Page 15 of People Skills

‘Me neither,’ I say.

He asks no further questions and this feels like a kindness too. We sit in silence, and I am only vaguely aware of Xavier—I’m too busy imagining Hillary and Grady talking inside. The way I rushed away from them mid-conversation would have left Hillary confused, and Grady will probably take it upon himself to give her every single horrific detail of my downfall, making me sound like an incompetent fool. Or worse, someone to be pitied. I never told Hillary I was made redundant from Jones & Peterson. I simply said I left. My resumé just has a start and end date for my time there. I didn’t provide any references from Jones & Peterson.

And Grady won’t say I was made redundant. He’ll say I was fired. Because, really, I can spin it however I like, but that’s the truth. I was, essentially, fired.

The Monday-morning meeting with Hillary is blinking in my brain like an alarm. She could be deciding right now, at this very moment, after her conversation with Grady, that she won’t keep me on, that I’m not who she thought I was. She could be completely re-evaluating everything she knows about me. Everything I’ve done until this moment could be worth nothing. Another assistant bites the dust.

The panic in my mind is a high keen now.

And Caleb is off in New York, at some fancy new job, while I lose another one—while I can’t even make it as an assistant—

No, don’t think of Caleb.

Calm down. I can fix this. I just need a way to impress Hillary. Or a way to make her feel she absolutely can’t let me go.

I look over at Xavier and realise the answer is sitting right here. Xavier and all his worldly belongings in those suitcases, without a house, or a car, in a weakened state of mind. This man is perfectly, wonderfully helpless and homeless. I just need to swoop in and give him an offer he can’t refuse. Tether him to me like a life vest.

I take a moment to make my face look normal, relaxed. No ulterior motive here at all. No lunatic bubbling underneath a calm exterior. No one is setting any traps.

‘I’m sorry to hear about you and Lana,’ I say.

I can tell he’s trying to keep his face from reacting when I mention her, but I can see it, the reaction, a slight movement in his lip, a look in his eyes.

‘Yeah, it’s been pretty awful,’ he says.

‘Are you going to be staying with Hillary for a while?’ There is no way in hell he’ll survive more than three days with her.

‘Yeah. I guess so. Just until I figure out somewhere else to go. I don’t really have a plan.’

‘You know,’ I say. Deep breath. Be casual. Be very casual. This is the leap-of-faith part of the plan. ‘I’ve been looking for a housemate. You could stay with me, rent my spare room for a month, or two, if you like. I live in that white cottage on

St Andrew’s Avenue, near the old church.’

Because if Xavier is living with me, it would be far too awkward for Hillary to fire me. He can be my shield. And the needing a housemate part isn’t even untrue. Despite my job paying pretty well, and Hillary helping me get a good rent deal, I am still paying for a two-bedroom house by myself. Finances are tight. When I first moved here, I quickly realised finding a housemate in this town, which is filled with young families and retirees and tourists, was not going to be easy. There just aren’t that many single twenty- or thirty-somethings who want to house-share.

‘Oh,’ he says. He’s looking at me like I might be slightly insane. Like I just asked him on a date or something. My big leap of faith is failing. I haven’t made the distance, I am crashing down the cliff.

‘Just a random idea,’ I say, backtracking.

‘No, it’s a really nice offer,’ he says. He’s placating me. How embarrassing.

‘Well, think about it,’ I say, deeply regretting saying anything.

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘But I think I’ll crash at Mum’s tonight and then head back to Melbourne and figure something out. This town isn’t really my scene.’

Ugh. His scene? Grow up, I think. But I nod and smile. ‘Fair enough. Well, I need to go and help Jamila take photos, so…’ I stand up. ‘It was nice finally meeting you,’ I say.

‘You too,’ he says. ‘Thanks for the lift. And the hospitality. Sorry about…eating dim sims in your car. And being hungover.’

‘You’re welcome. And that’s fine.’

I turn and walk away, my cheeks burning. I have just careered from one humiliating conversation straight into another. Suddenly, talking to Grady is looking almost appealing.

I pull my shoulders back and steel myself. Everything is fine. It’s good that Xavier said no. Because what was I actually thinking? I don’t want to live with a stranger, let alone a guy who is clearly circling the drain in every way. I was asking out of panic. And I know from years of playing chess that decisions made from panic never go well. I just need to stick to the game plan. I have a strategy in place—to be the best assistant Hillary has ever had. I will go back inside and put on my work face and pretend Grady Anderson was never here, pretend I never asked Xavier anything, pretend I am not worried about the Monday-morning meeting in the slightest.

I have enough to deal with—Xavier is a problem I don’t need to solve.

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