And of course, there’s Neil McReedy in all his put-together glory, brow raised at my slightly bent over position.
“I lost a contact lens,” I say.
“Oh. You need help to look?” He steps into the elevator before I can answer, bending down to search in the general direction I’m facing.
The door closes behind us. Neil McReedy seems ready to go on the knees of his expensive suit for a better look so I quickly say, “Oh, wait. It just went behind my eyeball.” I fake blinking rapidly like I’ve seen Isabella do to rehydrate her eyes. “There it is. Yes, I’m okay now. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he says with a grin. “I hate contacts—keeps drying up on me. But better than glasses, I suppose.”
I nod and smile back politely. I can’t imagine him with glasses but I bet he would look gorgeous regardless.
“I work at Achieve PR upstairs. I’m Neil.” He extends a hand to me.
I resist the urge to wipe my slightly clammy one on my skirt first. His grip is firm and warm, sending a little buzz up my arm.
“Hi. I’m Jess.”
“You work the front desk in the lobby, right?”
“Right.” I try not to appear too flattered that he remembers me from reception below. Every morning, a lot of the people who work in the building walk like zombies past Jillie and me, like we’re part of the furniture.
“I didn’t know you get to ride the elevators, too.” His easy smile tells me he’s flirting with me, maybe just a little bit.
“Well, actually, I was just up on the thirty-fourth floor, delivering mail we incorrectly got downstairs. Yours, I think.”
Another ping and the lift doors open to reveal the lobby. Neil presses the Open Door button and keeps his thumb there while I exit the lift.
“Really? Well, thanks.” He smiles at me, effortlessly charming.
I shrug. “I had fun riding the elevator. Aren’t you getting out?”
“No. I need to go to the thirtieth floor—you made me forget to press the button.” He flashes me a wry smile.
“Well, have fun riding the lift.”
He nods, still smiling. “See you later, Jess,” he says as the doors close between us.
I turn on my heel slowly, tickled at the thought that Baby Daddy Neil McReedy was still smiling even though he needs to ride another extra thirty floors because of me. I can’t believe how well I handled myself—slightly aloof but friendly, professional but flirty. Cool.
That is, until I look up and see Jillie grinning at me from ear to ear with her two thumbs up. I just bet she’s had that expression on her face the whole time she was watching my exchange with Neil. And from where he was standing in the lift, he would’ve totally seen my personal cheerleader ridiculously happy and obvious behind me.
Chapter 12
Early-June
There are three cars at an intersection. In what order do the cars go?
Shit. I hate give way rules. I can’t believe Keats is making me take a 30-Question practice test from the Queensland Transport website, and apparently, I have to get a perfect score to get behind the wheel of his precious car.
“Do you have to watch over my shoulders?” There’s testiness in my voice.
“You don’t have this much time to decide in real traffic.”
God, he’s annoying. I can’t believe I actually missed him not being around. He’s already made me drive around the video game track without crashing. Twice. I came dead last both times.
I click on option B, and press Continue. The green “Your answer is correct” message pops up. I stop myself from sighing in relief—no need to show him that was a lucky guess. I move on to the next question and tackle it a bit more confidently.
Beside me Keats is tense and smelling of chlorine. Apparently, before coming to my apartment, he’d gone for a swim to relax. He seems anything but relaxed now. Tension emanates from him in waves, mixed with what I’m sure is disappointment every time I get the right answer.
Last question: Can two cyclists ride side by side?
Not if I’m on the road.
Two answers make a lot of sense. But I have a vague memory of Option A. I click on it, hear Keats hold his breath as I hover my mouse over the Continue button. I click.
It’s green! “Yes!” Fist pump moment and I give in to the dorky gesture. “Hand over your keys, mate. Let’s go.”
Keats covers his face with both hands, looking like he’s just lost a major bet and goons are about to break his legs. I’m tempted to let him off the hook and tell him I can learn to drive in a driving instructor’s car. But only for a second. I’m giddy at the thought of controlling that Audi coupe like a kickass Bond Girl.
“Come on.” I shoulder my handbag and walk over to my front door, practically bouncing from foot to foot while I wait for him.
With a big sigh, he unfurls himself off a beanbag, grabbing his keys and phone as he slowly struts towards me. I don’t think he means to strut—a powerful combination with his bedroom eyes—he just always walks with a swagger, even when he looks like he’s on his way to the gallows.
“That’s it. You can do it,” I say with exaggerated enthusiasm while I wave him over impatiently.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The chilly winter morning cools us as we take the stairs to the visitors’ car park. Downstairs, his black sports car awaits, glistening proudly in the sun. Keats unlocks it and I practically skip to the driver’s side. My grin strains my cheeks.
“Not so fast, Hay-gen.”
I look at him over the roof of the luxury vehicle.
“This is a
