Tell Me True

by Ally Blake

  If the ground floor was a warm, cathartic, healthful, fresh-from-the-organic-farm haven, upstairs looked like something transposed from the dreams of a Scandinavian furniture designer.

  Acres of frosted glass, white walls, and asymmetrical lighting grids were interspersed with tonal colour-coded, modular pods, delineating the infrastructure teams—cream for accounts, beige for marketing, ecru for branding, etcetera.

  Phones rang. Keyboards tapped. Sales were tallied. At the touch of a button, the ownership of millions of dollars worth of products blipped from one company to another. It was a slick hive of capitalist industry.

  April glanced around for Stan – the man who had given her her first job as a keen sixteen-year-old, desperate to break free of the confines of her mother’s suffocating control. The man she now had to convince to ignore his employees and give her the job of her dreams. Well, not her always dreams. When she was four, she’d wanted to be a unicorn. But her “happy right now” dreams. Her grown-up dreams.

  Well over six-feet tall, with a shock of bright red hair and beard to match, Stan McTavish wasn’t hard to find. April spotted him inside the conference room where the heads of all the departments listened in rapture as the big boss sprouted gems of wholesaling wisdom.

  Oh well. She’d catch him later—

  Hang on one rice-syrup-sweetened second! Was that Jase was in the conference room? And was he was playing a game on his phone hidden between his legs?

  All of April’s good vibes disappeared in a puff of smoke leaving little flames flickering at the corners of her mind. The kind that made her want to climb up onto a table in the middle of the room and demand the entire company tell her to her face what else she could possibly have done differently to win their vote of confidence.

  She kept it together. Just. Helped by years of practice curbing her less golden instincts. She was the good sister after all.

  As if he could feel her rising ire Jase looked up and caught her staring, though not in the schmaltzy way she’d no doubt been staring at him the past few weeks. If only looks could kill...

  Her intent must have been pretty clear as Jase swallowed. Hard.

  Then he regrouped and gave her the whammy – his most charming, crooked grin. And, damn him, it hit the mark. Because he was Just Her Type.

  For the first time in her adult life, she wondered why that was. What made her always go for dopey boys who needed their hands held when there were men like Finn Whateverhisnamewas out there in the world with all their—What did Hazel call it? All she could remember was “raging sex appeal”.

  With the buzz of the evening before still lurking in her muscle memory, April slowly pressed her shoulders back—and okay, the girls might have gotten in on the action for real that time—and smiled at Jase as if she had no cares in the world.

  When Jase’s smile faltered and a worry line flickered into existence above his nose, the Cinderella Project paid for itself then and there.

  Turning her back on the distressing scene, April threaded her way through the modules till she reached her desk in the Well-Being Department – a small, specialised section decked out in the richest colour in the place – a kind of peanut brown. Though one of the guys in accounts said it looked like the colour of his new baby’s nappies and baby poo brown had stuck. It also fell just beside the promised land – big, beautiful, latte-coloured Human Resources.

  Still buzzing, April shoved her bag into the baby poo brown cube to the left of her desk – one of four that met in the centre to form a square island dedicated to the emotional welfare of the Halcyon staff of hundreds.

  Smith—dapper dresser, Jared Leto obsessee, the team’s social north—and Clara—pale, quiet, paleo junkie, the team’s graphics whiz and moral compass—were away from their desks, but by the blinking phone lines they’d checked in and had likely snuck off to get a coffee (substitute).

  Compared to April’s piles of magazine clippings, colourful notebooks packed with ideas, the fourth cubicle –Jase’s – was ominously tidy and empty. As the clouds cleared she realised – the guy wasn’t simply hapless, he was downright useless. The urge to unravel a screw from his chair was a strong one.

  “April Sunshine!”

  April flinched, then turned and saw Clara and Smith heading her way.

  “Everything alright, sweetness?” That was Smith. “You look like you’d bite the head off a live chicken, if only Stan imported such things.”

