Chapter Eight

Lesson learned? A weekend wasn’t nearly enough time to negate the effects of Murdoch’s kisses. Plural.

Monday morning, Sera found a park a few houses down on the other side of the road from Hazel’s under a sprawling jacaranda tree that was already shedding a few flowers. Even the foliage of Vaucluse lived by its own lofty rules.

She bumped her way out of her car, though it took twice as many bumps as usual. The door was getting stickier. Any more work on the Road Runner was way down the list of essentials. She’d discovered an overdue electricity bill in the kitchen recycling bin for starters.

Add the fact that she’d received an apologetic email over the weekend from her professor, confirming she’d officially been replaced in her tutoring position and her change of situation suddenly wasn’t so temporary after all.

Her job, and the recommendation Hazel could provide for her afterward, had taken on a whole new level of importance.

Meaning the smart move was to nip her crush on Murdoch in the bud.

Yep, a crush. She’d managed to talk herself around to that, at least. A crush sounded far easier to cope with than actual feelings. So long as it didn’t live up to its name and come at her like a wrecking ball.

She dumped her gear in her office and headed straight to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of tea. At the last second, she added a coffee as well. Because avoiding Murdoch wasn’t going to make this go away. The weekend spent mooning over the guy proved that.

Her entire life she’d faced things head on – no sneaky backroom manoeuvres or middle of the night escapes leaving nothing but a note for her. (Except, of course, for misleading her father as to why she’d had a change of job, but her reasons for that were steadfast and true, so it didn’t count.)

Still, nerves skittered through her belly as she edged her way down the hall towards the sound of male voices. Hoping her own voice would come out normal, she opened her mouth to say good morning –

Only to find two strangers arguing over whether a piece of furniture they were moving was a chaise lounge or a fainting couch.

“Hello there,” said one when she stood there gawping at them long enough to be noticed.

“Hi. Um. Is Murdoch about?”

The taller one – like seriously tall, freakishly skinny, with a long blonde ponytail and permanent hangdog expression – shook his head.

“I’m Phil,” said the other one.

Phil was not much taller than Sera, twice as wide, with arms like tree trunks. He went to shake her hand, saw both were full, so shook her elbow instead.

“Sera,” said Sera, jiggling from all the shaking.

“He’s gay,” said Mr. Tall, giving Sera a thorough once over. “And I’m Cyrus.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Seriously, mate? As pickup lines go, that one’s never gonna cut it. She hasn’t come upon our corner of the world in order to woo me, so my sexual preference is irrelevant to her.”

“Murdoch?” Sera asked again.

“Boss is back on the Macquarie Gaol gig,” Phil said. “Meaning you’re stuck with us again.”

“Again?”

Tall Cyrus ran his hand up the back of his head. A definite aw, shucks move. Like most men, he was easy to read. “Boss took over for us here for a bit because we were on probation after calling in sick when we really had hangovers.”

“Again, Cyrus,” Phil said, “not a way to endear yourself to the ladies.”

Sera backed out of the room. Endearment the last thing on her mind. Then, because what the hell, “Care for a strong coffee? Or sweet sugar water masquerading as tea?”

Cyrus grabbed the manly mug. While Phil took the tea and said, “Thanks, love, that’s kind of you.”

She left with Cyrus muttering despondently about Phil not being allowed to flirt with women since he didn’t want one, and Phil muttering, “It’s tea, Cyrus. And a good pickup line, if you ever decide to care about such things.”

Their voices faded as she made her way to the kitchen to brew herself a fresh cup. She jabbed the lever on the kettle harder than entirely necessary then slouched against the bench – mounting disappointment in one Justin Murdoch twisting in her belly.

Sure, she’d been about to tell him that she agreed that they should cool it. But Murdoch not being there when he’d said he would be – and after the weekend she’d spent thinking about him... She felt like a fool.

She who knew better. She who knew things, who got feelings in her bones that always put her on the right path. Ever since she’d stepped inside this house her feelings had gone haywire, as if there was something in the old wiring messing with her antenna.

Sera crossed her arms over her chest in an effort to lock in the wretchedness. To burn the ache of it into her memory. Best way to be sure she never let it happen again.

Then, with her usual sense of unerring timing, Hazel appeared in the doorway. Her fluff-ball trotted in behind her.

“Sit, Pumkpin,” Hazel said.

Pumpkin did no such thing, snuffling under the small table looking for crumbs.

“Serafina, good morning!”

“Morning. Would you like a coffee? Tea?”

“Not for me, darling. Bubbly or nothing. And not for a couple of hours yet.”

