plonked down his empty mug and marched off, leaving Rachel to stand there, staring after him, her stomach revolving as she recalled the bright yellow bikini amongst the clothes Isabel had given her.
The thought of swimming in a bright yellow bikini in front of her boss sent her into a spin.
‘Hop to it, Rachel,’ he threw over his shoulder.
She hopped to it, but she still kept thinking about that bikini. Though modest by some standards, it was still a bikini. That, combined with the colour, would not present the non-flashy, non-flirtatious image Justin had of her and which he obviously felt comfortable with. She knew it was a stretch of the imagination that he would ever be sexually attracted to her—especially if he didn’t like women—but in the end Rachel decided that the bikini would be accidentally left at home. She had a good thing going with her job and she didn’t want to risk changing the status quo.
With this thought in mind, she decided not to wear her hair down for the dinner tomorrow night, either. It could go up as usual. And her make-up would be confined to a touch of lipstick. That was all she owned, anyway. It would be crazy to race out and buy a whole lot of stuff for one night. For what? Just to satisfy her feminine pride? Because that was all that was at stake. Her pride. Nothing to do with Justin. He obviously didn’t give a damn how she looked.
Feeling much better with these decisions, Rachel put her mind to her job. At one o’clock on the dot she was off, the taxi making good time to Turramurra. Packing was a breeze. Isabel’s discarded honeymoon gear was already in a very nice suitcase. It was just a matter of taking some things out, and adding some, namely her bridesmaid gear, along with her toilet bag. She did also add some white sandals from Isabel’s wardrobe, knowing her friend wouldn’t mind.
She didn’t have time to change but she did put a simple white T-shirt on under her black jacket so that she could take the jacket off once they reached Coolangatta.
By two-ten she was back in a taxi, heading for Mascot, but this time the going was slower, because it had started to rain quite heavily. They fairly crawled down the Pacific highway. There was an accident at an intersection at Roseville, which caused a back-up, and they moved at a snail’s pace again right down to Chatswood, after which the flow of traffic improved, courtesy of the new motorway. But her watch still showed five after three when she climbed out at the domestic terminal at Mascot. By the time she’d waited in line, been booked in and gone through Security, it was twenty-five to four, only ten minutes from the scheduled boarding time.
As she hurried along the long corridor towards the nominated gate Rachel hoped Justin wasn’t worrying. She knew he’d already arrived because the lady on the check-in counter had been left instructions on her computer to give her the seat next to him.
Gate eleven came into sight at last, and so did Justin. He was sitting on a seat at the end of a row in the waiting area, reading an afternoon newspaper, and not looking at all anxious, though he did glance up over the top of the pages occasionally. When he spied her walking towards him he folded the newspaper, smiled and patted the spare seat beside him.
‘You made it,’ he said as she dropped down into it.
‘Just. The traffic back into town was horrendous. I was wishing I had a mobile phone to call you and tell you my progress.’
‘No worries,’ he said. ‘You’re here now.’
‘Yes. Yes. I’m here now.’ Breathless, relieved and quite excited, now that she wasn’t stressing about her clothes, or how she would look at tomorrow night’s dinner. It had been years since she’d gone anywhere for the weekend and here she was, flying off to the Gold Coast in the company of a very attractive man. OK, so he was only her boss, and there was nothing remotely romantic between them. But other people didn’t know that. Other people might look at them and think that they were going off for a dirty weekend together.
Not likely, you stupid girl, a quite savage voice reprimanded inside her head. Just look at him. He’s gorgeous! The epitome of tall, dark and handsome. And just look at you. Talk about drabsville. A few years ago, things might have been different. You were a real looker then. Now you’re a shadow of your former self. No, not even a shadow. A shell. That’s what you are. A cold, empty, sexless shell!
Rachel sagged back against the seat, a huge wave of depression swamping her earlier excitement.
‘I think this trip’ll do you good,’ Justin said suddenly by her side.
‘Oh?’ she replied wearily. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘You’ve been a bit down-in-the-mouth since your friend’s wedding last weekend. I dare say you’re missing her. And it can’t be much fun, working for a work-aholic bore like me.’
She stared over at him. ‘You’re not a bore. I like my job. And I like working for you.’
He smiled at her. ‘And I like you working for me. You are one seriously nice woman. Which is why what my mother said the other day has been bothering me. Tell it to me straight, Rachel. Do you object to bringing me coffee and running little errands for me? If you do, then I want you to say so. Right now.’
‘Justin, I don’t mind. Honestly. It’s a change sometimes to get up and do something physical instead of just sitting at the computer, updating files.’
He frowned. ‘That’s a good portion of your job, isn’t it? Updating the files. That must be boring for someone of your intelligence. I should involve you more in what I do, explain my programs, show you how to analyse the data yourself, make proper use of that good brain of yours. Would you like that?’
‘Oh! I…I’d love it! If—er—you really think I could do it, that is,’ she added, her chronic lack of confidence not quite keeping up with her instant enthusiasm over his proposal.
‘Of course you can. That way, when I set up my own company, I’ll promote you to being a proper personal assistant with a salary to match, and we’ll hire another girl to work on Reception and data entry.’
‘Justin! I…I don’t know what to say.’
‘Just say yes, of course.’
She beamed at him. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘That’s another thing I like about you. You don’t argue with me. Aah, there’s the boarding announcement. Come on, let’s be one of the first on board. Then I can settle back to reading the newspaper and you can read that book you’ve got in your bag.’ He was on his feet in a flash and off.
‘How do you know I’ve got a book in my bag?’ she asked after they’d been through the boarding-pass check and were striding down the tunnel towards the plane.
‘Rachel, give me credit for some powers of observation,’ he said drily. ‘I do realise I have my nose buried in computer screens most of the day but I’d have to be a total moron not to notice some of your habits. You read every single lunch-hour. And I imagine every day on the train to and from work. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’
‘What kind of books do you like?’
‘Oh. All kinds. Thrillers. Romances. Sagas. Biographies.’
‘I used to read thrillers obsessively when I was at uni,’ he said in a happily reminiscent tone. ‘But I have to confess my reading rarely
