Page 20 of Hate You to Love You

‘Gosh,’ she exclaims. ‘How long has it been since you’ve seen each other?’

‘Three years,’ I tell her. Three years. Thirty-six months. One hundred and fifty-six weeks. One thousand and ninety-five days. It had been a long time. But the heartache still felt fresh. Always there. Always a part of me.

Addie rises from the couch and makes her way towards the kitchen. Her fingers hover over a Post-it note from Maria stuck on the fridge. Maria was in her first year as a registrar and had an erratic schedule, which meant that these days, Addie and I only see her in passing. They both used Post-it notes to pass on messages about what leftovers were in the fridge, what time they’d be home, or to leave each other little love letters around the apartment.

‘I get why you’re nervous, but surely Elliot will act like a professional, and you’ll do the same?’

‘That didn’t go so well the other night,’ I say.

‘So, there’s this wonderful thing adults do,’ Addie says. ‘It’s called talking to each other. It’s amazing the things you can achieve with communication.’

‘We tried that, but it wasn’t exactly productive,’ I admit.

‘What’s the plan, then? Sulk around the apartment all day?’

In a perfect world, that would be ideal. But as fate and my packed tour schedule would have it, there would be no avoiding Elliot Simpson.

‘He’s set up a meeting with me and Claudia at her house so I can get to know her before the tour starts,’ I explain. ‘It’s today.’

Addie, who is halfway out the door with her tote bag over her shoulder, stops dead.

‘You’ve been invited to Claudia Leighton’s house? Like, her actual house?’

I shrug nervously.

‘Then maybe it’s time to call a truce with Elliot, and enjoy the ride,’ she says. ‘Do you know how many people would kill to get inside that place? I think that’s worth spending a little time with your ex.’

‘Believe me,’ I insist, ‘I plan to spend as little time with Elliot Simpson as humanly possible.’

The plan to spend as little time with Elliot Simpson as humanly possible fails by 10.06am. Because he’s standing in front of the gates to Claudia’s driveway as my Uber pulls up. The place is a mansion right out of the Hamptons. Located in Vaucluse, perhaps the most affluent and expensive suburb in Sydney, the extravagant home’s position is nestled right next to Shark Beach and Nielsen Park, guaranteeing incredible views of Sydney Harbour.

Elliot stands by the front gates, frowning and tapping his fingers impatiently against the coffee cup in his hand and a tote bag on his shoulder. Great, just what I need: Elliot in a mood before we’ve even spoken to each other.

Pushing my concerns to the back of my mind, I step out of the car and as the refreshing scent of salt water hits me, I remind myself that this is a one-in-a-million career opportunity.

Before I reach Elliot, my phone buzzes with a text message from Jones.

Jones 10.07am: Sal and I were going to meet up later today to make some plans for Laney’s engagement celebrations if you wanted to join? Let us know if you can make it.

‘You were told to be here by ten,’ Elliot grumbles.

Gravel crunches underneath my feet as I make my way up the steep driveway towards the gate. ‘You’re the one who ordered the Uber to pick me up.’

Elliot looks down at his watch again. ‘I’m just saying, you could treat this job with a little bit more urgency. Especially with the impression you left Claudia with after the Dymocks event.’

‘Of course, Elliot.’ I fire him a feigned smile, drawing out the irritated tone in my voice as I say his name.

‘Glad we’re on the same page.’ He aims a heated look at me and takes a swig of his coffee.

I can feel my facing going red, and I bite my bottom lip as he presses a buzzer that opens the gates to let me in.

‘After you,’ he says sharply.

‘No, I insist, you go first.’

He pauses, shooting me dagger eyes, and then proceeds up the driveway. I follow him in silence, taking in the immaculate garden and shady fig trees.

Elliot pushes open two large wooden doors, and we step onto marble floors that sparkle and shine. There’s a bright chandelier hanging from the ceiling and two grand staircases are symmetrically placed on each side of the room, rising towards a second level. I’m blown away by the extravagance of everything. It feels like a castle. No, a museum. As Elliot leads me through the house, I can’t help but notice that something doesn’t feel right. There’s nothing that suggests that Claudia – or anyone – actually lives here. The shelves are empty, there aren’t any photos, or even any artworks. This might be Claudia’s house, but nothing in here suggests it’s her home.