If We Were Young: A Romance

by Bloom, Anna

  Two weeks to save a business with thousands of jobs at risk.

  Two weeks to earn some money to save my own business. It’s March. I didn’t want my staff to be unemployed by summer. Natalie needed to be putting lipstick on at her desk. Fred needed to keep reminding me we didn’t have the latest version of Photoshop installed. Stewart needed to give me those puppy dog eyes while he asked if we should discuss the budget over dinner.

  All those things needed to happen for me to keep what I needed. My safe zone, my bubble.

  “Mum.” Hannah pushed her way in. “What’s wrong?” It sounded funny coming from her; that’s my official parenting line.

  “Ugh. Nothing.” I forced myself to sit up. I didn’t even loll about on the bed when my husband died, so I had no excuse now.

  She peered at me while I considered her in return.

  Then I caught the flicker in her eyes. She expected me to not say anything. She actually waited for my silence.

  Screwing my eyes shut, I forced some words out into the room. The pale-lemon walls echoed them back. “It was that stupid meeting with my new client.”

  She perched one butt cheek on the bed. “Why was it stupid?”

  I bounced my legs as I tried to put it into words. “I didn’t realise it was for a company that needed saving. It’s about to go bust, which makes it tricky because,” I glanced over her. “Because the Childs Agency isn’t skipping across a rainbow of success right now.”

  “Oh? Mum! Does Nonna know?”

  I scrunched my face and considered Ma’s disapproving look. “No! She’d say it was a good thing, that I should be home looking after you.”

  Hannah’s face mirrored mine. “I don’t need looking after. I’m in High School now.”

  “That’s true. But Nonna is old-fashioned in that way; she thinks I should be here making sure you are okay.”

  “But you’d be bored and you wouldn’t see Fred every day.”

  “I don’t keep the business running for Fred.” Actually that was a weird thing to say. Why would she say that? “Anyway, I couldn’t say no.”

  “Why not? Your business is worth more than helping a client isn’t it? You can find another one, right?” Wow. How did she get this clever? I’m sure I had nothing useful to say when I was thirteen.

  Gah. What was I supposed to say? It was a boy. I couldn’t say no.

  That’s no message you should teach your child.

  She waited but then her expression snapped shut when I didn’t continue the conversation. She got up, a small sigh slithering between us like the discarded dead skin of a snake.

  “It was a boy. I couldn’t say no,” I blurted.

  That made her pause. “A boy?”

  I flushed. “Not a boy, no, ugh, a man. He was a boy once.”

  And people wondered why I didn’t talk. Nothing came out like it should.

  She eyed me, calculating, then her lips tilted. “Oh my god, did you think he was hot?” Her hair swished over her shoulder, her eyes brightening in a way I hadn’t seen in months. I could see her eyes—always a plus.

  “No!” Yes, yes, and then more yes, but in a no, no, and then more no, way.

  “You did!”

  “Don’t tell Nonna.”

  Her face fell. “Why?”

  “Because she thinks everything I do is stupid.”

  Hanna’s face crinkled like a paper ball as she thought this over. “That’s not true.”

  “I can assure you it is.” I made a scoffing noise I’m not sure I’d made before. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “You thought he was hot.” The smile slipped back.

  “No. I wanted to punch him in the balls.”

  We did this thing where we smiled at one another and then she lifted a knowing eyebrow before swinging back out of the room.

  “I don’t advocate hitting guys in the nuts,” I called after her, but a moment too late. Damage done. I couldn’t wait for my next call to the Head’s office.

  * * *

  The weekend hurtled past and before I knew it, Monday called and I was back in the office, wondering what the next call from school would be about.

  “Oh my gawwwwwd.” Natalie whirled into my office with the force of a hurricane brewing offshore, and shut the door behind her, sliding her back down the glass.

