Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance Page 3

  Winnie lowered her voice, hoping Olive wouldn’t cotton on that they’d already met, and later ask how. ‘What about yesterday, were you working then or what?’ It had been at least three in the afternoon when she’d – ahem – sprayed gravel in his direction.

  Alex shrugged. ‘I got waylaid helping a mate after work.’

  ‘Right,’ Winnie said, knowing she sounded overly formal, but unable to help herself in his overwhelming presence. ‘So when do you usually start work?’

  ‘Later now the crays have started crawling in closer – about four-thirty a.m.’

  Winnie just about fell off her chair. The only time she saw that hour was when she’d lost track of time dancing at a club with Bruna.

  Alex added, ‘It depends on the skipper, though.’

  A-ha. She’d been on the money the first time about him being a deckhand then. ‘So tell me – how are you going to have the energy to do a full morning’s fishing, then magazine jobs when required? Won’t that be a bit of a stretch?’

  A furrow marked his brow. ‘Hey, I’m not desperate for the work. If you don’t need me, that’s fine.’ He wrenched himself from the seat, placing a large, tanned hand on the back of it. ‘This is probably not the best idea anyway . . . given the circumstances.’

  Olive was openly looking back and forth between them now, as though she were watching Nadal and Djokovic lobbing balls over the net.

  ‘No need to be so hasty,’ Winnie said frantically, rising out of her seat too. ‘You’re definitely needed. I’m just concerned about . . . about your wellbeing, that’s all, but if you think you can manage . . .’

  Seconds ticked by before Alex sprawled his lengthy frame back on the chair. Winnie followed suit, sinking into hers. ‘Think I’ll be right. Wouldn’t want to let down Christa, who so nicely called me about the work. Got any jobs lined up for me yet?’

  Winnie coughed. ‘Nothing concrete, but I have a, uh, few things in the pipeline.’

  She was saved from further conversation by a curly-haired, fifty-something woman bursting through the door. In one hand the woman had a basket piled high with scones and in the other a clipboard. She seemed none too fussed about interrupting things.

  ‘Hello!’ she crowed, directing her beady gaze at Winnie. ‘I heard there was a newcomer in town and I wanted to make sure you felt welcome. I’m Mary, by the way, but everyone around here calls me Mrs D.’

  ‘Oh, um, hi. I’m Winnie Cherry. Pleased to meet you.’

  Pushing in front of Alex, Mrs D bent to rest the basket on Winnie’s desk. Winnie had to conceal a smile, thinking of the woman’s ample derriere at his eye level. ‘Have a scone, dear,’ the woman urged.

  Winnie looked down. Mmm, they did smell delicious. She reached for one. ‘With pleasure.’ The only welcome gift she’d gotten when she moved to Sydney was a note from a stranger on her car, saying, Not a park, whore.

  ‘They’re cheese and bacon,’ Mrs D ploughed on. ‘My very own recipe.’

  Winnie’s wrist sagged. She dropped the scone next to her keyboard like it was radioactive. ‘Wow. Actually I might enjoy it a bit later . . .’

  Mrs D seemed too distracted in giving her the once-over to notice Winnie’s change of heart. ‘While I’ve got you, actually,’ the woman continued, ‘I’m the president of the local netball club and I’m trying to shore up team numbers for next season. Fancy putting your name down? You look reasonably fit, though perhaps a little on the thin side.’ She flashed Winnie a toothy smile. ‘But we can work on that.’ It was like being sized up by a nasty butcher.

  ‘Oh, um . . .’

  Alex leant around Mrs D, grabbing a scone. A smile lit up his features, which only served to make him look more handsome – if you liked the unwashed sort. ‘Netball starts in June, after footy. You’ll still be here then, won’t you, Winnie?’

  Bugger. He must have remembered what she said yesterday before she’d wheeled out of the car park – about only planning on being here for two months. Dutifully ignoring him, she grabbed Mrs D’s clipboard and scrawled her contact details on the bottom of the rather stunted list. That’d show him.

  ‘I’d love to be involved,’ she fibbed, beaming at Mrs D.

  The shriek of the landline on her desk cut through the air – the first time it had rung all morning, which meant it actually worked. A glance at the caller ID made her insides liquefy. Christa.

  ‘I’d better take this,’ Winnie said shakily. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs D.’

