by Carla Caruso
Pocketing her phone, Celeste reached for a nearby plastic bag and slipped the tool-belt inside. She couldn’t wait to see Lenny’s face when she handed it to him. On the way out the door, she paused to squirt some hand-sanitiser from her bag on her palm. Hey, her dad couldn’t be offended if he couldn’t see her doing it, right?
3.
‘Excuse me?’
Lenny turned from bricking up a doorway the next day to find behind him the mail contractor who dropped off business gear for Natalia. A cylindrical poster-holder was clamped under the guy’s name. His name was Kaiden, according to his photo ID lanyard, and he was sweating more than Lenny doing physical labour, the poor kid. ‘Hey, mate. What do you need?’
‘Um, I was just wondering if you’d seen Minka about the place? Natalia’s assistant? I tried around the back but I couldn’t see her.’ Kaiden’s blemished skin shone like white topcoat plaster and, as usual, he’d been a little heavy-handed with the hair gel that morning.
‘Actually I don’t think she’s here — sorry, mate. I saw her backing out in Natalia’s car earlier on. But, hey,’ he gestured at the poster-holder, ‘I’m happy to take that for you, if you like, and pass it on to Minka.’
Instead of releasing his grip on it, Kaiden seemed to clinch the package more tightly under his arm and stepped back. ‘Oh, no, no, that’s okay.’ He shot Lenny a shaky grin. ‘I have to have things signed by the right person or the boss won’t be happy.’
Somehow Lenny had avoided the nervy-kid stage himself, and he couldn’t relate to it. Shrugging, he turned back to his work. ‘That’s cool.’
Unfortunately, he could still feel Kaiden’s presence behind him. The kid let out a low whistle. ‘Wow, looks like you guys have been doing a lot of work around here. Sure must be costing a pretty penny.’
Pretty. There was that name again. From yesterday.
‘I just do what I’m told,’ Lenny replied smoothly, picking up his trowel. Like it was any of Kaiden’s business. Really, the youth of today.
‘Fair enough … Anyway, I guess I’ll let you get back to it.’ The kid seemed to have finally gotten the message.
‘No worries,’ Lenny murmured, only happy once he’d heard the kid’s footsteps retreat down the hallway.
Lenny might have had a team of tradespeople working for him and could easily have issued commands from an air-conditioned office, but he preferred to muck in to get the job done. Because, let’s face it, he only trusted himself and he liked to keep an eye on things, ensuring they ran smoothly. Especially the bigger projects.
And Natalia was one of those high-end customers who expected everything done yesterday. She told him her pie-in-the-sky ideas, and it was his job to nut out the details and make all the hard yakka look easy, while facing down the ticking clock. Not that he didn’t thrive on the challenge, of course — property was in his blood — but it still meant a certain amount of stress.
His father, who’d migrated to Australia from Malta with barely more than the shirt on his back, had built up the kind of empire Lenny himself hoped to through sheer hard work. A mere brickie, his dad had invested what little money he had in land, and now owned factories, shopping centres, whole streets — you name it — all over town. And his old man had never been afraid to get his hands dirty. Likely why Lenny rarely saw him as a kid, though he admired him greatly. Unlike his father, though, Lenny wanted to create his legacy first, then worry about the wife and two-point-five kids. He figured it would be less hard on the family that way.
A feminine-sounding cough echoed off the walls. Another interruption. Great. Didn’t people know how many bricks he had to lay, tradespeople to organise? Working on the second storey — enlarging a bathroom and fixing a guest room — couldn’t come soon enough. Turning, he felt something ripple through his stomach upon laying his eyes on his next visitor. Amusement perhaps? A smidgeon of attraction definitely. It was Celeste, the professional organiser from yesterday. He’d been wondering how soon they’d cross paths again.
She looked so prim and proper, too, all he could imagine was unfastening her top button and watching her shake out her hair, like in some kind of naughty-librarian fantasy. He was a clichéd male, yes. But, to be fair, he had dated a librarian once. Okay, not dated, just slept with. Several times. It’d been fun, like all his dalliances. He couldn’t call any of them relationships, of course.
‘I brought you something,’ Celeste said by way of hello, plunging a hand into her bag. She pulled out some worn-looking, leather item.