  “Yes. No.” She took a deep breath, let it out slow. Pasted on a smile. “Live chickens are safe from me.”

  “Take my drink,” Clara insisted. “It will clear out those cobwebs quick smart.”

  Perhaps. But it was also green, with floaty bits, and smelled ever so slightly like swamp.

  Smith’s “coffee” was milky or, to be more specific, almond-milky, frothy, and covered in carob flakes. Closer but she couldn’t go there either.

  For all that she loved the company with all her heart and believed that Stan’s mission was a noble one, no matter how many times she’d tried to absorb that lifestyle Halcyon’s wares simply weren’t her cup of tea. Or coffee (substitute) for that matter. She didn’t rightly understand how anyone could cut such joys as processed flour, raw sugar, and food colouring from their lives on purpose. Life wasn’t worth living without comfort food!

  Needless to say she kept such thoughts on the down low. She loved the company to bits – her pre-work, double espressos and otherwise famous cupcakes were irrelevant to that.

  She plonked into her chair and spun it about. “I’m all good. Honestly. A little touchy after a crazy evening, is all.”

  “How crazy?” Smith asked, leaning over her half-wall. Radar well and truly tuned, he whispered reverently, “You met someone.”

  Not in the way Smith meant. Not really. Didn’t stop her heart from smacking against her ribs in an adrenaline-fuelled wallop. “Kind of. Not really. I don’t know.”

  “Sounds fascinating.” Smith grabbed Clara’s hand and dragged her into the nook between April’s desk and shelves before pretending to shut an imaginary door. “We need details.”

  Details? Oh, ho, no. There was no way she was going to tell any of them about the Cinderella Project. She might be a classic over-sharer, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep her mouth shut when her life depended it.

  Sensing April’s hesitation, Smith grabbed the back of her chair and gave it a shake. “The only romance I’ve had in weeks has been with my My So Called Life DVDs. Spill.”

  April laughed, slivers of tension falling away. “Okay, fine. What do you want to know?”

  “Where?”

  “At a bar.”

  “Which bar?”

  “The Chaser.”

  “Oh, nice. I’d guess great hair. Bespoke suit. Scotch drinker.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Was he nice?” Clara asked. Sweet Clara.

  “He was”—magnetic, delicious, intense, practice—“charismatic.”

  Smith straightened. Tugged on his sweater vest.

  The hairs on the back of April’s necks stood on end a moment before she heard—

  “Hey, gang. What’s going on?”

  Jase.

  The red rage was back, slamming into her cheeks in a hot mess.

  To think she’d had a Florence Nightingale reaction to this guy. To think, when he’d moved into the Well-Being Department she’d been so sure he’d needed her help. And she’d given it, editing his presentations, even letting him present some of her ideas, gleefully taking up his slack. He’d played her like a violin.

  By the adoration in Smith’s eyes, Jase had been playing all of them.

  The urge to pick up her stapler, aim and click was a strong one.

  “April met a guy,” Smith covered, ever so helpfully.

  “Really?” It wouldn’t have been an overstatement to say Jase’s tone was incredulous. As if the very thought was literally shocking.

  April’s red rage grew horns. Sh
e spun slowly in her chair and looked Jase right in the baby blues. Eyes she’d once thought lovely, until she’d seen what blue eyes could really look like on a real man who actually had stuff going on behind them.

  “Yes, Jase. Really. Is that so hard to believe?”

  Jase took a slight step backwards. Then he laughed his adorable laugh – which actually sounded pretty smug now she thought about it – and nudged her chair with a shoe. “Go on then. Who is the lucky guy?”

  The lucky guy probably thought himself lucky the conversation had ended when it had. But she found herself saying, “His name’s Finn.” Something. “He’s a business man.” Probably. “And tall. Really tall.”

  Jase was five foot eleven and a half, which he made a point of telling people, a lot.