  The woman ambled towards the door with a wave, leaving the dreaded scones on Winnie’s desk. ‘No problems.’

  Alex shot to his feet too, and winked. ‘Guess I’ll wait to hear from you then.’

  Ugh. Perish the thought. Unfortunately, she had no other choice. As she watched his back retreat, she picked up the grubby handset and tried not to think about what germs might linger from the ninja-trained mortgage broker who’d once sat in her place. ‘Beach Life.’

  ‘Winnie, what the heck’s wrong with your voice?’ the editorial director exploded down the line in her schoolteacher-like British accent.

  ‘I just had a, um, little accident with a hot cup of coffee.’

  ‘Well, that’s no good for hopping on the lines and getting the brand message out there. I hope you were making plenty of calls – I couldn’t get through.’

  ‘Yes, I was . . . of course.’

  Christa plunged on, firing directives, while Winnie massaged her aching temples. It was going to be a long day. Scratch that – a long two months. But she couldn’t wallow in despair. She had to keep her eye on the prize; her return to glittering Sydney depended upon it. Otherwise she was stuck in Kingston for good, which was even more terrifying than Christa herself.

  Chapter Three

  Alex surveyed the crowd at the Crown Inn’s front bar. The pub was unusually busy for a Monday night, thanks to a fundraiser for the local firefighters. He wasn’t one for crowds, but he needed a pint after the day he’d had. It had started with a very ordinary morning of fishing – the pots turned up more seaweed than crays, affecting his cut – and had gotten worse. Particularly when he’d found out who he’d be working for in his photography sideline. Winnie was exactly the kind of self-important, haughty city slicker he liked to steer clear of these days.

  ‘That’s a beauty you’ve got on your forehead,’ his mate, Kirk, another deckhand, remarked. His dark eyes had a dangerous glint. ‘Which sheila you upset this time?’

  Alex tipped more ice-cold ale down his throat, thumping the glass back on the bar. ‘It’s nothing. Just a minor nick. An accident.’

  Kirk leant in, and Alex could see every dark spike of hair on his head. ‘You should tell the girls first-up you don’t do relationships. Save that pretty mug of yours.’ Alex’s scowl prompted a smile and Kirk stepped back again. ‘I’ll just assume you walked into a door then?’

  ‘Assume away.’

  Alex saw Kirk turn his head towards the door, his eyes widening appreciatively. Conversations seemed to have paused, like someone had used the TV remote’s mute button on the crowd. Against his better judgement, Alex shifted his gaze in the direction of all the attention – and immediately wished he hadn’t. The sight was like a sucker punch to the stomach.

  Winnie hovered at the entrance, wearing a weird grey dress – different from earlier – and too much war paint. In that moment, she looked like an innocent lamb, oblivious to the fact it was about to be sent to the slaughter. Olive bustled over, temporarily saving her. The crowd of mostly men were behaving like private schoolboys who’d never shared the same air with a young woman before.

  ‘Where’ve you been, love?’ Olive chirped noisily at Winnie’s side.

  The strawberry blonde shrugged. ‘I – I just went home to change.’

  ‘This place ain’t like some celebrity watering hole you see in the mags,’ Olive chided. ‘There’s no need to dress up. Your work gear’s fine.’ Turning, she faced the blokes, who were hanging onto their every word. ‘All ri
ght, you lot. This is Winnie Cherry, the editor of Beach Life. She’s new in town, like the magazine. So please stop gawking and start making her feel welcome.’

  ‘First drink’s on me,’ Kirk yelped over the cheers, nearly deafening Alex, whose stomach dropped.

  ‘Now that’s what I call a gentleman.’ Olive grinned, propelling Winnie by the elbow towards them. Thankfully, the usual pub din soon returned. Alex was uneasy enough about having to exchange words with Winnie again – let alone being eavesdropped on as well.

  The magazine editor slotted in between him and Kirk, visibly flinching when her chocolate-brown gaze fell his way. ‘Oh . . . I didn’t notice you there before.’

  Kirk leant forwards, his eyes darting between them. ‘You two know each other?’

  Alex signalled with a raised finger at the bartender for another drink. He fished in his wallet for some notes. ‘She’s my new boss.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Winnie cut in, a blush licking her cheeks. ‘He’s doing some freelance photography work for the magazine – when he’s not fishing.’

