And I was sitting in my office, opposite a potential new client, assessing the virtues of his lips. Back to earth, Cate, I scolded myself inwardly.
He was still rubbing his lips thoughtfully.
Stop it! I wanted to shout.
To my relief, he dropped his hand. “I won’t lie, Cate. It can take a while to get to know me, but once you do, you’ll find I’m a decent sort of guy. I don’t enter into relationships lightly, so you can be sure if I choose you, I’ll be in it for the long-term.”
I stared at him. I knew, with every logical bone in my body, that he was referring to a professional relationship, but then why didn’t it feel like it?
I attempted a smile. “I think that’s a great attitude to have.”
“Why?” He sounded surprised.
I swallowed, then gave a little shrug. “Financial planning is long-term. You only see the best results if you commit to a strategy and then see it through. Sometimes that can take years.”
Dave nodded slowly, then stood.
I looked up at him from behind my desk, then forced my jelly legs to stand too. “Do you have any more questions?”
Dave shook his head. “No, I’m good.” He picked up the brochures I’d left for him on my desk.
“So, what do you think?” I asked him. “Could you work with us?” I was careful to say ‘us,’ rather than ‘me.’
His eyes studied me and I noticed they had darker brown flecks through them. Focus, Cate, I chastised myself.
“I’ll need some time to think about it,” he told me. His expression wasn’t amused anymore. In fact, it was downright unreadable.
“Of course,” I said, and stuck my hand out across the desk.
He reached over and grasped my hand. The contact was much gentler this time, and I barely felt the rough skin on his palms grazing mine.
“Later, Cate.”
Chapter 9
“You’ll be pleased to know I saw Dave today,” I announced.
Christa paused, her forkful of Thai food hovering in mid-air. “Plumber Dave?”
The carpet had finally gone in last week and we were sitting around the coffee table sharing a bottle of wine and dinner. It was nice to have the company. Between work, wedding plans and time spent with Max, Christa was rarely home these days.
“David Worthington, as it turns out,” I told her. “And he’s not just a plumber. He runs the business and is about to buy it.”
Christa chewed on her mouthful thoughtfully. “That’s a very refined name, even if he doesn’t have an accent.” She grinned at me. “So he’s not just a plumber, he’s a businessman.”
I didn’t miss her hopeful tone of voice. “Actually, the business is massive. They work all across Sydney on domestic and commercial jobs and employ fifty staff.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I was.”
“Because he’s a plumber.”
I sighed and she shrugged. “Well, it’s a non-issue now anyway. If he’s my client, it would be extremely inappropriate to entertain a personal relationship with him.”
“Really?”
I gave her a look. “Really.”
“So, make sure he’s not your client then.”
“What?”
“He’s sounding more and more like a good catch. Why would you want to be stuck having him as your client, unable to do anything about it?”
I frowned and served myself some noodles. She had a point. If the awkward banter earlier today was an indication of what it would be like to work with Dave, then I was screwed. Or not, as the case would be. Good grief, my mind was in the gutter lately. With Christa so busy I’d obviously been spending way too much time with Scarlett.
“Cate?”
“Sorry. Yes, I can see your point. I’m just not sure what on earth I can do about it. If he decides he wants to work with me, I can’t exactly tell him no, can I?”
“Could you refer him to one of the other planners?”
I grimaced. “In theory, yes. But it wouldn’t reflect on me very well. They’d want to know why I felt I couldn’t work with Dave.”
“And telling them it’s because you want him to bend you over your desk and—”
“Christa!”
She giggled.
“Are you not getting enough lately or something?” I asked delicately.
It was her turn to grimace. “It’s this bloody wedding, Cate. It’s stressing us both out.”
I reached over and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“Not really. Max’s mum is being so helpful,” she began.
I gave her a knowing look.
She sighed. “Alright. Too helpful.”
“Can Maddy help?”
“She’s trying, she really is, but oh my God, Cate, the woman is out of control!”
I put my fork down and gave her my full attention. I had a hunch this was the first time Christa had aired these feelings.
“How so?” I asked.
“Well, for starters, I’m getting a million emails a day. Not helped by the fact I work in the same office as her. I’ll come back from a meeting or a break to find paperwork on my desk that is non-work related. I’ve had stacks of bridal magazines left on my desk. Pages and pages of research for flower arrangements and photographers. The people I work with are starting to think I’m some sort of crazy Bridezilla!”
“You’re not Bridezilla, Christa. You never will be,” I told her gently. Christa and I had been friends long enough for me to know there was no hope of that ever happening. After her rocky relationship history, marriage was a massive step for her. From what I’d seen so far, she was more focused on what was important: her and Max.
“And that’s just the research,” Christa went on. “You should see the draft guest list she’s put together for me. There’s at least two hundred people on there!”
“Oh, Christa.”
“I didn’t want a big wedding! I don’t want a big wedding,” she corrected. Her blue eyes looked at me imploringly. “What am I going to do, Cate?”
“Have you talked to Max?”
“I’ve tried to but every time the subject comes up, he gets really defensive. Because we’re the only hope of a proper wedding of any of her children, he seems happy to go along with it.”
