Page 8 of King of Hearts

“Thank you, Graham.” I followed him to a lift located slightly separate to the others and watched as he swiped his card against a sensor opening the doors. “Are we going to the floor allocated to the Hearts?”

“The Hearts? No, dear. This is a residential building. This lift will take you to Mr Gloss’ apartment.” He held his palm out, gesturing for me to enter. In the mirrored walls I could see the look of shock on my own face and hastily schooled my features, however, not before I saw Graham’s smirking face. I turned to look at him as he again swiped a card attached to his keys before stepping back into the foyer.

“I shall see you later, Ms. Frost.”

Stunned into silence, I watched as the doors closed, my paler than normal reflection staring back at me as my stomach twisted into knots. I swiped my hands down my skirt, straightened my clothing and took a quick look at my hair. I was glad I put effort into my presentation today given the level of finesse in the building alone.

This lift willtake you to Mr. Gloss’ apartment.

Surely this was not normal in the world of sports journalism. Marlee said he never gave interviews yet here I was at hishouse? My thoughts swirled as the lift stopped at the penthouse and I exited, noticing there was only one door ahead and it was marked with the number one. The single gold numeral contrasted with the black decor lining the short hallway and I looked around confused. I suddenly felt nauseous and a little peeved at Darren because self-doubt was new for me, yet here I was feeling uncertain. Why was I being sent to do another meeting, at someone’s house, in a place I had never been? I was an editor for goodness’ sake. Was this even safe? I knew nothing about this man let alone the safety protocols around something like this.

Like the foyer, there was a chandelier, although much smaller in appearance and I looked towards it as I inhaled a deep breath, composing my features. Taking the final few steps, I knocked on the door. There was no room for nerves now, I needed to perform and get Dickhead Darren the feature he was hoping for or I could kiss my future in the industry behind. Adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder, I listened as the footsteps on the other side got louder and braced myself for what was sure to be one very interesting hour.

The view from Andy’s balcony was incredible, providing a picturesque sight of the entire city, including the actual harbour. From where I stood, as far from the ledge as possible, the deck itself was equally as stunning with a large jacuzzi, two sleek chaise lounges and an outdoor cooking area fitted with a barbeque, kitchenette and bar. I was awestruck.

Was this how the other half lived because it really made my closet bedroom and shared bathroom all the more pitiful. I wanted to take photos to show Marlee but thought against it given this was the biggest moment of my career, and unlike last time, I didn’t want to provide my interviewee with any reason to reserve his right to remain silent. Indignantly, I wondered if his inability to communicate extended to his little social interactions with the numerous women he dated or whether it was just with me.

From the small parts of the apartment I had seen as we walked through to the balcony, he appeared to be living a very bachelor-esque existence. There were no framed photos lining the walls, nor any hints of warmth through decorative ornaments. The only indication of life was the near empty water bottle I spotted on the coffee table inside sitting next to a bowl of what appeared to be pretzels. The outdoor area where I now waited was also void of anything to suggest anyone else had been here recently. If I lived here, I am not sure I would ever leave. It was beautiful.

When Andy first opened the door, I was quickly reminded of his overwhelming stature. I wasn’t short by anyone’s standards, but he towered over me and was shockingly broad. Football did well for him, and I almost told him so until I looked up into his eyes and noted the devastatingly gorgeous features staring blankly at me. He had visited a barber since the last time I saw him as the sides of his hair appeared shorter and the length, visible only from the back, was blended in neatly.

“Hi.” He said before clearing his throat. “Argh, come in I guess.” There was an uncomfortable tension in the air but I definitely wasn’t late so it couldn’t have been that causing his rude salutation. Not to mention he organised this entire thing, so I was slightly baffled and instantly on the defensive although conscious not to visually depict this. He stepped aside, indicating I should enter and I smiled half-heartedly before stopping awkwardly just as he closed the door behind me. We stood frozen, both expecting something although I couldn’t label exactly what.

“Thank you for having me, you have a beautifulhome?” I said, breaking the silence as my words emphasised my shock over the location of our meeting.

He harrumphed in reply and I dumbfoundingly looked around. The entryway smelt perennially fresh with a hint of evergreen and my olfactory system high-fived my lady parts. The wicked smells of leather and masculinity briefly took me back to a day a few months ago when I was very hungover, in a change-room full of footballers, and this same man stood before me. It was enough to remind me that it had been nearly twelve freaking months since a man touched me.

“It smells really good in here.” The words spewed from me before I had the decency to filter my habitually troublesome mouth and I felt my eyes widen in horror.

“If I recall correctly, it’s the smell of sin, right?” My gaze darted to his and for a second I saw humour dancing in his eyes. My cheeks flushed as I realised he must have heard my comment when we first met. And he remembered it.

Fantastic start, Arna. Really professional.

He reappeared on the balcony, halting my internal recollection of our awkward encounter only moments ago. I moved to sit on one of the discreetly placed stools he pointed towards and took the bottle of water he held out for me.

“Thanks. I must admit I was surprised when Darren informed me I was meeting with you today.” I took a sip of the drink and opened my notebook ready to write anything and everything given how little I brought back with me following our first meeting.

“Darren’s your boss, yeah?”

“That’s the one. He is the editor-in-chief at Pulse.” I positioned myself more comfortably, crossing one leg over the other, noticing the way Andy followed the move with his eyes. Despite the warmer weather, he wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a short sleeved black shirt which hugged his muscled biceps. His hat casually sat backwards covering the longer parts of his soft brown hair I’d seen from photographs online. With one arm on the bar beside him and the other resting on his thigh, he was the picture of confidence and it was clear being in his own space was a comfort. When I brought my gaze up to meet his own, his eyes were narrowed, and I realised I had very clearly just been caught checking him out.

My cheeks flamed as a stark reminder of exactly why I was here flashed through my mind in the form of an irate Darren. Regardless of how hungry Barbara was, I was working and it was crucial I remembered that.

“So, I guess we should begin. Do you mind if I record the interview on my phone?” I reached for my bag but Andy’s hand on mine halted my movement.

“No recording!” He snapped, jerking his hand back suddenly as if he didn’t intend to touch me – for the second time since we had met. I maintained my stoic mask despite my alarm at both the severity of his tone and the fizzle still prickling my skin from his touch. Surely it wasn’t normal to have such a visceral reaction to the mere trace of his skin against mine.

“Write whatever notes you need, but I don’t want to be recorded.” He sighed. “Please.” His manners seemingly an afterthought as he internally battled with something.

“No problem. I will just take notes.” I spluttered, so many things racing through my mind.

What hadhappened to this guy to make him hate this processso emphatically?

I moved my hand across the paper straightening the crisp page and cleared my throat wishing the hour away. The irony of now having a multitude of questions, none aligned with why I was here, almost made me laugh. But it was time for efficient Arna to take the reins because once I got through my pre-planned questions, I could leave.

Sitting up straighter I assumed a practised efficiency. “Because this is a feature, we have an hour allocated today.” My tone was formal and I found myself relaxing as I adopted the persona I saved for when I was working. “I don’t want to impede you and I assume the Hearts keep you very booked, but would it be okay if we secured another session? A feature requires a more fastidious approach than say a post-match interview where the focus is around the outcome of the game rather than you. And we both know I clearly don’t have a depth of understanding of either.” I was going for light, clearly missing the mark, judging by the sheer vexation lining his features. Nervously taking another sip of water, I checked my watch, realising I was already fifteen minutes into our meeting and still staring at a blank page.

Chapter Six

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