  “In fact, he reminded of a little of that guy from True Blood. The tall one.”

  “The Viking?” Smith asked, his hand shaking as it lifted to his heart.

  “That’s the one. Only darker. And bigger. His eyes were the bluest blue I’ve ever seen. This amazing, dark hypnotic blue. And he had a voice that ran down my spine like hot molasses.”

  “I did ask for details,” Smith murmured happily.

  While Jase cocked his head and looked at her like he’d never seen her before.

  Huh. When Hazel had said she’d get a different reaction from men if she already had one on the hook, April had thought it was a part of her matchmaking tunnel vision. But maybe Hazel was onto something.

  Either way, she’d only told the truth.

  “Great,” Jase said, collecting himself with an all-over shake. “That’s great. Good for you, April. Now, in case you didn’t see the time how about we save the gossip for the water-cooler and get back to work?”

  Clara blinked at him. April didn’t move an inch.

  Smith let go a breathy, “Meow.”

  Seemed Jase was at least smart enough to know that was all the reaction he was going to get, so he stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled his way to his cubicle. Then at the last he turned, clicking his fingers as if something had just occurred to him. “After the managers meeting just now, some of the guys suggested meeting up after work for a drink. I suggested The Burrow. You should come.”

  His gaze zeroed in on April, his smile edging towards adorably crooked. Eyes turning to full on twinkle-mode. All while he made it clear he’d been invited to a manager’s get-together, and she hadn’t. And he’d made sure it was taking place at her favourite bar. A bar she’d invited him to more than once in her less than subtle way of making it clear she’d liked him.

  Any last doubts she might have had about the guy went up in smoke.

  April crossed her legs, slowly, and leant a lazy arm over the back of her chair.

  Her voice came out a deep throaty purr as she said, “Jase, are you asking me to on a date?”

  She felt a kind odd quiet descend over the cubicles around hers as payroll—off white—and logistics—egg shell—went quiet.

  “Because since we work in the same division, it’s not something Stan would be terribly keen on.”

  Gauntlet thrown. May the best woman win.

  Jase’s smile stuck, even as obfuscation flashed across his eyes.

  Then he said, “I could fill you in on the stuff Stan was talking about in there. I know you’re keen on that kind of thing. Though it might as well have been Martian for all I understood.”

  That she believed. Because as adorable—and canny, she was fast discovering—as the guy was, he had no idea how to run a human resources division!

  When someone in payroll coughed, the sound echoing into the captivated silence, April eased down.

  Curling her anger and disappointment back inside, she turned back to her desk, knowing she’d lost this battle. Her desire to see those notes was too strong to deny. “Find me at lunch and I’ll explain everything.”

  “Excellent.”

  Yeah. Ruddy excellent.

  Chapter Four

  By six that night April was still too tetchy to head straight home. She feared the amount of cupcakes she might bake. She’d send poor Mrs. Parsons into diabetic shock.

  When Smith said, “Quick drink? Clara’s driving,” April had near dragged him out the door.

  Needing to lessen the tightness in her head lest she pop, April unwound her hair from its now fluffy bun, slipping the dozen odd bobby pins into what she actually called “the bobby pin pocket” of her bag. At a red light, she stole Clara’s rear-view mirror to check she didn’t look frightful, happy to find her hair had settled in reasonable waves over her shoulders. For now at least. Then she swiped on some of Erica’s reddest lipstick that she’d “borrowed” that morning—a fair perk of having her sister squatting at her place.

  “Good lordy, crowning glory,” Smith said on a gasp. “Who are you and where have you put my April Sunshine?”

  “Can’t a girl let her hair down once in a while?”

  “A girl can.”

  She also figured if she had another chance to “recommend herself” to someone she ought to take it. Because she was going to squish Jase like the bug he was. All for the good of the company, of course.