He furrowed his brow. ‘Something for me?’
‘Yes, it’s an old tool-belt of my dad’s. I thought it might come in handy after you misplaced your tape measure yesterday.’ The professional organiser stepped closer, her lavender smell cutting through the dust and debris, and pressed the item into his hands. Up-close, her violet shirt seemed to bring out the grey-blue of her eyes.
Drawing in a breath, he turned the multi-pocketed belt — chocolate in hue — over in his hands. As nice a thought as it was, it was still an impractical gift. ‘Brilliant craftsmanship, but unfortunately I’m not a carpenter. This’ll just weigh me down and get in my way. Sorry. But thanks for thinking of me.’
He extended the belt towards her again, but she ignored it, jutting up her chin. ‘You don’t have to wear it. You could just put it in a corner someplace, where you’ll know where to find it. It’ll save you time instead of always having to search for things.’ Determination flashed in her eyes, which made him only want to defy her further. Strangely, it also excited him.
‘I have a toolbox,’ he ground out. ‘I haven’t exactly been in this game for two minutes. Besides, your dad’ll be looking for it.’
‘He has plenty of stuff,’ she murmured, averting her gaze. ‘He won’t miss it.’
Hang on a sec. She was blushing now. Maybe she genuinely thought she was being helpful. Which made him feel a bit like the type of utensil that went in such a belt.
‘I guess I could give it a go …’ he mumbled reluctantly, dropping his hand with the belt to his side.
Celeste’s smile was back in place. ‘I promise you won’t regret it.’
In the doorway, behind Celeste, a leggy brunette — way too young for Lenny’s tastes — suddenly appeared, a mobile in one hand. He gestured with his chin at the girl for Celeste’s benefit. ‘Babysitting?’
Celeste frowned — quite a sexy look on her — before whirling around. ‘Flip, you’re here! At long last. Although I’m not sure those denim shorts would pass any occupational safety tests, but I guess they’ll have to do.’
The girl managed a saunter in black Chuck Taylor All Star high-tops on the way to Celeste’s side. Celeste’s gaze rested on Lenny again. ‘Uh, this is Filippa Belmont, my … my assistant. She’s also family. And Filippa, this is Lenny Muscat, the builder who’s helping to renovate Natalia’s home.’
The girl pushed long, dark strands out of her eyes with her mobile-free hand and smiled winningly at him. ‘You can just call me “Flip”, like all my good friends do. I’m studying architecture, by the way. Could come in handy knowing a builder.’
Charming little manipulator. He bet she was used to having guys wrapped around her little finger. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t so pliable. And Celeste looked none too impressed either.
‘Good on you with your studies. Though I would have thought you’d know better in how to dress for a worksite.’ Lenny reached behind him for an old navy-blue work shirt lying on some scaffolding and thrust it at the girl with a wink. ‘This’ll help you cover up in the meantime. Wouldn’t want your clothes getting dirty. Your boss had a rather unfortunate incident herself yesterday.’
Celeste narrowed her eyes at him, while Flip held the shirt extended between her thumb and forefinger, distaste overtaking her dark gaze. Imagine if she knew he’d actually been using the shirt as a rag, not work-wear, since his company’s logo had been updated.
‘Awesome, thanks,’ Flip said, the uttered adjective def
ying her expression.
‘My pleasure.’
Lenny turned back to the doorway he was bricking up for the second time that morning. Working near this lot, he decided, could almost be fun.
‘And this is the home office …’
Celeste stepped inside as Natalia — with a turquoise tutu easy to give in slogan tee covering her up this morning, thankfully — held open the door.
‘Holy guacamole,’ Celeste silently mouthed, grateful that Natalia was behind her as she grasped onto her tote strap. Flip squeezed in beside her. Inside, it was more like a storeroom of stuff than an office. In the middle was a massive whitewashed desk, which looked as though the contents of a filing cabinet had been spewed all over it, and surrounding this were overstuffed shelves, crammed clothing racks, and more stacked boxes than you’d find at a department-store loading dock. It was worse than Celeste had feared. One saving grace was that the room smelled like pomegranate, unlike her dad’s bus. A reed diffuser or two must have been hidden among the mess
Swinging back around, Celeste pasted a smile on her face and clapped her hands, praying Natalia wouldn’t notice Flip’s gobsmacked expression beside her. ‘Marvellous. I can’t wait to get started!’