  Kirk raised dark brows. ‘Oh, that’s right, the camera obsession. You know, I reckon being a photographer would be a great gig.’ He rested a hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘All the pretty girls you’d get to meet —’

  ‘Landscapes are more my thing,’ Alex cut in.

  ‘Whatever floats your boat.’ Kirk turned his attention back to Winnie, masterfully narrowing the gap between them, ever the smooth operator. ‘Anyway, what can I get you to drink?’

  Tipping her head back, she assessed the shelves of gleaming bottles behind the bar. ‘You know, I might go a scotch and Coke.’

  Olive clapped her on the back. ‘Nice one. When in Kingston, do as the Kingstonites do.’

  Minutes later, with Kirk making a toilet visit and Olive drifting off to talk to a friend, Alex was stuck alone with Winnie again. He could practically see her brain behind her crumpled brow trying to come up with safe conversation topics. Sure, she was pretty beneath all that slap, but she was also the exact opposite of his type.

  ‘So I gather you’re not from around here?’ she probed finally.

  ‘Cause I’m decked out in Armani?’ he shot back.

  ‘No, you definitely look the part.’ She wrinkled her irritatingly perfect ski-jump nose. ‘Though it’s good to see you’ve changed from earlier. It’s your accent. It sounds . . . international.’

  ‘I’ve moved around a bit.’ It wasn’t her business to know just how many kilometres he’d travelled to escape his old life. The very last thing he needed was a journalist digging around. Which didn’t bode well with him now working for Beach Life, sure. But he was certain she’d be too busy while in town touching up her make-up and organising her outfits to notice much else. He decided to turn the tables, put her off the scent. ‘I gather you’re from Sydney.’

  Her eyes danced. ‘You can tell?’

  He chose not to mention the pole-up-the-derriere stance as the giveaway. ‘I saw your numberplates – in between dodging gravel. So what makes a girl like you leave the harbour city behind and head all the way out here? It can’t just be a little magazine.’

  Her glossy lips tightened into a line. ‘Why not? It’s a good gig – great for career advancement – and I intend to make the most of it.’ She turned away to order another drink. One of the guys from the Country Fire Service stepped up to pay.

  A few hours later, Alex watched Winnie stand by the jukebox and sway to Elton John’s ‘Candle in the Wind’, her eyes closed. The free drinks had been coming thick and fast and Olive was no longer around to protect her little lamb. Alex shook his head as a local plumber, known for being somewhat of a Casanova, circled closer.

  Frustratingly, Alex felt a sense of duty. On a professional level, he couldn’t let Winnie tarnish her reputation her first week in town; it would hurt the magazine, a source of employment for him. Clamping his teeth around a sigh, he strode through the crowd, snatching up her elbow once he reached her side. The plumber, thankfully, stayed back.

  ‘I think it’s time you went home,’ Alex whispered in Winnie’s ear.

  Her eyes slowly opened. Grey-coloured make-up seemed to have smeared unattractively around her lids. ‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ She clumsily groped around in her handbag. ‘Just have to —’ hiccup ‘— find my keys first.’

  ‘You’re in no state to drive,’ Alex said firmly, not losing his grip on her elbow. ‘I’ll take you.’

  Neat lines indented her bronzed forehead. ‘Everyone’s been so generous, but I didn’t drink that much.’ A giggle turned into a snort. ‘Then again, I didn’t eat either. I don’t do schnitzel.’

  ‘Charming,’ Alex murmured.

  Shaking his hand away, she swivelled her hips again. ‘Ooh, I love this one! Suzanne Vega’s “Luka”. Mum used to play it all the time. Ah, dancing is so freeing. Did you know I once danced with Snoop Dogg at a Sydney party? Well, Snoop Lion, as he’s now called . . .’

  ‘Impressive,’ Alex said tightly. ‘Now tell me where you live.’ At least one of them had stopped at a few beverages and swapped to soft drink.

  Somehow, despite her addled state, Winnie was able to recite the address. Minutes later, he was at her doorstep, having managed to extract her sleepy, perfumed body from his Falcon. Now standing unaided – for the moment – she fumbled with a key at the door of a nondescript unit. Unfortunately, it kept slipping from the lock.

  She gave the security screen a frustrated kick. ‘Buggered thing won’t work.’

