have to be careful not to fall for the guy. Or to start hoping for more than such a man could give.
Jessie sighed. Did she honestly need such complications in her life? Wouldn’t it be better if she just went along the way she was, being a celibate single mum?
Men were trouble. Always had been. Always would be. She was much better off without one in her life. Emily was happy. She was happy. She’d be even happier if she got this job on Monday.
Feeling frustrated was just a temporary thing. She’d get over it. One day.
Jessie sighed again.
‘Why are you always sighing today, Mummy?’ Emily asked. ‘Are you tired?’
‘A little, sweetie.’
‘Why don’t you have a cup of coffee? You always do that when you’re tired.’
Jessie looked into her daughter’s beautiful brown eyes and laughed. ‘You know me very well, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Mummy,’ she said in that strangely grownup voice she used sometimes. ‘I do. Oh, I can hear Dora’s car! Let’s go and tell her about your new job.’
‘I haven’t got it yet, Emily. It’s only an interview.’
‘You’ll get it, Mummy,’ she said with all the naïve confidence of a four-year-old. ‘You will get the job.’
THE offices of Wild Ideas were in north Sydney, on the third floor of an office block not far from North Sydney Station. A bonus for Jessie, who didn’t own a car.
She arrived in the foyer of the building early, dressed in her best stone-washed jeans and a freshly starched white shirt, turned up at the collar. She carried a lightweight black jacket—in case the air-conditioning inside was brutal—as well as a black briefcase. Her shoes were sensible black pumps, well-worn but polished that morning till they shone.
Her hair was pulled back tightly and secured at the nape of her neck with a black and white printed scarf she’d borrowed from Dora. Her make-up was on the neutral side, especially around her eyes and on her mouth. The only jewelry she wore were small silver cross earrings. Plus her watch. She’d be lost without her watch.
She glanced at it now. Still only twenty-five minutes to ten. She wasn’t going up to Wild Ideas yet. Only desperates arrived that early. Instead she headed for the powder room, where she spent a few minutes checking that she didn’t look like a femme fatale.
Actually, her appearance would be considered very conservative in advertising circles. But she’d never been a flashy dresser, even when she could afford to be.
Finally, she gave in to her pounding heart and rode the lift up to the third floor. It had been some months since she’d been for a job interview and she felt sick with nerves and tension. Not because she didn’t think she could do the job. Jessie had never been lacking in confidence in her own abilities. But after being knocked back as often as she had, she’d begun to wonder if anyone would ever see what she had to offer.
Still, this chance was the best she’d had so far. An even-money chance.
As Jessie exited the lift on the third floor, she wondered if the other applicant was in there now, being interviewed, impressing the boss so much that he wouldn’t even bother to see her. Maybe the receptionist would say ‘Thank you very much but the job’s already taken’.
Jessie took a deep breath and told herself not to be so silly. Or so negative. Harry Wilde had obviously liked her résumé. Surely, he’d have the decency to give her an interview.
The reception area of Wild Ideas fitted its image. Modern and colourful, with crisp, clean lines and furniture. Red-painted walls, covered in advertising posters. Black tiled floor. Very shiny. The sofas were in cream leather, the desk and coffee-tables made of blond wood.
The receptionist was blond as well, but not overly glamorous or overly beautiful. Possibly thirty, she wore a neat black suit and a nice smile—not the sort of smile used before delivering bad news.
‘Hello,’ she said brightly when Jessie walked in. ‘You’ll be Jessie Denton.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Jessie replied, her palms still distinctly sweaty. ‘I’m a bit early.’
‘Better than being late. Or not turning up at all,’ the blonde added ruefully. ‘I’ll just give Karen a ring to let her know you’ve arrived. Karen’s Mr Wilde’s PA,’ she explained. ‘Just take a seat over there for a sec.’ And she motioned towards one of the seats that lined the waiting-room walls.
‘Jessie Denton’s here, Karen,’ she heard the receptionist say quietly into the phone. ‘OK… Yes, I’ll tell her.’
By the time she looked up, Jessie had sat down, leant back and crossed her legs, doing her best to appear cool and confident. Inside, she was a bundle of nerves.
‘Mr Marshall hasn’t finished with the other applicant yet,’ the receptionist informed her. ‘But he won’t be long.’
‘Mr Marshall?’ Jessie choked out, her legs un-crossing as she jerked forward on the seat. ‘But…but…’
‘Mr Wilde is overseas at the moment,’ the receptionist cut into Jessie’s stammering, and before she could recover from her shock. ‘Mr Marshall is in charge while he’s away.’
‘Oh. I see. Right.’ Jessie took a deep breath and leant back again, exhaling slowly. Crazy to think that this Mr Marshall was her Mr Marshall from Friday night. Marshall wasn’t such an unusual name. On top of that, her Mr Marshall was an accountant. What would an accountant be doing running an advertising agency, even temporarily?
‘My name’s Margaret, by the way,’ the receptionist went on breezily. ‘We might as well get to know each other. I probably shouldn’t be saying this but I think you’re more Mr Marshall’s cup of tea than the girl who’s in there now.’
‘Why’s that?’ Jessie asked.
Somewhere on the floor a door banged.
‘Judge for yourself,’ Margaret murmured.
Just then this amazing creature swept down a corridor into the reception area.
The first thing that struck Jessie was her bright orange hair, which looked as if it had been cut with a chainsaw. A rusty chainsaw.
The second was the myriad gold studs and rings that adorned her starkly white face. Ears. Nose. Lips. Eyebrows. Chin.
Lord knew what other parts of her body had been pierced. Possibly a great many.
Thankfully, the girl was clothed from head to foot so Jessie could only speculate. Her style, however, was a combination of grunge and gothic and the garments she sported looked as if they’d been rescued from a charity bin. The kind they used for recycled rags.
‘Tell Harry Wilde to contact me when he gets back, if
