Life

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

“CATHERINE, WHAT ARE you doing over there? I needed those papers twenty minutes ago.”

Crappity crap. What was I doing? Oh, that’s right, staring at all those little words on my computer screen but only seeing Joe’s face. I’d figured the whole Joe-fantasy thing was safe enough, seeing as nobody else could see what was running through my grubby mind, but now I realised I’d have to be more careful.

“Two minutes, Mr. Berkeley. I’ll just print them out.”

Oh, the joys of being a lawyer. When I’d told my father I’d be studying law at Oxford, he’d been over the moon, and for five long years he’d expected me to follow in his footsteps as a barrister. I tried, really I did, and I even defended a couple of cases once I’d passed the bar exam, but the whole arguing-in-front-of-people thing brought me out in hives. Literally. Big red blotches, and the doctor said it was due to stress. I’d switched to property law instead, much to my family’s disappointment, which meant I got the joys of dealing with overhanging trees and boundary disputes, but at least I rarely needed to stand before a judge.

I quickly read over the letter on screen one more time. Our client was arguing with his next-door neighbour about the position of her new fence. Neither side would back down over what amounted to four inches of scrubby grass. Four inches! Even my ex, Mr. Calculator, had a longer d**k than that—barely—and from the look of the photos, neither of the parties involved liked gardening, anyway. But the client was paying our fees, so who was I to question it?

Mr. Berkeley took the papers with a scowl and I backed out of his office, raising an eyebrow at his PA. What put him in such a happy mood this Friday?

“He forgot his wife’s birthday,” she whispered. “Mrs. B yelled at him so loud one of the neighbours called the police.”

“Ouch.”

“She’s making him take her away for the weekend, which means he’s had to cancel his golf game and three meetings this afternoon.”

“Does that mean we don’t need to go through the Walker files tomorrow?”

She grimaced apologetically. “Uh, it means you need to go through the Walker files tomorrow.”

Terrific. “It’s not like I wanted Saturday off, anyway.”

If Mr. Berkeley was leaving early and expected me to do his work, then I was damn well doing it at home rather than in the office. And maybe, just maybe, I could stop off and get my hair cut on my way home. Not because I’d be seeing Joe again in less than a week. Not in the slightest. Okay, perhaps there was a tiny part that felt I should make the effort. After all, I got to look at his delicious body for two whole hours, so the least I could do was get rid of my split ends. And possibly wear make-up. And lose ten pounds. Or thirty.

Cate! Enough!

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since I’d first laid eyes on the man, and already he was consuming my every waking thought. And my sleeping ones too if last night was anything to go by.

Which was perhaps why I woke up early on Saturday and dug the dreaded Lycra out of the bottom of my wardrobe. When I’d bought my flat in Heron Court six months ago, one of the attractions had been the residents’ gym. No more aerobics classes full of yummy mummies and fitness fanatics—I could burn a few calories without having to leave my own building and pick a time when nobody else was around to do it.

Was it me, or did the leggings feel tighter than last time I wore them? I glanced at the roll of stomach sticking over the waistband and sucked it in. Nope, not much improvement. I definitely needed to cut down on the calories.

I’d always been a comfort eater, ever since my mother forced me to take gymnastics classes at the age of seven—flexible and coordinated I was not—but lately at work, with all those hours spent at my desk… Well, they hadn’t been kind to my thighs, had they?

Six thirty, and I shuffled down to the basement. We even had a pool, not that I’d ever use it. The treadmill I could just about handle, but a swimsuit? No way.

I plugged in my headphones and hopped onto a stationary bike, then fiddled with the controls until I felt the resistance. Fifteen minutes. I’d start with fifteen minutes and work up. Joe was at the forefront of my thoughts as I pedalled, and this time I didn’t bother to push him away. Hell, I deserved some sort of reward for all this sweat. And I wasn’t doing the exercise for him, exactly, more using him as inspiration to get a little fitter, because the man clearly worked out.

Except my daydreams were interrupted after ten minutes by the door opening, letting in a waft of warm air from the corridor outside.

“Morning.”

The newcomer raised his hand in greeting, and I recognised the guy who lived next to me on the third floor. We’d barely said more than “hello” in the corridor, although he had left me a fruit basket as a welcome gift. Now he was closer, I took the opportunity to have a better look. Light brown hair, matching eyes, and an athletic physique. Not bad, but not a patch on Joe.

“Hi, er…” Too late, I realised I didn’t know his name.

“Dane.”

“Hi, Dane.”

He stared at me expectantly.