  As the light turned green, she fixed the mirror for Clara. And soon they found a park around the corner from their hot spot. She loved this part of town. A little shabby, a little chic, and full of eccentric characters and tonnes of great little foodie and drinkie gems. When they hit the street, the balmy Sydney night air tickled her bare arms and a grin hit her face.

  The grin dropped away the moment Smith and Clara’s stopped outside their watering hole of choice. “The Burrow? Seriously?”

  “What?” Smith said, all innocence.

  “I’m going to kill you. Both of you. Slowly.”

  “For trying to perk you up by taking you to your favourite bar?” Smith asked.

  “This is where Jase is meeting up with management and you know it.”

  April tipped up onto her toes, trying to see if any of the Halcyon gang had yet to arrive while also hiding behind Harry, the enormous bouncer.

  “You okay down there, Ms. April?” Harry asked.

  “Not so much, Harry. What on earth am I supposed to say if I bump into any of them? I’ll look like a brown-nosing idiot.”

  Harry shrugged.

  Smith shrugged too. “Jase doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

  “Because he’s a passive aggressive pecker-head,” Clara added, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Poor girl would likely dock her granola of dried fruit now as punishment for saying such a terrible thing about one of nature’s creatures. “I feel so silly for not seeing the kind of guy he was before.”

  You and me both, sister. April put an arm around Clara’s shoulders while Smith took the other elbow and dragged her into the bar.

  Tucked into what had been an alleyway between a down and out athletic equipment store and a thriving kinky bookshop in Surry Hills, The Burrow was one long room. A bar ran down one side, a series of dark alcoves with skinny tables and deep-set, leather banquettes and low ottomans, covered in ancient scatter cushions filled the other. The restrooms were at the far end with a sorry excuse for a beer garden out back.

  The domed ceiling was covered in tiny mirrors that cleverly made the tunnel feel more spacious. It also felt like the inside of a glitter ball, which was the thing April liked best.

  Until about an hour after opening when the walls shook with the beat of soulful funk fusion and the place bordered on claustrophobic. Which was what Smith liked best.

  “Only time I get felt up all week,” he said, dragging the girls deeper inside and chocking himself into a gap near the bar so they could case the joint.

  April’s eyes were well-peeled as she searched for familiar faces. Which was how she spotted the very last face she’d have ever expected to see in the grungy bar.

  “Finn!” April called before she even felt his name rose inside of her in a bubble of patent delight.

  Thankf
ully the place was already noisy enough he hadn’t heard her. Because she had not a single clue what she might say if he had.

  Their meeting had been meant as a one-off. Merely practice. Without Hazel there to give her hints, she wasn’t sure she was even allowed to talk to him again. If it might undo all the good it had done.

  But for all that she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

  Standing at the bar, his fingers stroking the wood grain in time with the smooth tune murmuring through the speakers, he loomed a good half a head taller than anyone else in the place. He looked wonderful, decked out in a slick, charcoal suit, white shirt, baby blue tie. Better than she’d ever remembered. And in the past twenty-four hours she’d done plenty of surreptitious remembering. Because... how could she not?

  So caught up in the view, April actually jumped when Smith grabbed her by the elbow. “That’s him, isn’t it! Oh my. You weren’t exaggerating for Jase’s benefit. He is a Viking. The famous Finn.”

  That time Finn cocked his chin as if he’d heard his name. His fingers stopped tapping. And he began to turn.

  For a second April actually considered dropping to her hands and knees and crawling out of the place.

  Which was when she shook herself out of her trance and gave herself a mental slap.

  So they’d met under odd happenstance. So what? Mere politeness dictated she at least say hello...

  By then the man’s magnetic energy had sucked her into his orbit and she was at his side, tugging on the edge of his jacket.

  He followed the tug. His gaze hitting her hand before trailing up her arm to her face. Her whole arm tingled as if those long fingers of his had danced along her skin as they had over the bar.

  Then his eyes met hers. Blue, so very, very blue.

  And crinkling slightly at the corners. As if he was actually pleased to see her.