  I shoved my phone back into my bag. A message had beeped, and I thought it might have been from Matthew, what with us talking now. Or at least I think we were talking, it was kind of hard to tell. It turned out to be from Adrian—Ma had given my number out despite me saying no. Thanks, Ma.

  “What’s up?” I glanced up, frowning when I noticed only one half of her lips had been stained red. “What’s going on?” It must be big if she hadn’t finished her lipstick, and when I say big, I mean earthquake big.

  The skin on her throat blotched like she’d slipped with the small tube of lippy and spread it down her neck instead of on her mouth. She fanned herself, panting.

  “I think my future husband has just walked in through the door.”

  “What are you talking about, Natalie?” I sighed.

  It took me a second for it to click.

  “Oh. Mr Carling is here is he?”

  My ten o’clock was fifteen minutes early. I breathed in deep. Why didn’t I sleep more last night?

  He’s just a client, that’s all.

  Why was he still wearing that bloody bracelet?

  My fingers still clutched the desk.

  If Natalie was close to orgasm, then he must look pretty fine. Shit.

  I couldn’t do this.

  No, I must do this.

  God. Gah.

  “Oh my, Ronnie, why didn’t you warn me? I would have got my make-up finished and put on my fuck-me-now heels.”

  “It’s nine forty-five, Natalie, I think your make-up should be done by now.” I glanced down at her five-inch nude-toned stilettos that matched her dress, and then at my own flats. My toes had screamed at me when I’d attempted my navy heels again this morning. It was a row I didn’t have the energy to win.

  “He’s, he’s…”

  “Good looking, is he? I didn’t notice.” I straightened my shirt and pretended like I’d been able to think of anything other than how he looked in Red’s on Friday. That crisp white shirt, the imprint of his fingers on that glass, the sweep of his signature on the contract… that scowl he’d had.

  No, I hadn’t thought about it at all.

  “You didn’t notice.” She frowned, her concern for my sexual limbo momentarily overriding the prospect of her future husband pacing in the reception area. And he would be pacing. I could almost feel the vibrations through the closed door.

  “Well, I mean, sure, he’s got that tall, dark, and handsome thing going on… but, really he’s not all that.” I trailed off, not wanting to get into the ins and out of how we once knew each other and the fact I’d already fallen for his ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ once before.

  So instead I shrugged.

  “I worry about you.” Her face was marred with just how much she worried about me.

  “I don’t pay you to worry about me.” Her gaze fell and my chest tightened in response. I scrambled to make her feel better. “Sorry. Listen, put on your lipstick and then go out there and offer him a drink for me. We need to wait for his colleague, anyway.” I almost growled at the thought of smiley Amanda and her long eyelashes and that look she’d worn when she spoke to him. Like he was the sole source of every beautiful thing in existence. He was, but she didn’t need to know about it.

  “Oh, sorry, I forgot. He said…” she swooned a little. “God, his voice.” I ignored the shiver she made as she closed her eyes and hummed for a moment, spank-banking the memory. “That he would be by himself. A finance meeting has held Amanda up.”

  I gripped the desk. Just the two of us. In a meeting? No Amanda? No long lashes and gushy voice? Just Matthew and me, alone?

  “Ronnie, are you okay?”


  My head spun a bit. No, I wasn’t okay, I couldn’t sit there and pretend that we didn’t know each other.

  “I’m fine. Go do your thing.” I waved her away and as soon as the door shut placed my head on the desk. Breathe, Ronnie.

  I picked up the phone to ring Angela for some effective and concise bitch slapping but I didn’t really have time for it.

  He was waiting now. She’d need to light a cigarette before she came up with any good advice. It would take ages.

  Glancing down at my hands, I focused on the gold band on my left ring finger. Funny that so many years had passed and I’d never thought I should maybe take it off. It just sat there like furniture on my hand.

  Running my thumb along the smooth metal, I remembered the promise that Paul had made that he’d keep my heart safe, make me laugh, that I would love him.