Sera quickly checked her watch. It was still a bit before nine.

“Everything alright, darling? You looked a little shell-shocked.”

Yikes. Was it that obvious?

Sera shook her head, stood taller, got a grip. “No, not at all. Everything’s great. I love Mondays. Fresh starts. Brimming with possibility.”

Hazel waited for her to take a breath. “I thought I saw you coming from the boys’ room, looking rather piqued. Have they not been treating you well?”

“No, no, no. They’re great.” She felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Not that I’ve seen them much. I’m busy in my room. They’re busy in theirs.”

She’d officially been a grown-up for almost a decade now. If she could stop blathering like a teenager sprung necking behind the school sheds that’d be super.

Too late. Like a shark with a sniff of blood, Hazel asked, “Guy not annoying you to death?”

“Not at all.”

“Phil and Cyrus not fussing you into a coma?”

Sera shook her head. “I’m actually used to working with men. My father’s a mechanic and I practically grew up in a garage. I’d still be there if he hadn’t insisted I get a degree first. At school I discovered what I do now so he was right, as usual.”

“I think your daddy wanted you to have a job where you wouldn’t be surrounded by big, burly men day in and day out.”

“That, too.”

“And yet here you are.”

Sera laughed. “How about that.”

“Speaking of manly men...” Hazel’s gaze bored in on Sera as if the answer to the next question might be written on her eyeballs. “How are you and my master builder getting along?”

A thin keening squealed in Sera’s ears as she tried to curb the blush rising into her cheeks. When she realised the sound was the kettle, she quickly snapped off the heat.

“Murdoch? We get along fine.”

Most of the time. When I have any kind of clue what’s going on in that hard head of his. Turned out being infuriated with him was much easier to stomach than being mad at herself.

“Fine, you say?” Laughing softly, Hazel took Sera by the hands. “Darling, even a non-professional could see the man looks at you like he could eat you for dinner.”

Sera’s heart thumped so hard she was sure Hazel could hear it. “And how do I look at him?”

Hazel’s smile was kind. “Like you’d let him.”

Sera burst out laughing. A nervous laugh. A laugh of worlds colliding.

“We’re not... I’m not...” Hiccups threatened to rise in her throat. “It’s really sweet of you to...” Ignore the possibility of a sexual harassment suit “...care. But it’s nothing. You said it yourself, Murdoch is a glorious hunk of manhood. I’d have to be cold-blooded not to notice.”

He was also tormentingly deliberate, blithely intelligent, and fractious as all hell. Each personality trait infinitely frustrating, yet as a combination... The man was formidable.

Nip it in the bud.

I’m trying!

Sera shook her head. “But I’m not here to appreciate your hiring choices. I’m here do the best job I can do for you. That’s all.”

Hazel let go of her hands and slid a finger under Sera’s chin. She glanced from one eye to the other before she nodded. “Okay then.”

Sera gripped the kitchen bench. “Hazel.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not going to have this same conversation with Murdoch, are you?”

“Heavens, no. He’d likely harakiri before talking about his feelings. Stoic, that man is. Had to be after his father died, what with giving up his dreams to support his family. Then again for me when...” Hazel glazed over for a moment before coming to with a shake of her head. “Enough of that. Now, why did I come in here...? That’s right. I was looking for something on your desk when I found your notebook.”

Somehow, the thought of Hazel snooping through her papers felt far less invasive than trying to see inside her head.

“The name at the front,” Hazel said, gaze sharp.

“The Cinderella Project?”

“Did you come up with that?”

Sera nodded. “It’s kind of a working title. Something concrete on which to hang the framework of the branding on until you give me the final decision.”

“Done.”

“Done?”

“The Cinderella Project we are.”

“Really? Oh, wow. That’s...amazing!”

“Yes, it is. I knew I’d hired you for a reason.” Hazel’s eyes went to Sera’s shoes. Then to the black coffee mug and floral tea cup Sera had put next to one another without realising it. “Hmmm. Pumpkin!”

The dog appeared from behind a cupboard, his nose covered in dust bunnies, and he trotted off after his master as she swayed away.

Sera breathed out so long and hard she practically deflated. Had she really admitted to her boss that she thought her builder was a glorious hunk of manhood?

She opened fridge door and stuck her overheated head inside. If she banged her forehead against the small freezer compartment a couple of times, well, then, so be it.

Murdoch adjusted his hard hat and looked out over the Macquarie Gaol site with a critical eye. The weekend having passed in a blur of restless days and fitful nights, he’d arrived early and gone over the place inch by inch before the backers and architects were due to arrive.