Seemingly unashamed about the untidiness, Natalia blinked dazzling blue eyes that almost appeared Photoshopped and extended a piece of notepaper towards Celeste. ‘I came up with a brief list of categories the items can be sorted into, plus the kind of things that can be ditched. But I’m pretty flexible in how you want to arrange it all. So long as items are easy to find, I’ll be more than happy.’
Celeste reminded herself of how many Astonvale mums would trade their Paspaley pearl collections to get up-close and personal with the fitness guru, as daunting as the workload ahead was.
‘Great. And if I need to buy any filing systems, magazine binders, that sort of thing, to help organise things, do you want me to give you a bit of a cost run-down first?’
Natalia shook her head, her long, blonde curls whipping her shoulders. ‘Nope, feel free to shop up a storm and add it to the tally. Even if things need to be custom-built. I trust that you, being the expert, know what you’re doing … How many hours do you reckon the office will take to tidy?’
Celeste hid a wince. Wealthy people didn’t get that way by paying top dollar. She prayed Natalia’s expectations wouldn’t be too unrealistic. ‘Well, it’s kind of hard to say until I really get stuck in, but, at worst, it could be a few days.’
Natalia’s shoulders lifted up and down nonchalantly. ‘No problems. I have faith you’ll take as long as you need.’ Relief flooded through Celeste like an icy drink sculled on a hot day. Natalia pushed on, ‘Well, I’d love to hang around and pitch in’— Celeste bet the guru did —‘but I’m doing a shoot for a natural sort of Instagram pic today, plugging a probiotic yoghurt brand I’m an ambassador for. It’ll take a few hours. But I’ll come and drop in on your progress later this arvo, if that’s okay.’
Sounded like a very impromptu sort of Instagram photo. Not.
‘Sure, great.’ Celeste nodded vigorously, her gaze catching on a flash of gold at Natalia’s neck for the first time. She always did like a bit of subtle bling. ‘Ooh, love your necklace, by the way!’
Featuring a cursive G-initial pendant — or maybe it was a squiggle — the necklace must have dangled free from its hiding place. Natalia’s lips curved happily as she peered down, fingering the delicate metal. ‘Why, thank you, it’s a favourite of mine, too.’ Then, just as suddenly, the guru’s eyes widened and she tucked the pendant beneath her T-shirt fabric once more. ‘Anyway, like I said, I’d better be off.’
Ooh, that was a strange sort of reaction. Maybe the letter stood for a secret lover? Or perhaps Natalia just thought Celeste was being too chummy as a paid professional … Celeste took the hint. ‘Okay, see you later, and … and thanks.’
As soon as Natalia had gone, Flip, who’d since ditched Lenny’s work shirt like it was radioactive, pressed fingers to her temple. ‘Oh gosh, I feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on …’
Oh no she didn’t; it was just the idea of doing actual work. The girl was lucky she was family, however, distant.
‘I’ve got Panadol for that,’ Celeste cheerily lobbed back. ‘You can be chief of the sorting table first-up, then I’ll get you onto making some labels.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Unfortunately, as a casual, I can only pay you if you actually work, you know, and I don’t think Dolores would be too happy to hear you’d chucked it in on your first day. Not when she helped get you the job and has been so generous in providing you rent-free accommodation for so long.’
‘Fine, whatever.’ Flip pouted, then miraculously produced her phone from somewhere within her minuscule shorts. ‘Hey, do you reckon Natalia would give us her wi-fi password? It’s just I wanted to check Facebook quickly first …’
‘I’m not asking!’ Celeste huffed.
Flip’s face was pure sullenness. ‘Party-pooper.’
The indolent tightwad. Obviously Flip was none too impressed by Natalia’s stardom. She’d probably only be excited if they were cleaning up the home of some obscure band Celeste had never heard of. But Celeste bet the gig was better than any jobs Flip’s uni mates had.
A few hours in, with Celeste barely feeling like she’d made a dent but actually enthused, she heard her mobile shrill at ground-level. Unfortunately, she was up a ladder, reaching for items from a high shelf, as seemed to be a theme when her phone rung that week. Knowing her luck, if she climbed down, it’d be a telemarketer.
