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‘I’m out tonight.’
‘No problem. I’ll sit outside and wait for you.’
She’s not being sarcastic; she means it. This girl is running from something. I’ve been there, so I try not to be an arsehole.
‘I can be a little late. I’ll meet you at six thirty.’
‘Thank you.’ She exhales, backing away from me.
‘You should’ve been on the sales team…You didn’t tell me your name?’
‘Ariella.’
She doesn’t extend her hand for a second time. If anything, she inches closer to the door.
‘You should’ve been on the sales team, Ariella.’
‘Maybe,’ she whispers.
Just before she leaves, it hits me.
‘How did you know about the base rent figure? Have you been taking the advert down?’
Her embarrassment is unmistakable when she faces me. She nods slowly. ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘Seriously?! I could’ve rented the room three weeks ago!’
‘I know. And I’m making up for that with the twenty per cent surplus. I really am sorry.’
I don’t need to end our truce with a fight, so I let it go. ‘Thanks for being honest.’
She nods and leaves as quietly as she arrived. I watch her cross the office floor quickly, clutching my address to her chest.
I already know that I am definitely not going to enjoy living with her, but I have to respect the angle she came at this from. This is a business transaction and I am getting a great deal more than I was expecting. I’d already padded the rental price, expecting to be negotiated down, not offered more, so I really can’t complain.
I learned, earlier than most, to focus on the result you want when it comes to getting what you need. Growing up on the wrong side of the tracks, at the tough end of the street in the beautifully jagged city that is Liverpool, will do that to you. You learn very quickly to put personal feelings aside and do whatever is needed to survive. Emotions don’t pay the bills and they sure as hell won’t fund a business. I’d have let Hannibal Lecter move in for twenty per cent over asking—
‘Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?’
Nicole. Shit. This is not going to be good. Nicole is best categorised as one of my ‘friends with benefits’, but the last thing anyone would class her as is friendly. Watching her stand at my office door, wearing that tight little black leather dress I like, paired with red heels, makes me think of her many benefits. Her platinum-blond hair is scraped up, with her glasses perched at the end of her nose. She has done this on purpose. She knows that I have a thing for hot teachers. I have to blink myself to the present.
‘What was what?’ I try to sound casually distracted and, for extra effect, look harder at my computer screen, pretending to focus on something important.
‘Her.’ She points to the events area, looking disgusted. ‘The one with the frizzy hair that dresses like a jockey and acts like she’s too important to talk to the rest of us. What was she doing in here?’
She closes the door firmly behind her and fixes me with one of her stares. I am instantly turned on. Damn.
I know I should have run from Nicole at the Christmas party. I’d been warned. Repeatedly. That night, I had every intention of staying away, but too much booze and what the guys call ‘The Nicole Factor’ depleted my resistance. Before I knew what was going on, I was waking up next to her.
The great thing about friends with benefits is that we know the score and enjoy each other’s company. When we are alone together we have a great time, but we don’t acknowledge each other outside of that neat bubble. Unfortunately, that’s not the case when it comes to Nicole.
‘I thought you said no contact at work,’ she spits, angrily pointing a long black talon as she sits opposite me.
‘And yet, here you are, Nicole,’ I say, exasperated.
‘Are you sleeping with her?’
‘Of course not!’ She’s having a laugh. If I had a type, Ariella would be the opposite.