Now his crew filled the view; a sea of steel-capped boots, khakis, and hard hats as they lugged and nailed and joined. The suits – huddled over the plans with George, the site’s project manager – would have no cause to be anything other than content.

To think, with nothing but grim determination and hard work he’d built his business from a two man show to this. A crack team, brilliant project managers, guys and girls who got along and worked hard for one another. It was why he’d won the tender. And why it would lead to more.

Yet, rather than feeling gratified, he felt...twitchy.

He scratched his neck. Then checked his phone.

No missed calls from any of his other jobs. None, for example, from Phil or Cyrus. Meaning they had no questions about the list of instructions he’d left on site at the crack of dawn that morning. They were excellent builders, even if a little fond of a chat on the job and a beer after work.

Meaning there was probably no need to check in on them on his way home that afternoon.

“Dog given you fleas?” Guy moved in beside him, hands on hips, one foot on a pile of rubble, ghosting Murdoch’s stance.

From habit, Murdoch looked for his dog, forgetting he’d left the pup home alone with bowls of food, another with water, and his disturbing large array of doggie toys (including the rubber chicken, one of Murdoch’s gloves, and a ridiculous fluffy carrot Murdoch’s brother had given him).

“Dog’s clean. Any fleas, I got ’em from you.” Murdoch scratched at his neck again.

“What is that?” Guy leaned in and glared at Murdoch’s neck. “Looks like fingernail marks. Murdoch, old boy, what did you get up to over the weekend?”

Murdoch’s hand flattened against his neck as he felt the scrape of Sera’s fingernails the other night as she’d kissed him into next week.

“Hey, boys.”

Belle, the liaison from the top-notch architectural firm who’d done the plans for the renovation, sidled up between them. Slick and savvy, she worked for the kind of company Murdoch would have targeted if he’d finished his architecture degree.

“Belle!” Guy said, arms out waiting for a hug.

Belle flattened him with a stare before turning to Murdoch. Her face softened as she offered up a telling smile.

Murdoch reached out a hand. She shook and held on a fraction longer than professional.

Every time they’d met she’d made it clear that if he asked her out she’d say yes. It made sense. They made sense. They were both busy. Both understood what hooking up would mean. It would solve a lot of problems that had been keeping him up at night.

But try as he might he couldn’t make himself say the words. There was no spark. No compulsion to be near her. No sense that when he was with her the rest of the world could happily go on without him.

Guy piped up. “Murdoch and I were trying to figure out how he got the scratches on the back of his neck. First, I thought fleas, but –”

“How’s the mood, Belle?” Murdoch asked, letting go of her hand before shoving his into his pocket.

“Fantastic,” she said, a small frown creasing her forehead before it was carefully smoothed away. “A few queries we’re sorting out with George, but everything seems to be going really well. Touch wood.”

Behind her Guy knocked his head. “Tis coming along beautifully, my liege. The jewel in your crown. The crown in your jewels. If only you had someone to share your kingdom with.”

Belle’s mouth quirked as she looked down at the folder in her hands. She swung her sleek hair over her shoulder and pinned Guy with a stare. “Don’t you have something shiny to chase, Hillier.”

“Meow.”

Belle moved so as to get Guy out of her eye line and to press into Murdoch’s personal space. “Murdoch,” she cooed. “I was wondering –”

Then Murdoch’s phone rang with God Save the Queen as Hazel’s new business landline popped up on the screen.

He held up a hand, stilling Belle, and he had the phone at his ear before he could take a breath. “Murdoch.”

“Darling.”

“Hazel.” He frowned at his shoes. Kicked a little dirt.

“Any chance you could meet me at the Hotel Rouen. Say, about four?”

Belle caught his eye and then headed back to join her team.

“Why the Rouen?” he asked Hazel, while Guy tsk-tsked beside him, watching Belle go.

“Something there I’d like to show you. Ask at reception, they’ll know where to send you.”

Murdoch looked across at the bustling job site he’d spent the past week itching to get back to. Thought about his pup at home, no doubt moping at being left out of the action, and figured an early mark wasn’t a bad idea.

He closed his eyes as he said, “I’ll be there.”

He shut off the call. Saw that Belle was smiling at him over her shoulder, not ready to give up on him yet.

But the impulse wasn’t there. It was elsewhere. No doubt sitting on an uncomfortable throne in a doorless, bright, white room tapping away at her computer while humming Elvis songs.

“For some reason, I have the words candy and ass floating around inside my head,” Guy threw over his shoulder as he got back to work.

Murdoch muttered something far worse right on back.