  Closing my eyes, I focused on the excruciating pain of my ripped and broken heart, being stitched back together until it was almost whole, if not in an odd shape like a re-stuffed cushion.

  “You can do this,” I muttered to myself.

  He’s just a client.

  Forget the past.

  Standing from my chair and pushing it back under my desk I strode for the door and yanked it open with brute force.

  My determination lasted the whole six steps until I saw him under the bright lights of the reception area. Hell, he was gorgeous. He smiled at something Natalie said as she leant across her desk, scrunching her cleavage up. The smile faded as he turned to face me, a scowl erasing its warmth.

  “Veronica.” He nodded.

  “Mr Carling.”

  I offered him my tightest smile and extended my hand.

  Once I’d survived shaking his hand and touching him, ignoring the painful dart that slipped along my spine, I turned and held my hand out to my office. “Shall we?”

  “Please.”

  Fuck, I hated him. I wanted to shake the life out of him.

  “If you could bring in some drinks please, Natalie.” I turned for my assistant who melted into a drool while we were still at the obligatory courtesies. You should have seen him when he was young and not an arsehole.

  “And can you please tell Fred that Mr Carling is here?”

  Matthew’s attention flickered across at me.

  “Fred is my head of design.”

  “Excellent. Do we know what we are designing yet?”

  My smile tightened further, if possible. “Fred and I had an early morning brainstorm.”

  Matthew’s eyes held my gaze. “Excellent. That’s what I’m paying you for.”

  The situation would have been empowering if it weren’t for the way his voice ran through my veins.

  Did I mention I hated him?

  “Natalie,” I squeaked. “Drinks, please.” It was almost automatic. “Two teas.”

  “Nice china?”

  I rolled my eyes and went to answer, but Matthew shot her a heart-stopping smile. When I say heart-stopping, mine flatlined—put me on a gurney and wheel me into the morgue. “Not on my account, please.”

  She swooned right in front of him, no shame whatsoever.

  I held my arm out, directing him to the office, but he waited for me to walk first, which I did, knees knocking.

  In my office I clutched air into my chest and glanced up to find his gaze resting on my face. Past and present, interest and hate.

  The way he looked at me became too much. We stared at one another until I realised what he was doing. He was waiting for me to speak first, testing me.

  Which of course erased every word I’d ever had in my brain. Because… pressure.

  I wanted to close my eyes and meditate for half an hour, but time was a luxury for those not on the brink of a past and present crisis breakdown.

  The image of his fingers pushing that glass of water towards me on Friday popped into my head. He’d known I was battling that knot that grew inside me, and he’d helped. He hadn’t forgotten the knot that was half of me, when others didn’t even acknowledge it existed.

  Now he was waiting.

  “You hate me.” Three words. Maybe not the right ones. But… pressure. I had to say something.

  “Hate’s a strong word.”

  I perched on my desk, unsure if my legs would work much longer.

  “You’re acting like we don’t know each other.”

  “We don’t, do we?”

  Please let me punch him. If I flew at him like a stark raving banshee would I get away with it? What would my staff think though? Poor Stewart would have kittens, multiple litters. Natalie would try to give Matthew the kiss of life. It would get messy.

  So instead, I leant against the desk and stared.

  Eventually I shrugged, it was all but impossible to act nonchalant with your heart pounding like a train.

  Why weren’t we laughing, reminiscing over old times and giggling over the fact that once I was so madly in love with him that I couldn’t think straight, and how silly I was?

  There’s none of that.

  “Mr Carling.” I sounded like an idiot, but using his full name was like holding up a shield in front of my heart.

  He sighed, but it didn’t register on his expression.

  Come on, Ronnie, be brave. Speak your mind—for once.

  “Why did you take us on if you don’t want to be here? It’s obvious you don’t like me… anymore. It seems to me this could become very awkward, especially on such a tight deadline.”

