Page 33 of Sass

I gave him a slow smile. “Oh, I dunno. There’s always a key around, somewhere.” We stared at each other for a long minute as we seemed wont to do, all too frequently.

Leon grinned and shook his head. “You’re a wicked temptation, but I assure you, I’m not that easy to unlock.”

I held those electric eyes. “Wouldn’t be any fun if you were.”

He chuckled. “Have a good night.” He grabbed his wet jacket from the tarp and stopped to read the label on the large can of paint sitting just inside the door. “Mmm. Burnt sienna.” He looked back with a broad smile in place. “An excellent choice.”

I threw my pencil at him and he laughed and headed for the stairs. And I absolutely did not lean forward in my seat and crane my neck to watch that glorious arse bunch and stretch with every step. No sir, not me.

What I definitelydiddo was spend an hour mulling over what he’d said about me. A bitchy part of my brain hated that Leon had so easily intuited all of that, so easily seeing past the me I wore on the surface, to what lay beneath. Fake it till you make it. Never let them see the whites of your eyes. Never show fear. Never show hurt. Be someone else, someone better, someone who didn’t give a shit.

Be. Someone. Else.

There’d been a time when doing that had meant the difference between surviving and drowning. When it had saved my sanity.

But Jesus Christ, when had it become a mantra for my life?

So maybe Leon had a point.

The endless second-guessing of myselfwasn’tme. And if I was already doing the job, as Leon thought, then maybe I should just fucking own it. And to do that, I needed a plan. A plan, not a problem. I jotted a few more ideas on the paper in front of me, more as jumping-off points than genuine solutions. The answer wasn’t as easy as swapping to another manufacturer because, without an existing relationship, getting an order expedited would be almost impossible. And it didn’t solve the issue of the fabric itself.

So, the first thing to do was get Rhys to choose another fabric. Not ideal, but there couldn’t be any manufacturing solution without that change. There was no choice.

The second thing was to find another manufacturer who could get the job done in time. That ruled out all the main competitors whose production schedules would already be full, including those offshore. The time suck in transport alone ruled out the latter. Which left local.

And then I remembered.Holy shit.I yanked open the drawers of Rhys’s desk one at a time, but he’d emptied them all before he left, so I checked the service desk drawers as well, but still nothing.

I stopped and brought up the memory. A woman had come into the store in the lunch hour while Rhys was out. She was starting her own manufacturing business and was touting for clients. I hadn’t really paid attention because we had our contracts locked in, but I’d taken her card.

It was a long shot. A really, really long shot, especially with the standard we needed. But she’d had a strong tailoring background, so who knew? It was better than the nothing I’d had five minutes before. Being a newcomer, she might still have room on her books, especially for an up-and-coming label like Flare, which could cement her name in the business. I’d have to get a sample done, but at least it was something. If only I could find the damn card and promotion leaflet.

I headed for the kitchen where we kept magazines and other trade information to peruse during our breaks. Halfway through the stack, I found it.

Heather Brady. Eden Clothing and Textiles.

Yes!I fist pumped the air, shoved the card in my satchel, and grabbed my coat. I’d call the next day. I paused at the foot of the stairs as some kind of bluesy guitar music floated down from the flat. Then I recognised Leon’s voice and a smile bloomed on my face. He was surprisingly good, and it struck me how much I didn’t know about him. Unlike what he seemed to know about me.

Not that I needed to knowanything.The whole flirting thing happening between us was clearly making me twitchy, that’s all. And once I convinced Leon to fuck, that would put an end to all the stupid bullshit rattling in my brain. We’d be friends and life would go on.

I glanced up at the ceiling and shook my head. Enough. I set the alarm and headed out the back door, gasping into the buffeting wind as the rain slashed like tiny knives across my face. In twenty metres, my hair clung to my scalp like a pile of limp noodles while rivers of water trailed icy fingers down my back. Welcome to spring in Auckland.

I threw my satchel and coat onto Delilah’s passenger seat and slammed the door, cursing the rain splatters all over my fancy leather seats. Grabbing a towel from the back, I mopped it up as best I could, then while I warmed my baby’s turbo, I stole a glance at the upstairs window of Leon’s flat only to find it dark.Don’t be an idiot.

I dragged my gaze away and scrolled through my playlists, deciding Glass Animals at ear-splitting volume was exactly what I needed. And when Delilah was purring nicely, I headed up the alley and out onto the rain-slick streets, my wipers fighting a losing battle, the neon signs of a rain-drenched city reflecting strobe-like over the wet tarmac.

Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the carpark of the three-storey, art deco apartment building where I rented a one-bedroom corner unit. Tiny but perfectly formed, and all mine. I pulled into my parking space and groaned at the fifty-metre dash that stretched between my car and the entrance, none of it covered. Art deco buildings didn’t come with underground parking, go figure. But the inconvenience was well worth the joy it gave my thirsty soul to trace those simple crisp architectural lines and to feel part of something special.

I clutched my satchel to my chest, took a deep breath, and hoofed it to the foyer, holding my key fob over my head to lock Delilah as I ran. I landed ankle deep in more than one puddle on the poorly lit path, soaking my shoes and trousers all the way to my knees. When I at last made it to the double glass doors, I yanked on the brass handle and practically fell into the foyer.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I gasped, shaking the rain from my hair.

“I see some things don’t change.”

My head snapped up at the familiar voice, and a groan escaped my lips. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Still cursing our maker, I see.” My older brother wore a wry smile as he sauntered down the last few steps of the staircase, presumably on his way down from my apartment on the first floor. At six feet to my five seven, with short dark hair, an athletic build, and penetrating brown, almost-black eyes, George took after our father. I, on the other hand, was definitely my mother’s son—auburn, fine-boned, and about as much use on a rugby field as a pair of Jimmy Choos on a hike. The two of us couldn’t look any more different.

I didn’t bother wondering how he’d found me; George had always been resourceful. A few more minutes and I’d have missed him. It really, really wasn’t my day.

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