  A light flicked on and there was an unlocking sound from the other side of the door, surprising Alex. A silver-haired man emerged, wearing jocks and not much else. He looked like a leprechaun. Glancing between Alex and Winnie, he cocked his head to the left and barked in a voice as coarse as rusty nails, ‘She lives next door.’

  ‘Right. Sorry to be a nuisance, sir.’ Alex propelled Winnie by the shoulders in the other direction as the old man slammed the sliding door on its track.

  Finally outside the right unit, Winnie scuffed the toe of her boot on the doormat, sadly shaking her head. ‘My first day on the job and I’ve made a mess of things already. I don’t belong here. I don’t.’

  He put a finger to her lips, trying to ignore the stirring it started up down below. ‘Quiet. People are trying to sleep.’

  She took a step towards the door and almost lost her balance in her vertigo-inducing boots. He gripped her elbow again to steady her.

  Leaning in, she spoke in a stage whisper. ‘Want to know why I’m really here?’

  He was a little afraid to hear the truth now, but she pressed on regardless. ‘I kissed the boss at the Chrissy party. The married boss. Yup —’ hiccup ‘— now I’ve been banished to Woop-Woop, so I don’t create a disturbance mooning over him. And I’m stuck with an editorial director and photographer who hate me – and a stray cat I don’t want.’

  Alex’s jaw clenched. Her words may have been slurred, but the message was clear. She kissed the married boss at the Christmas party. So he’d been right about Winnie all along. She was one of those social-climbing, do-anything-to-get-what-they-want parasites he so despised. He’d been in the company of many such types before. One in particular had pulverised his heart like a meat tenderiser —

  Woah. The air was sucked out of his lungs as Winnie laid a smacker on his lips. Her hands were on his shoulders and her warm breath melded with his. She tasted of lychees and sweetness, her lips unbelievably soft and cushiony against his.

  He stepped back. This wasn’t how things were meant to pan out. Wrenching the key from her hand, he turned to fit the darned thing in the lock himself. Click. Making sure there was no more skin-on-skin contact, he extended the key towards her between his thumb and finger.

  ‘I’ll see you at work,’ he said firmly, avoiding her gaze as the small, metal instrument was plucked from his hand. Then he turned and walked away, satisfied when he heard the door, at last, slide shut behind her.

  Chapter Fou
r

  ‘What would you like?’ a forty-something woman said sharply to Winnie from behind the bakery counter. She had a helmet bob à la Anna Wintour, although it was nowhere near as stylish, and the woman’s grating tone wasn’t helping Winnie’s headache. Winnie stared at the chalkboard menu behind the woman, swatting an oily fly away.

  ‘Um . . . I’ll go a spinach and cheese pie, thanks.’

  It was only her second morning on the job and already she’d succumbed to kilojoule-laden treats from Cakewalk Bakery across the road from the office – hangover food, more precisely. No more toning up her legs navigating Surry Hills’ slopes in her heels, like all the other Sydney fashionistas. The only silver lining was the lack of Facebook photo evidence of the previous night. But she did have to do the walk of shame from her unit to the office, having left her car at the pub.

  Also deeply shameful – to Winnie – was the fact she’d broken her rule of blurring romance and work within a millisecond of being in town. The memory of placing a drunken kiss on Alex’s lips tore at her like a fresh wound. She’d pounced on the first man to cross her path – one who’d emotionally checked out. It had been one colossal, foolish mistake. She’d been reckless. Just like how she’d gone out with a bang at the Christmas drinks. It was the sort of thing her mum might do, not something Winnie wanted to make a habit of.

  Okay, so she had reason to drown her sorrows. She was stuck in no man’s land, had the nasty Christa breathing down her neck, and had two months to perform a miracle, successfully launching a luxury magazine in a seaside town that went to sleep after summer. She’d have better luck walking George Clooney down the aisle. Still, none of it was any excuse for her poor behaviour.

  ‘Here you go.’ The woman with the helmet bob was waving a paper pie bag in Winnie’s face. She rooted around in her purse for the right change.

  Pie in hand, Winnie made a detour to the newsagency on the way back to the office. She needed a Sydney gossip fix ASAP – dirt on Roxy Jacenko or Kyle Sandilands would instantly make her feel part of the real world again. The air-conditioning blew a gale, chilling her skin, but she barely noticed. After a frenzied assessment of the colourful magazine racks, she approached the counter.