Page 28 of Muddy Messy Love

Me:

Well, I am the naughty one, though I can’t take full credit. I had two accomplices. How about you? Do anything special last night?

Alarm bells scream.The naughty one?I literally facepalm. Did I really just send that?For fuck’s sake, Avery, slow down and think. You’re talking to your boss here.But he doesn’t feel like my boss right now, and I’m high on panic and uncharacteristically chatty.

Cole Benedict:

Me? No. I’d like to say working until 2 a.m. is special, but it’s not. That’s normal for me.

Me:

Another workaholic. Must be a hazard of the trade. Does it ever get lonely?

I crunch my molars. From silliness to inappropriate prying in two seconds flat. Don’t worry, I’ll kill myself later.

Cole Benedict:

Actually, it gets peaceful. Alone is my favourite time to be at work.

Peaceful. NowthatI understand.

I reread his words, feeling like he’s shown me a warm glimmer of the man beneath the suit. Why? I don’t know—the fact he’s even texting me is mind-boggling—but it appears Mr. Benedict might be an introvert like me. A thoughtful, open one who doesn’t shy away from inappropriate questions about his emotional state from some strange girl he met yesterday. Maybe Icanfix this.

I take a deep breath to conjure calm and this time think hard before hitting send.

Me:

I really am sorry about that text. And I’m truly grateful for the phone. Thank you. I won’t say you shouldn’t have because no one means that anyway.

Then I hold my breath and wait.

Cole Benedict:

Don’t worry, and you’re welcome.

See you Monday. 8 a.m.

Don’t be late… Naughty One.

Seven

The home of BenedictKane is heritage sleek and five storeys high with arched colonial windows and snow-white corbels. It’s a serene piece of yesteryear amid modern city chaos and a thirty-minute tram ride away.

I cut through the flow of mindless pedestrians to stop at the foot of six bullnose steps and brass letters spelling “Benedict Kane” on black marble. As I stare up, my stomach is in knots, and my heart pounds loud enough to drown out the peak-hour traffic. The thought of corporate nine-to-five makes me ill, and the prospect of photocopying, filing, and fetching coffee all day suffocates my soul. However, it’s a small price to pay for a clean slate.

With a deep breath, I climb the steps, push against the heavy brass doors, and enter a foyer that oozes sophistication. One where timeless elegance meets the contemporary in a seamless transition. Black-and-white terrazzo chequers the vast floor, rustic brick walls add an edge, and gold accents dazzle.

I approach a long desk behind which sits a woman in her twenties. Her nails are unnaturally long, yet she types at speed, somehow conquering the keys, then scoots away from her screen and lifts her gaze to mine. “Good morning.” She offers a polite smile. “Welcome to Benedict Kane. How may I help you?”

I glance at her name badge—Chantel—then clear the nervous sludge from my throat. “I’m here to see Cole Benedict.”

“Do you have an appointment, Ms.—?”

“Masters.” I clench the strap of my handbag tighter. “He told me to ask for him.”

“One moment, please.” Chantel picks up the phone and singsongs into the handset, “I have a Ms. Masters here for Mr. Benedict.” Pausing, she looks back at me and smiles. “Certainly.” She hangs up and motions to a regal lounge area dressed in burgundy and deep-buttoned leather. “If you’ll take a seat behind you, Mr. Benedict will be down shortly.”

“Thank you,” I say before following her instructions.

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