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Chris said, “Big swinging dick,” and looked directly at Anthony who was two workstation pods over. He looked up and frowned and Bree’s cheeks got hot.
“Shut up, Chris. I don’t want to make a thing of it.”
“You’re not. He’s the one with the problem. I bet he’s your classic wog boy. Mamma’s favourite, never lifted a finger at home, walks on water. Thinks women belong in the kitchen cooking his dinner or with an iron in their hand, fixing his shirts. Shame really.”
“What’s the shame part? He’ll get the next Senior Analyst spot. Half of me thinks he should’ve had this one. He’s smart. I think they only gave it to me because I’m good for their equal opportunity stats.”
Chris rocked forward. “Are you kidding me?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Not if you’re going to be an idiot. You don’t seriously think he’s a better operator than you?”
Bree sighed. Apart from her time at the stadium for the bout, when there wasn’t a second to think about anything other than how to block the jammer and stop the Hurley Burleys scoring, that’s all Bree had been thinking about: why she got the job and not Anthony.
He was smart, quick, insightful and worked hard. If he was a Mamma’s boy she’d given him a strong work ethic. And she’d give him lovely dark eyes, and really broad shoulders, and a heck of a physique under his European suits. Not acknowledging Anthony was sexy in his dark brooding way was as hard as learning to snow plough on wheels.
“I think we’re about even and I got a free pass because I wear heels,” she said softly, aware that the office was at full complement now and they could easily be overheard.
Bree’s chair jerked sideways as Chris grabbed the arm and pulled it close. “If I thought that was the case I’d be the first one to complain to Doug. Office sisters or not, if they’re handing out promotions for shoes with heels I want my piece. But I don’t think that. I think you rock. You’re so much more focussed and intuitive than me. I’ve got a good memory, but I can’t make the analytical links you do so easily. If I was to rank the whole team, it’s you, then Anthony, then me, then who cares. So, I don’t want to hear you talk about being undeserving again, okay?”
Bree used her feet in her favourite stilettos, red with six inch zebra stripped heels that she’d designed herself and had made online, to walk her chair more squarely under her desk. “Only if you keep your voice down.”
Chris went quiet, except for the clacking of her fingers on her keyboard. Bree leant towards Chris’ portion of their shared workstation often referred to as the hen house by the office roosters. “What was a shame then?”
Chris kept her eyes down and her voice soft. “He’s probably a sex god. I get distracted thinking about what he looks like out of those immaculate suits.”
Bree folded her lips into her mouth to stop from laughing. “You’re married,” she hissed.
“The spot prices on rare minerals are over inflated,” said Chris, looking up as Doug passed behind them. She waited then said, “I’m allowed to look. I just wish I was you.”
“Sorry, there isn’t that much extra money with the new title.”
“Not that, dopey.” Chris handed her a minerals pricing prediction report she knew Bree had already read. “You get to touch.”
Bree snatched the report and brought it up to her face to shield the blush she knew would staining her face a toxic shade of salmon. There was no way she could touch Anthony. But Kitty Caruso could. Kitty was all about positioning and manoeuvring, all about opportunity and follow through and since Anthony Gambese was a sex god maybe it was time for Kitty to come out to play.
She peeked over the top of the report to where he sat. He really was swoon worthy, except for the wog boy entitlement and surly tempered brooding, the zombie got your tongue act, and the walking embodiment of pissed off.
And that fact that those attributes were no longer in her repertoire of essentials for a partner.
She almost laughed. Apart from what he looked like and how he operated at work she knew nothing about him. He might be gay for all she knew. A handsome, brooding, talented Mamma’s boy, gay analyst—but not The Senior Analyst—yet.
But everything roller derby had taught her about studying your opponent she figured she needed now, because there were only four weeks to go in the share portfolio comp, and if Anthony sex god Gambese thought he was going to walk away with the prize he’d better suit up and put his knee pads on because Kitty Caruso was coming through.
3: Puce
Did it matter that your seventy-five year old Nonna was already thinking about bonbonniere for wedding guests?
Did it matter that for about fifteen minutes, the fifteen minutes in which Ant had watched the new, improved, knock your heart into defib, Antonia Pagano work her way around to greeting him, that he agreed with Nonna’s choice of thought pattern.
Whatever he remembered of Toni was a deleted file. This woman in the white dress with the angelic face, bright smile and designer body, going by the same name was something else entirely. She was the whole file server. The whole mainframe.
For that fifteen minutes, Ant was Dan when he danced with Alex, transported to a place where only the two of them mattered. He was Mitch when he got Belinda back and realised he had a second chance. He was Fluke when he held Carlie’s hand and knew she wanted more. He was every man who’d ever seen a vision of his future happiness across a crowded suburban backyard.
And for the next half hour that vision floated in front of him like a promise of something better than mates, and work, surfing and European cars, as Toni told him about working in London. She wasn’t some backpacker living wage to wage, she was a qualified chef and her last contract had been with the Australian embassy. Why didn’t someone tell him that? How could he not have known how great she was? He could smell barbeque, but taste heaven. He could see beauty but hear Church bells ringing. He didn’t even care how his insta-lust would make the boys laugh because he and Toni would be perfect together. They had history without even trying, family ties to support them. A shared sense of how to go about making a life together and Jesus Christ she was beautiful.
And then it all came undone – spectacularly. Humiliation had a colour and it was puce. Ant wasn’t even sure what colour puce was, just the sound of the word, the way it forced your lips apart to say it was enough to make him settle on it as the colour to describe how he felt.
