Now it’s her turn to look alarmed. “You want to change jobs?”
“No,” I say with a scoff like that’s a silly thing to assume. I watch as Jillie’s features relax. It’s satisfying that I’m still able to mask what I’m really thinking on demand. “Anyway, let’s taste the last three plates here so we can go. Your lunch break’s almost up.”
“Maybe you and Keats can drive to Mt Coot-tha after your lesson next week and make out.” Jillie sounds totally sold on this idea as she chews on the fluffiest-looking sponge cake I have ever seen. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told her about my upcoming non-date with Keats. She’s bad for my sense of reality.
“Yeah, right—not gonna happen. For one, he’s not interested in me at all. He’s only letting me near his precious car because of our deal about Isabella. And two, he thinks I’m sleeping with a Neil, remember?”
“Neil the Mailman is so into you,” Jillie says.
There are two Neils in our building that we know of. One is Neil the Mailman, a rotund guy who works in the mail room. He’s been taking his sweet time delivering mail to reception in recent weeks, eager to chat me up.
The other Neil is one of the executives who works for the PR firm in our building. For the longest time until we found out his real name, Jillie and I referred to him only as my Baby Daddy. As in whenever he walks in the lobby, Jillie would give me a nudge and sometimes a little too loudly, say, “Hey, Jess, there’s your Baby Daddy,” because she said one time that if anyone could convince me to have kids, it would be him. Now we call him, Baby Daddy Neil.
Some nineteen-year-olds are mature. Jillie is not one of them. It’s probably why we click. I’m lacking in maturity myself.
“No thanks.” There’s a contradiction here, I know—I want a hot guy not to be so critical of my looks but I want a free pass on being shallow. But I rationalise that the real reason Neil the Mailman turns me off is he’s too eager—aloofness is much sexier. I’m sure a shrink would say I set myself up for rejection. “I still can’t believe I told Keats I sleep with ‘Neil’. He’ll think I sleep around.”
“But you do sleep around.”
“Not for a few months now, and not with anyone named Neil.”
“You could fix that. Oh, shit, I’ve got the best idea to get you laid by Baby Daddy Neil and then it wouldn’t be a lie anymore!”
***
I relax my hand when I realise I’m creasing the business-size envelope in it. Why do I listen to Jillie? I’m the older one. I shouldn’t allow myself to be peer pressured into stupid stunts. I don’t even have alcohol to blame this time.
But I’m already in the lift on the way to the thirty-fourth floor. I’ve committed myself to it now, so I square my shoulders and try to look like I belong on that floor as the elevator doors open to office space that is all glass and chrome and views of the Brisbane City skyline. Everywhere I turn, very presentable men and women with no excess body fat are zipping around looking very busy.
Oh. My. God. I’ve reached the Hot Floor. How does anyone get any work done around here? But maybe they’re all just so used to being gorgeous, they don’t even notice it anymore?
I spot a woman in a tailored grey and black outfit chatting to an equally attractive guy in a grey suit while they stare at a computer screen together. Every now and again, her elbow ever so slightly touches his, and his lips would quirk every time.
Flirt central. I’ve hit the mother lode.
“Can I help you?” I look to my left and notice a sleek woman behind a shiny semi-circle reception desk.
Shit. I forgot they have their own reception desk here. Whenever a call comes through downstairs for the people up here, we just redirect to one number. Duh, Jess. I have not accounted for this hurdle. The envelope in my hand crinkles as my grip tightens around the now-abused-looking missive.
“Yes.” God, this place makes me feel extra fat. I feel like I’m ambling as I walk over to her. “We accidentally got one of your staff’s letters. Um,” I check the name on the envelope like I hadn’t charmed it off Neil the Mailman specifically so I have an excuse to come up here, “Neil McReedy.” Baby Daddy Neil even has a cute name. I wouldn’t mind being Jess McReedy. It would be an improvement from Haugen. But not from McAllister.
Oh wait. I’m not planning to get married.
“Neil. Yes, I’ll give that to him.”
I bet you would.
She reaches for the envelope and has to tug it out of my grip.
“Is there anything else?” she asks in a friendly enough manner.
“No.” I give the office another sweep with my eyes—no Neil McReedy in sight, and everyone so gorgeous and professional—I don’t belong up here. But I want to. “Nice offices.”
She grins and nods. “Thanks. And thanks for bringing Neil’s letter up.”
“No worries.” I turn to leave.
Well, this was a bust, but I guess I got to see the natural habitat of Baby Daddy Neil. I stab the elevator call button, feeling awkward just standing there with my back to the friendly receptionist while I wait for the lift. When the elevator doors open, I hit the Lobby button and press the Close Doors one like I’m playing a pinball machine.
Come on doors, close already. If I was being chased by a murderer, I would be dead now.
When the elevator eventually moves, I lean against the back with a sigh. I catch my reflection on the shiny doors in front of me.
