* * *
Jilly was fairly inexperienced when it came to the ways of men, but she wasn’t totally naive. Even to her unpractised eyes, it was obvious Matthew Stevenson liked her. She didn’t even need Vanessa to point it out to her; she could tell. At least, she thought she could. The tasks he’d been giving her to do, while legitimate enough, were not at all urgent. Not like some of the other tasks that were piling up on her desk; tasks she should have prioritised over Matthew’s filing. And if he’d thought she hadn’t noticed him watching her while she worked, he was wrong. She’d felt his eyes on her the entire time, boring into her back, watching her every movement. Of course he’d quickly pretended to be working intently every time she turned around, but she knew. She didn’t have to catch him in the act to know. One knew when they were being watched.
The knowledge that he liked her sent little tingles through her, little sparks of happiness that made her smile. Are you insane? her inner voice snarked. What about Cameron? Remember him? The heartbreaker? What makes you think Matthew will be any different? Men are all the same! She knew that. She’d read enough magazines to know that, stereotypically, men were all the same in their pursuits: they all wanted the same thing. But Matthew wasn’t Cameron. He was different. There was something about him, something she couldn’t put her finger on, that told her he was different. He was trustworthy. He wouldn’t hurt her. Maybe, just maybe, she could trust him. But did she dare?
Sitting down heavily into her upholstered office chair, Jilly looked at the mammoth pile of paperwork on her desk and sighed. If nothing else, flirting subtly with Matthew was an escape. Not only from work, but from life. Even if the flirting never went anywhere—and right now she’d be happy enough if it didn’t—it was a break from trying to figure out what on earth she was going to do. Work was good. The pay was enough. Her daughter was happy and doing well at school. But the eviction notice she’d received in the mail just over a week ago had turned her world on its head.
Ninety days. That’s all she had to find another place to live. Three months. And while it seemed like a lot when she’d first read it, she was starting to realise that it wasn’t anywhere near enough. Not when she still had to give twenty-eight days’ notice if she found a new house and wanted to move sooner. Not when Auckland rental prices were through the roof and there was nothing—absolutely nothing—close by Lilly’s school that she could afford. Not when working full-time and raising a daughter alone meant she had very little time to look at available properties anyway. And not when she had to save up the thousands of dollars necessary for moving costs—bond, advance rent, movers. Maybe even time off work. It was a nightmare. Every spare minute since she’d read the notice had been spent trawling the internet and local papers, looking for possibilities. And nothing was coming up. Houses were too expensive. Or they were in the wrong area. Or they’d already been rented.
Worst of all, she had to do it alone. There was no one there to share the load. Nobody to help her search. Nobody to tell her it would be okay. Nobody to offer up suggestions. It was pointless asking her parents for help; they’d made it clear many times in the past that she was on her own. She was pretty sure they wouldn’t actually let her and Lily end up homeless, but it was possible.
It didn’t matter that she’d been the perfect tenant. That she’d paid her rent on time, that she’d looked after the house as if it were her own, keeping it spick and span. It didn’t matter that she’d always cooperated with the rental agency, never making it difficult for them to carry out routine inspections. It didn’t matter that for the past several years, she’d made the house into their home.
The eviction notice, typed out clearly in black and white, on the rental agency’s letterhead, spelled it out for her: she had to move out. The letter wasn’t even personal. Sure, it had her name on it, and the address where she lived, but nothing else to identify it from the standard eviction letter they used. Merely a template, with her personal information added. No apology. No indication of guilt that they were uprooting her life, sending her and her daughter out into the world with no concern for their future. It made her feel like they didn’t even matter.
Shaking her head, trying to clear the worry that had lingered constantly in the back of her mind since getting the awful news, Jilly picked up the top bundle of stapled papers off the pile on her desk and got to work. It had been nice, being distracted by Matthew for a bit, but now it was time to get back to reality.
* * *
Looking at the traffic backed up in front of her, not moving at all, Jilly bashed her palm against the steering wheel in frustration and swore. This was ridiculous. Auckland traffic was an absolute nightmare. After dropping Lily off at school she had exactly thirty-five minutes to get to her desk. Most mornings, it was doable. This morning, likely thanks to an accident somewhere up ahead, it simply wasn’t happening. She’d be lucky to get to her inner city carpark by nine a.m., let alone making the five-minute walk from there to her desk.
Maybe we should move out of the city. The thought was fleeting; she pushed it aside almost immediately. Moving away wouldn’t work. Their entire lives were here.
