AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You know, if you’re going to do the Walk of Shame properly, bro,” he said, grinning widely, “you should really have smudged lipstick, high heels in your hand and lace panties in your purse.”
Mick pulled off his watch and started emptying his pockets, dropping his keys, wallet and electronics on the bedside table.
“I was giving Sophy a ride home from work,” he said flatly. “She thought someone was following her through the streets. Dark car, unknown make and model, didn’t catch the license plate number.”
Sean’s lascivious leer faded.
“Jesus. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She was asleep when I left.” Mick flicked him a tired, pointed glance. “Don’t be a dick.”
“I didn’t say a word,” his friend protested virtuously.
“Experience.”
Flopping into the other chair, he ran both hands over the closely shaved stubble of his hair, stifled a yawn.
“Not to be unwelcoming,” he said, “but what the hell are you doing in here and is there any way to speed up your departure?”
Sean lifted a manila folder between his thumb and forefinger.
“Ryland called and asked me to get your signatures on these. And yes, he does know what time it is, and no, he doesn’t care and neither should we if we want to continue to receive a pay cheque with his signature.”
“Fuck. Fine.” Mick shook off the tiredness, leaned forward and pulled the file toward him. Opening it, he scanned the papers within and made a slight noise of disgust. “None of this is urgent.”
“So I tried to tell him. He seems to be having a pre-emptive panic because his Golden Boy is taking a few days off this week.”
“Three days, and I’m not leaving until Friday.” Mick flipped through the pages, scrawling his name at each flagged line.
“Speaking of which,” said Sean, “do you have everything you need for the wedding? Booze, pills, a concealed weapon?” He raised a meaningful eyebrow. “A date?”
“I’m not taking Sophy to the wedding,” said Mick bluntly.
“Why not? She’s going to be in Auckland for the Darwin/Harper arraignment, isn’t she?”
“Yes, and she’s nervous enough about that. I’m not going to inflict my family on her as well. Especially not when she starts hyperventilating at the mere mention of a party.”
“Ask her. I bet she’d go.”
“I bet she would too.” Mick reached for the remote and snapped off the TV. The announcer’s voice was driving him up the wall. “She’s a people-pleaser. She would probably shave her head if someone asked her nicely.” He shook his head. “She would hate it. And I want to get in and out with as little drama as possible.”
Sean narrowed his eyes.
“And you don’t want her to meet your family.”
“No.” Mick stole the remaining whisky, knocked it back. “No, I don’t.”
Chapter Seven
It was amazing how quickly one forgot, Sophy thought on Friday morning. She had once lived in Paris for five months and had daily had to cross the vehicular chaos around the Arc de Triomphe, so she had experienced her share of city traffic. Upon returning to the open peaks and plains of Central Otago, however, where congestion was really limited to intense bubbles in the town centres, she had got used to living a life largely free of traffic jams. It had taken over an hour to get from her hotel to the courthouse this morning. She could have walked faster. The fear of being late had added to her stress about the whole appointment. She was not an organised person, but leaving early for dreaded encounters was usually practical. Arriving with red cheeks and sweaty hair didn’t boost anyone’s confidence.
She was now sitting in a supremely uncomfortable chair in a busy waiting room, trying not to swing her feet under the Trunchbull glare of the receptionist. The only spare seat when she’d arrived had obviously been intended for elderly limbs that couldn’t crouch far, because Sophy’s perfectly bendy but sadly short legs didn’t touch the floor. She felt about six years old, a deflating illusion not helped by the fact that every few minutes a person in a suit appeared and called someone else’s name. She was starting to have disconcerting flashbacks to school and the selection of teams for everything from pop quizzes to ping pong tournaments. The vertically challenged and chronically wheezy were not usually all that popular.
She wasn’t sure what to expect of today, but had come armed with her sketchbook and her inhaler, as per Mick’s helpful and slightly bossy instructions. It appeared he had been right about the waiting aspect and she just wanted to get it over with. She wasn’t flying back home until Sunday morning, so the sooner she gave her statement, or signed a paper, or waved a gavel around, or whatever this entailed, the sooner she could get on with some extraneous shopping and gallery-hopping.
Not that she wasn’t thrilled to do her civic duty.
Her clenched hands were trembling slightly against her closed sketchbook. It had been a sensible suggestion, but she was far too anxious to draw. She suspected that any attempt would bear an unintentional resemblance to a Jackson Pollock.
