‘Well, when eight-year-olds
make you feel small, heels are the only answer,’ I retort. ‘And I like nice
shoes.’
Lazily pushing himself from the door surround,
he saunters to my desk set at the front of the room. Almost lounging against
it, he stretches his long legs out in front. Each facing the opposite
direction, we’re shoulder to shoulder and almost touching as an electrical
force dances in the air. I’ve never been more grateful for the curtain of my
hair as he leans in, leans closer, then peers exaggeratedly down at my feet,
his voice seeming to drop a full octave.
‘You most certainly do.’
Grabbing papers from my desk, I continue shoving
them into my bag in an effort to avoid acknowledging the large, hot presence at
my side. ‘Is this a social call or are you actually here for something?’ My
tone could be described as arsey at best.
‘Pleasure, definitely.’ I think he’s still
staring at my shoes, though I’m fairly certain it’s not a covetous thing. ‘I’m
here to call in a debt.’
‘Oh?’ Pushing my hair behind my ears, my eyes
rise in enquiry. He’s an accountant then?
‘Your rain-check. I’m here to take you for
coffee.’
‘Coffee?’
‘That’s correct. A word of two syllables. A
social lubricant.’
I swallow, hopefully not audibly. ‘With you?’
‘You’re enthusiasm knows no bounds,’ he replies
in a tone as dry as toast.
‘But that’s . . .
that’s not a debt.’
‘A promise is most certainly a debt,’ he teases
warmly. But there’s something else there in his words, an
undercurrent of steel causing goose bumps to break out across my arms. A man who’s unused to being turned down.
‘I didn’t promise.’ Eyes down, I continue my bag
filling quest. ‘And I really don’t think it would be a good idea.’
‘The promise was definitely implied.’
‘I think you’ll find it was inferred,’ I reply
with a snort. Great. So now I snort.
‘And,’ he adds, ignoring me, ‘you seem far too nice a person to hurt my
feelings. As for it being a good idea, how do you know without trying?’
‘I don’t think I need to try you.’ I wish I could swallow the words at once; press
rewind, suck them back in.
‘I come with a satisfaction guarantee.’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ I add quickly.
‘Just coffee,’ he replies, now sounding sincere.
‘Nothing nefarious. I promise.’
‘Sorry. Like I said, I’m busy. Flat out.’
‘Interesting choice of words. But busy . . . sharpening . . . copious amounts
of pencils?’ Lifting the almost industrial sized electric sharpener out of my
hands, he turns it in his own. It’s about then that I notice the almost bare
surface of my desk. ‘A serious business, I’m sure.’
As I raise my head, his gaze hits mine, serious
eyes staring down. I’ve suddenly run out of words, every beat of my heart pounding
so hard, it has to be audible.
Placing the sharpener back, he stands.
‘I’ll even carry your bag.’
‘You’re pretty full of yourself.’
Smiling lopsidedly, his eyes travel the length
of my body again. ‘You know what they say,
one minute a cock.’
‘And the next just a bit of a dick,’ I mutter.
‘Ouch.’ He laughs softly, rubbing a hand across
his delightfully stubbled chin. ‘I believe the aphorism goes, and the next a feather duster
. . .’ He sounds almost hurt as his words trail away.
Oh, bugger. So much for not mistaking his
intent. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘To injure my pride?’ His tone matches a
perfectly arched brow.
‘No! Of course not. I don’t even know you, I
wouldn’t presume—’
‘You can tell me how sorry you are over that
drink.’
Not that
upset, then. ‘I told you, I can’t.
Coffee or otherwise.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Does it matter?’ I ask, exasperation and my
hands rising before me.
‘Boyfriend, girlfriend? Significant other?’
‘Girl? What, because I’m not interested, I’m
gay?’ My face burns and all I can think is what
says gay about me today? Surely this isn’t the right response.
‘I didn’t say you weren’t interested. Reluctant,
but interested,’ he asserts, masking a smile. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’
‘I don’t see what it has to do with you.’
‘Obstacles, Kate,’ he says suddenly serious.
Like an egg and spoon race or the one in the sack? No, the one with the
sack! ‘I like to know where I stand.’
‘Why should I be interested in where you hang?
Stand! I mean stand.’ My eyes flick involuntarily to where they shouldn’t before
darting away. Interested, so interested but reluctant, he got that
right.
‘To the left, if you feel you must know, and
slightly—’
‘Is this how you talk to women you barely know?’
Talk about degeneration.
‘I think you must be a bad influence.’
‘And I think you must be delusional,’ I retort,
straightening my blouse.
‘Because I’m back to being a prick, it seems.’
He exhales audibly, ruffling a hand through his
gorgeous hair, not that I noticed at all. As he falls silent, I tip my head to
peer at him, fascinated by the conflicting emotions playing and fading across
his face: exasperation, annoyance and eventually, a hesitant sort of confusion.
‘What have you got to lose?’
Dignity? Pride? Undies?
His hand rises quite suddenly
between us as he runs the tip of one finger against my face. He’s so close that
for a mad moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, my breath halting as desire,
swift and treacherous, blooms inside. He’s
going to kiss me and I think I’m going to let him. Then his hand lowers,
sort of hesitantly, before plucking one of the humiliatingly many pencils
sticking from the top of my bag. He begins to write on my yellow notepad, the
only item left on my desk. As pen touches
paper, his finger sparkles in the light, sprinkled
with glitter.
‘My number,’ he
murmurs, placing the folded paper in my hand. ‘Think about it. You owe me for
saving you, at least.’
‘Why do I feel you’re not going to leave me alone
until I say yes?’ My voice is soft, lacking in
strength and conviction as I stare at the folded note.
‘Because you’re a very astute judge of character.’
A smile leaks from his tone as he turns to leave, his
words echoing in the empty room. Staring at the paper in my hand, my heart
sinks. I fold it once more and tear it in half, because I know his words
couldn’t be farther from the truth.
