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Must not think about Alice, must not think about Alice.
Truthfully, he’d done barely anything else this past… how long? Not even a day. Twelve hours at most since she’d dumped him. Not that he was counting or anything. On the contrary; he was focusing on what the partners had to say, getting his orders like a good recruit—even though, right now, this minute, he couldn’t give a rat’s arse if keeping schtum about Archie’s sordid affair would advance his career.
“The official line on Lauren—” Archie said, then winced and moved his shoulder around in its socket. Clearly the Gucci missile had met more than one mark. It occurred to Aaron that maybe this wasn’t the first time. Maybe Miranda had had previous target practice.
“The official line on Lauren,” Archie repeated with a cough, “is that she’s had some personal issue come up. And that she’ll be working from home for a while.”
“She won’t be disadvantaged in all of this.” Fink was quick off the mark, with a glance at Archie that, for a split second, spelled pure loathing. It was swiftly replaced by the small furrow in his brow that tended to hide whatever was on Fink’s mind.
There was a brief period of silence. Fink stood up and went and opened the door. “Clear?” He lifted a brow in Aaron’s direction.
“Absolutely.” Aaron followed suit. You knew when you were being given your marching orders.
“Good man.” Trojan smiled from behind his desk. “One of our star performers.”
Archie Bendt said nothing at all.
Back at his desk, Aaron surveyed the files, the mess, the billings sheets winking at him from his computer screen. Today’s billings could go to hell. He’d be quite happy to give a few clients a freebie to make up for the exorbitant fees Trojan’s charged.
Aaron picked up his phone and his fingers hovered over contacts. Alice’s number was on speed dial. Had been since a week after he met her all those years ago.
His scalp went tight. What did that tell him? What did that really, truly say about him and Alice?
He screwed up his eyes and clicked the end of his pen until the sound nearly sent him nuts. What did it matter? He’d blown it anyway. And even if he hadn’t, Christ, he didn’t know how to do relationships. Had no idea how to… care about anyone long term.
As if from miles away, he heard Hamish’s concerned voice. “Aaron, you okay there?”
“Sure.” He located a smile from his collection, plastered it on like a clown face. “Just thinking about the new case that came in this morning.”
Hamish’s eyes lit up. “Really, has Bendt won us another scorcher?”
“Yeah.” Aaron looked at Alice’s contact details and flicked back to his screen saver. “You could say that.”
The day dragged interminably. It was only lunch time. Alice hadn’t made contact. By now there should have been a text, the gist of which would be, “I made a mistake. Let’s start where we left off.” It wasn’t like he expected anything too emotional. Alice was eminently sensible; last night had been a weird blip. And, of course, he’d shrug it off. He’d be cool about it all.
Except by 1.30 it hadn’t happened, and he was feeling increasingly flat as he went to relieve himself after god knows how many coffees. He’d also been dodging “where’s Lauren? Has anyone heard from her?” questions all morning and he was sick to his stomach of passing it all off with a shrug. At the urinal, his shoulders tightened as he realised Archie Bendt was using the one next to him. He stared ahead. Archie stared ahead; did a little shake and zipped himself up.
At the sinks, both washing their hands, Archie looked him hard in the eye in the mirror. It wasn’t a friendly look. As he ripped out some paper towels, he leaned forward and examined his swollen lip. “Fucking women, eh?”
Aaron was too gobsmacked to reply.
Archie glared at Aaron’s reflection again, harder this time. “You look like shit, boy. Go take a long lunch break. Charge it to the company card.” With that, Archie strode out.
Aaron looked like shit? You had to ask yourself what Archie Bendt saw when he looked in the mirror.
Half an hour later, Aaron found himself wandering aimlessly around Elizabeth Quay. It was a picture-perfect spring day, the brilliant blue sky reflected in the glassy expanse of the river. Easily warm enough for kids to play in the water fountains, squealing with excitement, while their mums sat nearby and chatted.
Usually, he’d be raring to go, pumping to get on with summer, looking forward to lazy days on the beach, windsurfing when the wind came in and eased the heat in the late afternoon; playing beach volleyball with Carts and Dan and a few other mates…
Beach. Volley. Ball. Aaron ground to a halt, remembering the beach volleyball pitch where he’d first felt the overwhelming urge to kiss Alice. A mere few weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime.
Aaron’s hand trembled around his phone. He needed to go for a run to stop these crazy feelings inside him. Why hadn’t he brought his running gear to work? Because he was too damn tired from not sleeping and playing and replaying his conversation with Alice over and over like a worn-out ribbon of celluloid.
He needed to talk to someone. Dan was no good. He’d just laugh in his goofy embarrassed way and change the subject to rugby. Carts was usually a sympathetic listener, but after last night he didn’t expect much sympathy there. Carts had made it clear whose side he’d be taking.
Aaron rolled his phone over and over in his hand. His palms were sweating.
Normally—ha!—normally…before all this… he’d talk to Alice.
But how could he talk to Alice about his problem with… Alice?
He chewed on the inside of his lip. There was only one person he could confide in. A deep visceral tension churned in his stomach. Around and around, mixing past and present. This person, more than anyone, would likely understand. Surprising, but in his gut he knew it to be true.
Aaron brought up Oliver’s number and put the phone to his ear.