“I’m not sure he’d feel that way if he knew how genuinely unhappy it’s making you.”
Christa reached over and took a big sip of wine. “It’s so difficult to discuss. It’s his family and he’s so close to them. I don’t want to play them off against each other.”
“Why don’t you try talking to Julia?” I urged her. “Maybe suggest coffee one day and then have a chat with her?”
“I don’t want Max to think I’m going behind his back.”
“You’re not,” I said firmly. “It’s merely a catch up to discuss the organization of the wedding. If you also mention you’re feeling very overwhelmed by all of it, then it’s just part of that conversation.”
Christa sniffed, looking a bit teary. “Yeah, OK, I will. I love him so much, Cate. I don’t want something this stupid to cause tension between us. At the end of the day, it’s just a big ass party. The way I’m feeling at the moment it just seems like a day I’ve got to go through so I can get to the good bit, which is spending my life with Max.”
“Which is what Max wants too, Christa. Don’t forget that.”
Christa nodded. “Yeah, I know. I tell you what, I’m so glad we made it a short engagement. I’m not sure I could have handled a year of this.”
“It’s only about two months away now, isn’t it?”
“Yep. For better or worse.”
“It will all work out, Bubbles. You’ll see.”
“I hope so.”
“It will.” Then I made a point of steering the conversation onto non-wedding related topics.
*
Almost three weeks later, I still hadn’t heard from Dave. We logged all potential clients in our c
ustomer database and my boss was giving me pressure about it. If the answer was no, he’d be fine with that, but he didn’t like to leave things open-ended. He felt it was bad practice.
So on Monday I’d sent Dave a polite email asking him to contact me, and to see if he had any questions. No reply. Not even a ‘I’m sorry, I’m really busy and I’ll get back to you.’ Nothing. All week.
By Friday I was frustrated. So putting on my best pleasant Cate demeanor, I picked up the phone.
Hi. You’ve reached Dave at Bell Plumbing. I’m probably on a job so leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
I waited for the beep, then spoke.
“Hi Dave. It’s Cate. Of hot water plumbing disaster fame and possibly your new financial planner.” Oh God, why did I say that? How presumptuous of me! I realized I was still leaving a message and cleared my throat quickly. “Anyway, I was just wondering where you’re at with things? If you have any questions, remember you can call me anytime. It’s all part of the very pleasant service.”
I slammed down the phone. Oh man. Where had that come from? It wasn’t funny. It was just pathetic. On the bright side, after he listened to that message there was probably no way in hell he’d want me to be his financial planner. And, as Christa had pointed out, that might be a good thing.
I moaned and reflected that I was glad we had our own offices so no one could hear how embarrassing I was.
Then I did my best to put the tragic message to the back of my mind and focus on work.
*
Eight o’clock Friday night and I was home alone. Again. I’d set myself up in front of the television with some Indian take-out and a glass of wine and was scrolling through movies on Apple TV. Such was my thrilling and adventurous single woman life.
Sure, I could be on Tinder or on one of the dating websites, or maybe at a pub or club in Sydney, but the sad truth was I just couldn’t be bothered.
While I wasn’t going to deny those avenues worked for some people, Cate Harmon was more of a traditionalist. Besides, I knew I was a bit innocent. It didn’t matter that I was thirty years of age. I just couldn’t get my head around the idea of people pairing up online when most of the time it was all about the sex. Don’t get me wrong. Sex was good. Sex was nice. And I was sex deprived. But I wanted more than that.
“Ooh,” I murmured to myself when I saw the image for the movie, About Time. I’d been really wanting to watch it. It sounded romantic and heartfelt and pretty much all the things I was guaranteed not to find on Tinder.
Three quarters of the way through the movie I was a sobbing, useless mess. It wasn’t just romantic, it was a beautiful story about the relationship between a son and a father. Perhaps my non-existent relationship with my father made it all the more emotional for me, but I didn’t care, I was blubbering and enjoying it.
Three loud knocks on the front door cut through my self-inflicted sob session. I stared down the hall and eyed the door warily. Who on earth was that?
Grabbing a wad of tissues, I crept up the hall and cursed the fact that we didn’t have a peephole. We didn’t really need one though given it was a secured building. Anyone coming to our front door was screened using the intercom beforehand. Which made the knock at the front door all the more intriguing.
“Hello?” I called out.
“Cate?”
“Shit,” I hissed. Dave. Plumber Dave. What was he doing here? I should have just kept my freaking mouth shut and pretended no one was here. Now what was I going to do?
“Cate?” he called out again. “Is this a bad time?”
Well, my bathroom wasn’t flooding if that’s what he was asking. I dabbed carefully at my eyes and then scrunched up the tissues in my hand. Who was I kidding?
“Dave? Can you just give me a moment, please?”
I heard a muffled ‘sure’ from the other side of the door.