“Oh, yes, uh, I’m Cate.”

Idiot Cate, who couldn’t even say hello to a stranger without tripping over my own tongue. My mouth had as much coordination as my feet most of the time, which was another reason I liked art classes with Joe. While I drew, he was the silent type.

I figured Dane would do his own thing and give up on trying to have a conversation, but he sat on the bike next to me instead.

“I haven’t seen you in here before?” he said.

“First time.” A nervous giggle escaped.

“Everybody has to start somewhere. Do you know how all the equipment works?”

“I can work it out, thanks.”

He acted like he hadn’t heard as he leaned over the front of my bike. “Look, it’s easy. You can toggle between distance and calories on the display, see?”

“Really, it’s fine. I don’t need help.”

Only when I switched to the rowing machine, there he was again, fiddling with the foot plates while I tried to adjust the straps over my shoes. I gritted my teeth as he declared everything “just right.” After all, he was only trying to be nice, and most people in Heron Court had ignored me since I moved in. Maybe I should have made more effort to introduce myself, but talking to new people made me so nervous I didn’t know where to start.

Dane didn’t seem to have that problem.

“So, you moved in a few months ago, right?”

“Yes.”

“Have you always lived in London, or was it a big relocation?”

“Apart from my years at uni, yes, I’ve always lived here, but I was renting before.”

Dane let out a low whistle. “You bought your apartment here? On your own?”

“It took a while before I could afford it, but I always wanted my own place. Not many rental properties allow cats.”

And those that did usually jacked up the price and demanded an obscene security deposit, which was why I’d spent almost six years living in shoddy flats while I’d saved every penny. Property law might have been dull, but it paid well, and when I became the youngest ever junior partner at Berkeley, Rogers and Smyth, I’d celebrated with my extravagant purchase. Two of my goals in life achieved, even if Mr. Berkeley did still treat me like a glorified secretary on occasion. At least the rest of my colleagues weren’t as bad. Okay, they were, but I was good at my job.

“You’ve got cats?” Dane asked.

“Two. Thor and Loki.”

“Ah, so you also have an interest in Norse mythology?”

“Uh, yes.” It was better than admitting I had an interest in Chris Hemsworth and Tom Hiddleston. “Something like that.”

Come to think of it, Joe did bear more than a passing resemblance to Chris. Perhaps that was why I couldn’t get him out of my more than slightly obsessed mind.

“I was always into Roman history myself. You know, the architecture and the engineering. We wouldn’t be half the society we are today if it wasn’t for the Romans.”

“I’m sure.”

He began droning on about the merits of a hypocaust heating system while I blocked out the sound of his voice. Men rarely paid me any attention, but now a miracle had happened and one finally had, I wished more than anything that he’d leave me alone.

I’d planned to finish off with a walk on the treadmill, but when I headed in that direction Dane did too, so I veered towards the door. I could walk to the shops later instead. I was almost out of chocolate. No, fruit. I was almost out of fruit. Okay, wine.

“Finished already?” Dane asked.

“Yes, I’ve got a busy day ahead.”

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” I managed a wave, already planning to shift my gym session to mid-morning to avoid any possibility of that happening.

***

Back in my apartment, the cats were waiting for breakfast. Thor, the Siberian, wove in and out of my legs as I walked in the door while Loki, the seal point Siamese, mewed from the arm of the sofa. Okay, so I was a few minutes later with breakfast than on a weekday, but he didn’t need to make quite so much noise. At least the walls were reasonably thick at Heron Court. In our last place, the old biddy next door had complained if the cats so much as purred. Here, I could still hear Dane’s television from time to time, and the woman below had a vacuuming fetish, but at least it didn’t feel like we were in the same room.

On the whole, both cats were well behaved. Neither had experienced the best start in life, so I tended to spoil them a tiny bit. The accountant hadn’t liked that either. His muttered comments about their deluxe kitty cabin and sparkly collars hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Where other women in the office had photos of their husbands and kids propped up on their desks, Thor and Loki graced mine. Mr. Berkeley may have insisted on calling me Catherine rather than Cate, but the associates all called me crazy cat lady behind my back. Although I considered a woman needed at least three felines to achieve that status, I couldn’t see myself losing the nickname anytime soon.

Perhaps I could take in a photo of Joe and prop it next to my computer? Head only, of course, or Mr. Berkeley would hit the roof. The mere thought had me choking on a mouthful of the orange juice I’d just poured. Everyone would see straight through the lie. Why? Because girls like me didn’t date men like Joe.