Page 10 of Chic Steel

His wallet goes in my bag and I grab my keys, check in with the staff before I leave them, and head to my car.

Destination: The city.

I avoid the city like the plague. It’s loud and there are always lots of people around, and yes, The Esplanade leads to a tourist beach, but the vibe’s different to the city. More relaxed. Less rushed.

And parking isn’t as hard or as stressful. Why have they blocked all the parking spots on the road? Does his building have a car park? Am I allowed to park there? Considering his business card’s embossed, I’m gonna go with no.

Finally, I find a parking building and pay a ridiculous amount of money to park there. The stench of petrol and rubbish assault my senses when I step out of the building, and I scrunch my nose. Been here five minutes and I already miss the smell of the sea.

The map tells me to turn left, so I head that way. What the map didn’t tell me was I’d have to walk up a hill. A steep hill with people rushing down it in business attire I have to dodge while clutching my bag.

When I reach the top, I’m panting and my bra’s damp. The one day I wear a bra and I sweat through it. Don’t even need a bra; there’s nothing to support, but I didn’t want everyone staring at my piercings. Not in the city.

I round the corner, and the map tells me I’ve reached my destination. “Should have just emailed him,” I mutter.

The building’s large, with revolving doors and looks like a hotel. Maybe it is. I push through the door and stumble out the other side. Why can I never time it right? Why can’t they use a normal push door? Is the goal to make people look stupid?

My sneakers squeak on the polished tiles as I aim for the lift. The card said floor fifteen. Will I need a scan card to get there?

The button lights up when I push it and the doors roll shut and my heart beats faster. I’m not expecting to see him, but what if he’s there? Or what if he doesn’t want me at his work? My mouth’s dry, and my breathing is loud in the empty lift.

I jolt when it stops.

The lift doors open, and I step tentatively into a reception area. There’s a seating area to the right and a hallway straight ahead with frosted glass doors along it.

“Can I help you?”

I cringe and jerk my head to the left where there’s a reception desk and a woman with blonde hair behind it.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, sorry. I didn’t notice you.”

She smiles at me and tilts her head, eyes catching on my earrings. “Oh, you must be Ella. You can go on in.”

“Huh?” Go where?

“His office. He said to send you straight in. Down the hall, last door on the left.” She points the directions and smiles at me.

How did he know I was coming? And how does she know what I look like? I smile at her, but it feels more like a grimace, and walk towards the office.

None of this makes sense.

Does he know I have his wallet? How? Has he spoken to his receptionist about me? Doesn’t explain how she knows what I looked like. There aren’t any photos of me on my website, and I barely use social media, which means he described me to her. Well enough that she recognised me.

My hands dampen and tremble. I reach the last frosted glass door on the left.

I knock.

“Come in,” a deep voice says.

I breathe deeply and turn the handle.

4

OLIVER

“Ella’s heading your way,”Charlotte says over the intercom.

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