—the price he paid for his addiction to café-quality coffee—so he killed some time banging cupboards and drawers as he emptied the dishwasher. Then he stomped around a little more until his sense of humor reasserted itself.
Can you see yourself? You’re acting like an outraged virgin. What’s the big deal, anyway? You had sex and she left without turning it into a big production. You should be thanking her, buddy.
It was true. Except he didn’t feel grateful. He felt disappointed. As though he’d been promised something spectacular and special, and instead had been given a big fat raspberry. And it wasn’t just about the hot sex, either. Not entirely.
He liked her.
Yeah, well, get over it. You had a great time, she had a nice time. She’s gone, and life goes on.
Another undeniable truth. He was on a roll, apparently.
He stood in the middle of his living room, mulling it over. Then he shrugged. Charlie had made her decision when she’d left his apartment without leaving him some way of contacting her. Whether he liked it or not, messages didn’t come any clearer.
He scrubbed his face with his hands. Then he went to check on the coffee.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT EIGHT weeks flew by. Charlie’s luggage arrived two days later than the airline had promised, but by that time she was so relieved to have her things that she could barely muster the energy to complain. After a week of deliberation and research, she bought a car, a small white SUV that was easy to park and maneuver. It took her longer to find somewhere to live, but she finally found a one-bedroom apartment two streets from Gina’s house. She planned to buy eventually, but she needed to build up her business before a bank would consider her for a loan, and the twelve-month lease she’d secured gave her plenty of time to get to know the city better.
Her second-floor apartment was one of just six and featured high ceilings with decorative plasterwork, a mint-green-and-black bathroom that dated back to the thirties and a small but recently renovated kitchen. Most important, it boasted a neat study area off the bedroom that had become her new home office, a bonus that had sealed the deal for her even though the rent was slightly more than she’d hoped to pay.
With transportation and accommodation settled, she committed herself to the handful of start-up clients she’d generated before leaving the service, while also trying to drum up future business. Thanks to her background, she had in-depth knowledge in certain highly specialized areas and, as she’d hoped, her credentials opened a lot of doors amongst suppliers either already dealing with the military or hoping to.
By the time April rolled into May, she had work booked for the next two months, with prospects for more in the pipeline. She’d made friends with the woman across the hall and Gina’s circle of friends had embraced her. Her initial qualms about civilian life faded as she found her feet and her days took on a rhythm of their own.
She was surviving. No, not simply surviving—she was thriving. She had a home all her own, she had a business that was on the uptick, she was putting down roots and forming new friendships. It was all good.
The only off note, if it could be called that, was the fact that every now and then, when her guard was down, a rogue, rebellious part of her brain wondered what might have happened if she’d hung around and waited for Rhys to wake up all those weeks ago.
Every time she caught her thoughts drifting in that direction she gave herself a mental slap and reminded herself that she was a realist and that she’d played it smart, leaving the way she had—even if it meant there might be a part of her that wondered “what if.”
She was giving herself the Rhys Lecture, as she’d come to think of it, late one Friday afternoon in early May when a knock sounded. She was preparing dinner for herself and Gina and she put down the knife she’d been using before heading for the door.
“I come bearing gifts,” Gina said. She was carrying a bottle of red wine and a white bakery box and looked as though she’d come straight from work.
Charlie made a show of checking her watch. “You’re about two hours early for dinner. You know that, right?”
Gina shrugged. “I got off early. Plus, they’d just finished making these mini quiches for a function tonight—fe
el the box, they’re still warm from the oven—and I knew you’d be up for some early piggery.”
Charlie smiled wryly as she waved her friend inside. “You know me so well.”
“I know your appetite, that’s for sure.” Gina dumped the bottle of wine on the counter and glanced at the chopping board. “So, what are we having?”
“Potatoes dauphinoise, green beans with garlic and coq au vin.”
“God, I wish you were a man. I would so marry you.”
“What say we hold off on the proposal until after we’ve eaten? This is all a bold experiment at this stage.”
Cooking had never been one of Charlie’s strong suits, but she was determined to improve now that she was personally responsible for all her own meals. The days of making excuses for living off canned and frozen meals were over.
“You want to eat these little puppies now or later?” Gina asked, nudging the bakery box suggestively.
“What do you think?”
“This is why we’re friends,” Gina said with a happy sigh.
Charlie grabbed two wineglasses and the bottle and followed Gina into the living room.
“You make me feel like such a slattern every time I come here.” Gina dropped onto the white couch.
“Why?” Charlie asked, startled.
“Because your place is always so organized and clean and perfect,” Gina said, one hand making a sweeping gesture.
Charlie glanced around at her black leather Eames chair and ottoman, white wool Florence Knoll sofa and midcentury glass-and-wood coffee table. Art books sat in a neat stack beside the open fireplace, arranged so their spines formed blocks of color, and a cluster of thick, creamy pillar candles sat in the empty grate. Apart from a handful of red-and-black throw cushions on the couch and a single white vase on the mantel, the room was bare.
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