by Leah Ashton
Judging from Andres’ exclamations, this lack of attention was rather noticeable. Jake didn’t really get it, although he supposed, looking at himself in the mirror, maybe his hair had got slightly long. But otherwise, surely a haircut was a haircut?
Also in the mirror, Jake could see Ella chatting away to a small group of women. Amongst the chaos of the busy salon, she looked relaxed and confident. She smiled and talked with her hands, and generally just looked as if she fitted in effortlessly.
Watching her, Jake was not entirely surprised to find himself silently cheering for teenage Eleanor. Never again would she slink across a quadrangle, shoulders slumped, in an attempt to make herself as small and insignificant as possible. Ella would stomp her stilettos all over the girls who had bullied her so mercilessly. No one would ever guess that she was once the shy and awkward new girl at school that his fourteen-year-old self had, against his better judgment, decided to help...
* * *
Finally, he found her. She sat with her back against the corrugated iron wall of the bike shed, her knees pulled up to her chest.
‘Are you okay?’
Eleanor glanced up, her face partly obscured by the tangle of her hair. But even so, Jake couldn’t miss the red rims to her eyes, or the tears that had left damp patches on the chequered fabric of her school dress.
‘Go away,’ she said. She shifted slightly, turning her back to him.
He ignored her dismissal, instead casually dropping his backpack onto the grass and sitting down beside her, his back to the wall, his legs stretched out long before him. It was February—the first week of school—and stinking hot, so he was wearing the awful dark grey shorts that were part of the South Beach College uniform. Mosquito bites from his walk home from school the night before patterned his legs.
Eleanor crept a little further away from him, but didn’t go to leave.
‘You’ve moved in next door to me, right?’ he asked.
Even with her back to him, Jake was pretty sure she nodded.
‘I only moved here last year myself.’
She remained silent.
‘It’s tough being new. Hard to make friends.’
‘You better not try and give me advice,’ she said. ‘I know you don’t have any friends.’
She wasn’t being nasty—she was just stating the truth.
‘I just don’t think there’s anyone at this school worth being friends with.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Whatever. Can you go now?’
‘Do you really want to be friends with those girls?’
Jake was pretty sure she did. He’d found himself watching her during the last couple of lunch breaks. Bravely trying to join the cross-legged circle of girls, plopping herself onto the grass as if she belonged. Every day, her attempts had failed, and the dismissive rudeness of the girls had deteriorated.
Eleanor shrugged. ‘They’re cool.’
‘Sure. If by cool you mean they’re fake, self-obsessed,
mean cows.’
She giggled. ‘Not all of them.’
But all of them joined in once the taunting began. Today they’d been calling Eleanor a dirty gypsy, apparently because she’d spent her childhood travelling in a caravan with her nomadic, dreadlocked parents. The joke was that whenever Eleanor came close, they’d hold their nose and go on about the stink.
Comedy gold. Right.
Jake stood, and Eleanor craned her neck to look up at him.
‘Look, if you don’t want to spend your lunches sitting behind the bicycle shed, you can come sit with me, if you want.’ His voice was a little gruff, and he cleared his throat. ‘You know, until you make some friends.’
She studied him carefully, and he half expected her to laugh. To make a comment about not wanting to sit with the resident nerd or something. It wouldn’t have bothered him if she did—he was used to it. He couldn’t give a damn what anyone thought about him. He had a plan for his life—and it didn’t involve anyone from this stupid school.
He didn’t even know why he’d offered; it wasn’t as if he knew her, or wanted company. And he was hardly known for his caring and sharing nature. He basically grunted at the kids in his year; he’d discovered it was an effective mechanism to keep everyone far away. Just as he liked it.
Eventually, she nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said very politely. ‘That’s very nice, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.’
‘No worries,’ Jake said.
And he walked away.
Exactly one week later, Eleanor slid into the chair across from him at the library, and waited patiently for him to mark his place in Programming for Visual Basic.
‘You were right,’ she said. ‘They’re a bunch of nasty cows.’
* * *
‘And, voilà!’ Andres exclaimed, silencing the buzz of the clippers and snapping Jake back to reality. ‘All done. You like?’
Jake had barely had a moment to look at himself, when suddenly he was surrounded by what appeared to be every person who worked in the salon—rainbow hair colours and all. And Ella.
They all looked a little stunned.
What had happened to deserve such a mass, shocked reaction? Was he bald? Had they managed to dye his hair without him noticing?
But no. He looked the same. His hair was short—way shorter than it had ever been. Not quite army buzz-cut short, but close.
It actually wasn’t too bad.
So he had to ask. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, nothing’s wrong, honey,’ said the woman from the front desk. ‘Trust me.’
As a group, the women—and a couple of guys—nodded.
‘You know, I always thought he was pretty nice-looking when I saw him in magazines and stuff? But wow...’
‘He looks kind of like that soccer player, don’t you reckon? The English one.’
‘Honestly, if I’d known this is what a computer geek looked like, I—’
‘Thanks for the feedback, ladies,’ Ella interjected, her tone just the slightest bit sharp. ‘But Jake and I really need to get a move on. Busy day, you know?’
