of finger food. Predominantly male executives in business attire made for a sea of sombre suits interspersed with splashes of colour and the occasional whiff of feminine perfume.
Didi aimed a winning smile at the group of men she’d targeted as being the head honchos. ‘Would you like to try a crab cake with lemongrass sauce? Or perhaps one of these baked cheese olive balls?’
As expected, her smile was ignored as they continued their discussion around the model of a proposed development for one of Melbourne’s inner city precincts on a table in front of them, but a few greedy fingers plucked her dainty morsels off the tray.
Rude, rude, rude. Her smile remained, but inside she gritted her teeth as she skirted the group to reappear around the other side. She hated this subservient, thankless job. But right now she had no alternative if she didn’t want to slink home to Sydney and admit she’d made a mistake—
‘Thank you, Didi.’
The unexpected rich baritone voice had her looking up—way up—at the man who’d taken the last crab cake and had the courtesy to use her name. ‘You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy…it…’ Her voice faded away as her gaze met a pair of twinkling blue eyes…
This couldn’t be the man whose photo was warming her right hip even as he smiled. Could it?
Yes. It could—and it most definitely was. So the woman who’d left the picture in the Ladies had known he’d be here—maybe she still was, and wanted to witness his humiliation.
The cheap printout didn’t do him justice—he was gorgeous. His eyes were navy, almost black. And focused wholly on her. He’d shaved tonight; no sign of that stubble. Just smooth tanned skin… Her palms itched to find out just how smooth. The maroon and black tie’s sheen accentuated his snowy white shirt, drawing her attention to a prominent Adam’s apple and solid neck. His hair was shorter than it was in the picture and the room’s light caught threads of auburn amongst the brown.
He wore a pinstriped charcoal suit and she knew from her experience with fabrics that it was Italian and expensive. Touchable. Warm from his body heat. Her insides did a slow roll and her fingers tightened on the tray.
As she watched he lifted the crab cake to his lips before popping it into his mouth, still smiling at her, and for an instant she bathed in the warmth before he turned away.
No. She wanted to bask in that heat a moment longer. ‘You forgot to dip,’ she found herself saying. Loudly. Too loudly. His gaze swung back. ‘And that was the last one…’ She trailed off, lost for a moment in his eyes.
His lips stretched into a smile as he continued chewing. She had a completely inappropriate image of dipping her fingers in the sauce then sliding them between his lips, and her pulse quickened. ‘That’s too bad,’ he said, his voice a tone or two lower, his eyes a tad darker. As if he was sharing the same fantasy. ‘It was delicious nevertheless.’
‘Try a cheese and olive ball.’ She offered her tray up like some kind of entreaty. ‘It’s a different texture but if you like olives—’ Cheeks heating, she caught her runaway tongue between her lips to stem the verbal tide. What the heck was she doing?
‘I love olives.’ He selected one, his gaze once again focused on her, warming her from the inside out.
‘When you’ve quite finished.’ A man with thick white hair aimed his glare at her over the rim of a pair of butt-ugly spectacles. ‘As I was saying, Cam…’
Cam held Didi’s eyes for a second longer, then gave a conspiratorial wink before getting back to business.
Cam… Cameron Black. Didi mentally repeated his name as she watched one long tapered finger touch the model of his proposed development as he spoke. What would it feel like to have that finger touch her? Anywhere. For any reason…
Get real, she admonished herself. Step away before you make a complete and utter fool of yourself.
This man was into property deals and big-business networking. He didn’t have time for the simpler things like social conversation. No doubt he spent his entire life dealing with men like Mr White Hair. He was one of those men for whom making money was more important than relationships—hence the poster, no doubt.
As she stepped back she couldn’t help noticing the arched façade of the model he was touching. She frowned, squinting without her glasses. It looked like her apartment building.
It was her apartment building. They’d been served with eviction notices months ago, but Didi hadn’t got around to finding herself a new place yet. At least not one she could afford.
Resentment simmered beneath her carefully cultivated waitress persona. That was where she’d seen his name. Cameron Black Property Developers were kicking her out along with several other families in three weeks; she’d seen the signage on the vacant lot next door where a pawn shop and a sleazy tattoo parlour had recently been demolished. All destined to be part of a new complex that would take months to complete.
A different kind of heat fired through her veins. The burn of disappointment, anger. Outrage. Greed was Cameron’s motivation. Certainly not concern for the residents who couldn’t afford to move to the more upmarket parts of town.
She should bite her tongue, turn around and head to the kitchen to refill her depleted tray. But she’d never been one who could keep her mouth shut. ‘Excuse me.’
Six heads turned, six pairs of eyes drilled into hers, but it was Cameron Black she focused on. ‘Have you given any thought to the tenants you’re turfing out at number two hundred and three?’
His jaw firmed, the warmth in his eyes vanished. ‘I beg your pardon?’
She waved a hand over the model. ‘I don’t know how people like you sleep at night.’ She scoffed out a humourless laugh. ‘Mrs Jacobs has been there for fifteen years—she’s had to go to Geelong to live with her daughter’s family. And Clem Mason’s—’
‘Watch yourself, girlie,’ Mr White Hair warned.
Fired up now, Didi didn’t spare him a glance. ‘Do you know how hard it is to find suitable accommodation at affordable rates, Mr Black? Do you care at all about the ordinary people trying to get by on the basics who live—make that lived—in that building?’
‘I’m not aware of any problems.’ His voice was cool professionalism. ‘Of course you’re not.’ And he’d probably trotted out that same line to the pinner-upper of the photo in her pocket. She could only shake her head on behalf of women everywhere. ‘Maybe that’s why you’re the current Pin-Up Boy in the ladies’ loo.’ Her voice carried way further than she’d meant it to and a hush descended around them like a suffocating shroud.
Twin spots of colour slashed Cameron Black’s cheeks and his mouth opened as if to speak, but she turned away, her runaway tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth. Before she made matters worse, she set her tray on a nearby table and quickly made her way towards the restroom.
She pushed through the door, found it empty and leaned back against its solid barrier with a heartfelt sigh. Tonight her mouth might just have cost her this job.
She stepped to the vanity counter and turned on the tap, dabbing her neck with cold water. Thankless or not, she needed this work. Why couldn’t