‘Flip, can you check who it is?’ Celeste called out, peering floor-wards. ‘The phone’s in my bag.’
Flip put down her label-maker at the pace of a snail before reaching for the phone. ‘No name comes up, just a bunch of digits,’ she called up.
Hell’s bells. Any minute it would ring out. Celeste was running a business, after all, as fledgling as it may be. ‘Well, can you please take the call and say you’re from POPink?’
A lethargic shrug came in return. ‘’Kay.’
‘POPink, Filippa speaking, assistant to Celeste Pretty,’ her young relative could be heard saying down below into the mouthpiece. Huh, her phone manner actually sounded quite grown-up. In fact, it could work out well having an assistant answer. It’d look more important if it were a potential client. ‘Yes, we do … Of course, that is what a professional organiser does, duh!’ Oh dear. Flip’s voice had changed back to the surly, flippant persona of old, with the swiftness of a Ferrari changing gears. ‘Well, it’s a little difficult to say how much it’ll cost to fix your mess without seeing it first-hand. I mean, how long is a piece of string?’
Dear Lord. Her heart crashing about in her chest, Celeste almost fell off the ladder in her haste to snatch the phone from her relative’s hands. Unfortunately, by the time she had slip-slid down there, Flip had terminated the call. Or, more likely, the caller had.
‘What the heck was that?’ Celeste seethed, wrenching the mobile from Flip’s digits. ‘That is not the way you answer the phone to a potential client. Not at all.’
Flip blinked dark brown eyes at her, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Well, the caller sounded fishy. They were asking all sorts of dumb questions. I figured they were a competitor, trying to get the dirt on your rates.’
‘No, Filippa Belmont,’ Celeste felt her eyes bulge — maybe facial yoga wasn’t such a bad idea — ‘that’s what clients do. They ask questions, as dumb as they might seem to you. It’s their prerogative. And it’s your duty to answer them.’ She let out an earth-shattering sigh. ‘Now I’m going to have to call them back and make up some excuse for your behaviour, like, I don’t know, I’ve taken on a high-school kid as an intern or something. Really!’
Flip just pouted as Celeste did a quick check of her phone’s call log. The last number came up as ‘private’, though. Typical. Celeste bit down on another sigh. Unfortunately she didn’t know anyone else who could fill in as an assistant last-
minute, and she wouldn’t have been able to afford them even if she did. Okay, Flip was still learning, maybe she needed to tone it down a notch. She faked a cheerier expression. ‘So how are the labels going?’
‘Fine. It’s not rocket science, you know.’
‘Mind if I have a look then?’
Flip flicked glossy hair over her shoulder. ‘Doesn’t worry me. And, just so you know, I’ve used a bit of creative licence with the label names. Natalia seems fairly cool. I thought some fun might help her remember what’s where.’
Creative licence?
Quickly, Celeste ran her eyes over an embossed pink label on a file on Natalia’s desk, feeling faint. ‘What is “WIP IT GOOD” meant to stand for?’
Flip smiled smugly. ‘Work-in-progress mashed up with a Devo song, natch.’
Cripes. Celeste picked up a random box. ‘And “W-forward slash-E”?’ she barely breathed.
‘Miscellaneous. You know, as in, whatever.’
Celeste was too afraid to ask what ‘RTFM’ stood for. But, unfortunately, Flip was all too happy to tell her. ‘And that’s for the various electronic equipment manuals lying about the place. As in, read the f-ing manual.’
Celeste didn’t know whether to laugh or bawl. ‘Are. You. For. Real?’
Flip sniffed. ‘It’s meant to be ironic. Witty.’
Celeste counted to ten under her breath. She didn’t see the funny side. ‘I think we’ll swap you to wrapping items for storage now.’
Flip seemed none too fussed. ‘Cool with me.’
No wonder people said family and work didn’t mix. Celeste briefly wondered if she could have a probationary period for a relative …
The afternoon arrived quickly enough, and near knockoff time Natalia, as promised, whisked back in to check how things were going. Celeste, thankfully, was feeling decidedly better about things by then. Even Flip had worked up a sweat, moving boxes, while still somehow managing to look dewy, gorgeous and Yen magazine-worthy.