I dashed down the hallway and flicked on the bathroom light. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror I winced. My mascara had smudged and my nose was bright red. I quickly used some damp tissues to dab away the black panda eyes and then hurriedly reapplied some foundation onto my nose. I surveyed myself and sighed. I still appeared a little puffy, and my green eyes were red-rimmed, but there wasn’t much else I could do. Fortunately my shoulder length blonde hair looked good as I’d only just washed it that morning.
I rushed back to the front door, but hesitated when I got there. “Crap,” I whispered, then forced myself to pull open the front door.
Dave was standing with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, which drew my eyes to the fitted denim hugging his hips. When I realized where I was staring I raised my eyes and smiled.
“Dave. In the area again?”
He sort of shrugged and frowned at the same time. I was expecting a more humorous response, but maybe I wasn’t as funny as I thought I was.
“This is a bad time, isn’t it?” he asked.
Oh, right. My face. I felt myself flush. Because that would make me look so much better. “No. I was just watching a movie.” By myself and sobbing uncontrollably.
His lips curled. “Let me guess. A tragic girl movie?”
“Just because it’s a girl movie doesn’t mean it’s tragic.”
“But you were crying?”
“I might have been.”
He nodded knowingly.
“It’s a very good movie,” I said defensively.
“I’m sure it is.”
“Why are you here again?”
His smile faded. I was immediately sorry I said anything.
“Sorry. That was rude of me,” I apologized quickly.
“I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your messages,” he said gruffly.
“That’s fine, Dave. I’m sure you’ve been busy.” Or ignoring me, but hey, he was here now in person, so that had to count for something.
He raked his fingers roughly through his mop of tawny hair, and I felt jealous of his hand.
“I’d like to work with you.”
I blinked, then nodded. It was good news. Wasn’t it? “Great!” I paused, unsure what to say next. New clients didn’t normally announce their intention to work with me personally by coming to visit me at home on a Friday night.
Dave blew out a long breath. “This is weird, isn’t it?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“Blame my sister,” he murmured, and I almost didn’t catch it.
“Your sister?”
“She lives downstairs on level five.”
Everything fell into place. His sister lived two floors below me. That was why he knew the area so well and arrived at my apartment within minutes when the hot water heater burst.
“Oh. Well.” I smiled at him shyly. “Maybe I know her. What does she look like?”
“Hair the same color as mine, about your length. You’d know her if you saw her.” There was something strange in his expression, but I couldn’t say for certain what it was.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Lauren.”
“OK. Well, I’ll be sure to look out for her. In such a large complex, it’s always nice to get to know some of the other people living here.”
He nodded, and the awkwardness returned.
“How about I email you some paperwork on Monday?” I suggested. “You can take a look through it and then we can set up a time to meet.”
“Sure.” He seemed relieved. It made me wonder what the conversation between him and his sister had been prior to him knocking on my front door. “I’ll let you get back to your movie.” He smirked.
I blushed. Again. “Thanks. And thanks for deciding to go with us.”
“It was the pleasant service.”
My blush intensified. My cheeks felt so warm they’d have to be almost neon. I struggled for a smart comeback and failed.
Dave smiled properly at me and my speechlessness continued. God, how old was I? Twelve?
“Later, Cate.”
I waited until
he’d reached the elevator before closing the front door. Later indeed. And I’d just scored myself a new client.
Yippee.
Chapter 10
“So, let me get this straight. The nice plumber is now a client of yours?”
I was sitting on my brother and sister-in-law’s comfortable black leather sofa. It was late in the afternoon on Friday. I’d taken a half day off work to catch a flight to the Gold Coast to stay with my brother and his family for the weekend.
I ignored the twinkle in Heath’s eye and stayed focused on my two nieces dancing around the lounge room in front of me. ‘Dancing’ was a broad term. Jaimie, the eldest of the two, wasn’t too bad. She was almost eight years old and had been going to dancing lessons since she was four. But Millie was just downright cute. Only four years old, any opportunity to dance involved donning a pink tutu big enough to unbalance her. This wasn’t a problem because her technique involved lots of rolling around on the floor anyway.
“Look at me, Auntie Cate!” Millie cried. “Do you see?”
It was hard not to see Millie. With her long, golden hair, bright blue eyes and sun-kissed complexion, I’d been tempted to smuggle her home at the end of most visits.
“I see,” I assured her with a genuine smile. What she lacked in technique she made up for in personality. “The nice plumber is called Dave, and yes, he’s now a client of mine,” I told Heath.
“Awkward.”
I turned to look at my brother. “Why?” I demanded.
He shrugged, but his dark brown eyes held mischief. “I got the impression you wouldn’t want him as a client.”
I turned back to watch my nieces. “I don’t know what gave you that idea.”
Heath snickered, and I chose to ignore him.
“What nice plumber is this?” Susie asked, standing at the counter of their open plan kitchen preparing some snacks.
“No one,” I said quickly, and Susie arched a dark eyebrow.
I’d liked Heath’s wife the moment I’d laid eyes on her. Petite, with dark brown hair which she kept styled in a neat bob, she was an odd mix of contrasts. Feminine and caring, she had a no-nonsense attitude to life and a wickedly dry sense of humor. Qualities she claimed were essential to her career in nursing.
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