  Just then, right then when I’d let words come out of my mouth, Natalie pushed through the door backward, her arse swaying in her tight straight dress, as she brought in two mugs. “Fred is on his way up.” She flicked me a glance, searching over the way I stood with my arms folded, then looked at his corresponding stance. He leant against one of the easy chairs, his body language relaxed—sexy as hell—his face a closed mask. She didn’t know that wasn’t what his face should look like. I did though. I knew his smile was unlike anything else on this planet. It could make your heart grow and grow until you were sure it would explode its way out of your chest.

  “Excellent.”

  She hesitated and I used eye-talk to get her to move on. Not that she did. I’m sure her arse rarely swayed like that when she came into my office.

  Steam started to come out of my nose.

  I harnessed Hannah’s inner Godzilla until the phone rang and cut off the pressure build-up of smoke and vitriol. “Could you?” I smiled, the tiniest tight upturn of my lips.

  “What?”

  “Answer the phone.” I turned and glared at her, catching my own ridiculous reflection in the window.

  “Of course.” She frowned but backed out the room and I spun myself to look back at Matthew, raising my eyebrow in a ‘please answer if you haven’t been too distracted by my skinny assistant’s pert behind’ way.

  “I have a lot invested in this business.” The clipped response was like bullets out of a gun.

  So he was worried about money? Really?

  I cocked my head and analysed him, and in vain tried to make sense of who he now was.

  “Fine.” I motioned to the table and the chair opposite the digital display board mounted on the wall. “I’d hate for your investment to fail. Fred will be here in a moment and we can get started.” I pushed a mug towards him. His eyes flashed at my face, the frown deepening.

  Anytime, Fred… Anytime…

  Piercings

  Time ticked painfully slow. Not just in my head; the batteries must have been running out of the clock on the wall and it clicked at an uneven pace. According to the timepiece, it was seven thirty; I wished it bloody was, I might have stayed in bed.

  Matthew’s gaze had just fallen on my left hand. I watched him like a hawk about to swoop for its prey, when Fred blustered in.

  Ah, Fred.

  Ten years my junior, Fred styled himself on the ‘just got out of bed’, boyband chic, geek vibe. Usually I didn’t mind. But that was when he wasn’t sitting next to stu
ck-up-my-arse-in-my-sexy-expensive-suit Carling.

  It registered that, in a very short amount of time, the man opposite had gone from Matthew to Carling, but I didn’t have time to ponder on it.

  “Fred!” I almost bounced on him. His hand landed on my shoulder and gave a squeeze. We didn’t look professional at all; the scorching frown from our client didn’t make me feel he appreciated our small business mindset.

  “Boss Lady, sorry I was slow in coming along. I wanted to fix up what we discussed this morning.” Fred winked and then turned to face our visitor. “Well you don’t look like an Amanda.” He leant forward to shake Carling’s hand, and I flinched at the power squeeze that turned both their hands red. “That’s a shake you’ve got there.”

  The responding smile held a glacial wind straight from the arctic. “Amanda got caught up with finances.” His voice clipped, more bullets to my battered nerves. “Time is too much of the essence right now for us not to be making immediate headway.”

  Immediate headway? Hell, who is this man?

  “Okay.” I patted my hands on the table. “Let's get going then.”

  The man in the suit stared at me expectantly.

  I pushed through the blank space in my head, through the void of words that didn’t want to come to the surface.

  This was my job. This was my safe zone and I had nothing to be scared of.

  “The name Supersavers needs to go.”

  “No.”

  “But Supersavers sounds like a budget chain, and there are already too many of those on the high street now.”

  “But Supersavers was there first.” His stare frosted until it became snow-ridden, the black of his pupils almost blending with the midnight blue, his nostrils flared.

  “Is your shop as cheap at the ones now available? Are you offering the same range of goods they do?” They weren’t. I’d done my research personally and on foot. His lips crimped together. “Unfortunately, I think you need to consider the issue that you’ve budgeted yourself out of the market and there are few ways to dig yourself out without a complete name change. Not if you want to keep your shops open.”