Jake’s gaze darted to his watch. They were doing fine for time, actually, but he wasn’t about to point that out to Ella. Before he knew it, she’d herded him out of the door. Outside, Martin Place had reduced to a trickle of foot traffic now that the majority of Sydney was safely ensconced at their desks.
Ella had already charged up the street, heading for the Armada building.
‘I think those ladies had a bit more to say,’ he pointed out, his longer stride easily keeping pace with her no-nonsense walk.
Ella had fished her phone out of her handbag, and her gaze was trained on its screen as she spoke. ‘I think you heard enough.’
‘Maybe it would be good for my self-confidence to hear people compliment my new haircut.’
She snorted. ‘You know perfectly well how good-looking you are.’
The moment Ella realised what she said was obvious, the finger she’d been using to scroll through her emails stilled instantly. So did she.
‘Do I?’ he asked, stopping beside her.
She tilted her chin up, catching his gaze. Her eyes revealed nothing behind those damn lenses. ‘It’s my role to be fully aware of how you look. Objectively, you’re a very handsome man, which certainly makes my job easier.’
She might as well have been describing the attractiveness of an inanimate object for all the emotion in her tone.
Without another word, Ella charged off again.
Jake followed, easily catching up within a couple of paces.
So it turned out Ella hadn’t only gained conversational skills and self-confidence in the last ten or so years.
She’d also got a hell of a lot better at hiding her emotions. The Eleanor he remembered had been an open book. But Ella—Ella was more like one of those diaries with those shiny silver padlocks.
Last week, she’d slipped up, just occasionally, in his office. Glimpses of something—the Eleanor h
e remembered—had made it through.
But today, that was gone. If she were one of those diaries, it was as if she’d gone and thrown away the key.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘ABSOLUTELY not.’
Judging from Jake’s expression, she might as well have asked him to sell his soul. For good measure, he crossed his arms, making him six feet two-ish of It’s Not Going To Happen.
Calmly—outwardly, at least—Ella turned to Jake’s PA, Kerry, who sat serenely behind her desk. Tellingly, she did not look at all surprised.
‘Did I not provide an explanation of the wardrobe audit in the schedule I sent you?’ she asked, although of course she knew she had. ‘Visiting said wardrobe is kind of essential.’
Kerry shrugged. She had silver hair, rather cool winged glasses and maybe just the slightest hint of a grin.
‘I forwarded all the attached documents to Jake. Obviously he didn’t get around to perusing them.’
‘No,’ Jake confirmed, ‘I didn’t peruse anything that involved my home.’
To be honest, Ella couldn’t quite get her head around why he was being so resistant. What was clear, however, was that he didn’t want her anywhere near his house.
She felt more than a little offended. What did she have—the plague?
‘Kerry, surely you knew I’d be unhappy about this.’
The older woman didn’t blink. ‘Of course. However, I hoped that once you’d started the programme, you’d loosen up a little.’ She paused. ‘Regardless, you were free to read Ella’s detailed schedule at any time.’
Jake’s jaw clenched at this undeniable truth.
‘By the way, love the haircut. Great job.’ This last bit was aimed at Ella, and she smiled in response.
‘Thanks. It’s quite remarkable what a good stylist—’
‘Ladies. Can we stay on topic? The point is, I don’t need a wardrobe audit.’
Quite deliberately, Ella let her gaze travel up Jake’s body—from his scuffed shoes, to the jeans with two rips in them, and then the jacket that looked as if it might have had a dog or cat rub up against it, as it was covered in a fine coating of white hairs.
It was supposed to be a professional assessment of his dire need for a wardrobe makeover, but when she found herself studying the breadth of his chest just a little too long she realised that aim had gone a little skew-whiff.
She cleared her throat. ‘You need a wardrobe audit, Jake.’
He watched her with a steady gaze and an intensity that was becoming familiar.
‘For the sake of argument what exactly is a wardrobe audit, and why must it take place at my house?’
Ella swallowed. Fired up, Jake was quite something...intimidating, even. For the first time, Ella could imagine Jake—despite his jeans—at the head of a boardroom, commanding attention. She, for one, was finding it impossible to look away.
‘It’s a...a...’
Ella stopped, furious with herself.
Pull yourself together, girl!
She straightened her shoulders. ‘It’s a standard and essential element of my services. In order to most effectively construct your new look, I need to truly understand your current situation. So I’ll come to your home, and together we’ll go through your existing clothing. Generally much of my client’s wardrobes need to go but I’ll also identify pieces in your wardrobe that can be repurposed, saving you money and ensuring that you still feel like “you”—despite your new look.’
‘So basically you want to come over to my house and go through my things?’
How did Jake make her standard vanilla wardrobe audit sound so tacky?
‘We’ll do it together. Ideally, my clients will try on their clothes for me, to give me an idea of their preferred outfits, what they feel looks good on them and—’
‘Ah,’ Jake interrupted. ‘So you want to come over, look through my things, and treat me like a Ken doll you get to play dress-ups with?’
Now it was Ella’s turn to get all indignant. How dared he?
But she kept her tone steady.
‘No. I want to come to your place, and together we would complete a wardrobe audit. It’s totally standard. My clients often comment that of all my services, it’s the one they most value.’
Jake looked considerably less than impressed.
‘I very rarely invite guests to my home,’ he said.
So now the truth came out. What was it? Was he worried about her taking photos to sell to a tabloid or something? Calling a gossip columnist as soon as she got home?
‘I’m very discreet,’ Ella said. ‘I’ve been working with Sydney’s rich and famous for many years. I assure you, I take your privacy very seriously. And if my word isn’t enough, I’m happy to provide references.’
It was surprisingly difficult to not say what she was really thinking:
Stop being a jerk and trust me. I know what I’m doing.
And also:
Jake, you know I’d never do that to you.
But really how could he know that? It had been a very long time.
In fact the last time one of them had blindly trusted someone, like, say when she’d offered up her heart to him on a platter—well... That hadn’t worked out so great, had it?
‘Why did you—?’
Ella all but slapped her hand to her lips in horror at what she’d almost said.
Why did you abandon me?
Where had that come from? And in the lobby of the Armada development floor with Jake’s PA looking on with open curiosity? What was wrong with her?
Who cared about what some stupid seventeen-year-old boy did a hundred years ago?
Not her.
‘I would’ve cancelled earlier if I’d understood your plans for the rest of the morning,’ Jake said, misunderstanding her. ‘I apologise for the inconvenience.’ He hitched his backpack a little higher on his shoulder. ‘I’ll read through the remainder of the schedule in detail, and will advise of any other issues I come across.’
Any other issues he came across?
‘Jake, I’ve been employed by Armada to create your rebranding programme—your schedule was not intended to be a starting position that we’d then negotiate.’
Jake shrugged. ‘I’m not moving on this. You can cut my hair, tell me what to wear, teach me how to play nice with reporters—whatever. But my private life, including my home, will not become part of this circus.’
Ella opened her mouth to argue but then snapped it shut again. There was no point. So she’d just need to salvage what she could.
‘Without access to your existing wardrobe, we’ll need to purchase significantly more new clothes.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Knock yourself out. Money isn’t an issue.’
‘And—this is non-negotiable—when we go shopping, you’ll need to try on the clothes. Without any Ken-doll quips.’ She watched him steadily. ‘This is my job, Jake. You need to let me do it.’
After a second or two, Jake nodded. If a bit reluctantly.
‘I’ll also tolerate no further changes to the schedule. If, following your review, you consider anything unacceptable, then we’ll end this here.’ She attempted a smile, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘At the very least, you’ve got a new haircut out of it.’
Jake’s lips twitched. ‘But you’d be leaving me to look too intensely at the camera all by myself.’
‘And to talk too much about boring software. While wearing faded old jeans.’
Now he smiled fully. ‘No more wardrobe audits?’
Ella put a hand to her heart. ‘I promise.’ She couldn’t resist adding, ‘But you’re missing out...’
Jake shook his head, but his lips were kicked up in a halfway there grin. ‘Fine,’ he said.
Ella tried to subtly release the breath she’d been holding. Thank goodness he hadn’t called her bluff—as a bluff it most certainly had been.
She wasn’t about to walk away from Jake.
But he walked away from me.
&n
bsp; No. She wasn’t to think like that. This conversation—this whole situation—was about the present, not the past.
This is a once-in-a-career opportunity.
That was what this was about. Nothing else.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, right?’ Jake asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, we’ve got a tight schedule before your first interview.’
Jake rolled his eyes. ‘So Marketing keeps telling me. Honestly, I think they would’ve preferred a parrot as the face of Armada. At least then they could stop worrying that I won’t stay “on message” in my interviews.’
The last of the sentence was muttered almost absently as he turned and headed into his office, leaving Ella and Kerry alone.
‘Sorry,’ Kerry said. ‘Jake can be a little difficult, sometimes. And he’s not really into all this image stuff, you know?’
Ella murmured in agreement. Yes, she certainly did.
Kerry sighed. ‘I knew he’d be funny about the wardrobe thing, but I figured because he said you knew each other, that he’d be okay with it.’
‘He told you we used to know each other?’ Ella’s words sounded only the slightest bit strangled.
‘Yes,’ Kerry said, then she smiled, her expression speculative. ‘You know, I was wondering about that. He didn’t give any details, and—’ Kerry’s phone rang. ‘Sorry, I’ll just have to get this.’
But Ella wasn’t about to wait around.
As Kerry politely answered her call, Ella mouthed her goodbyes and gave a little wave as she backed away—rapidly.
She needed to send an email.
* * *
Jake guessed he was about a kilometre from home, when it began to rain.
It was hardly a surprise. Dark and stormy clouds had been perched patiently just above the sandstone cliffs that surrounded his Blue Mountains property for hours.
Yet he’d still gone for a hike, with his dogs, without any wet weather gear whatsoever.
