Her Boss by Day...(2)

By: Joss Wood



Stupid girl.

‘Having dinner with my flatmate before we go clubbing,’ Amy replied, keeping hold of Willa’s hand. ‘But you—why are you talking to yourself?’

‘Short answer...an excruciatingly bad blind date that I am trying to get out of.’ Willa tipped her head to the bathroom window. ‘Do you think I’m skinny enough to slip through there?’

Amy looked her up and down. ‘Actually, you are far too skinny—and back up. What about Wayne? You married him, didn’t you?’

Willa lifted her ringless left hand. ‘About to be divorced. That was a...mistake.’

Hmm...a mistake. That was a major understatement, but she’d go with it.

Amy pursed her lips. ‘I’m sorry... God, Willa, so much time has passed. We need to catch up. Now.’

‘What about my date and your friend?’ Willa asked. She had already been in the bathroom for an inexcusably long time—she was being so rude.

So what? Wild Willa rolled her eyes.

‘Pfft...your date sounds like a moron and Jessica was exchanging hot looks with a guy across the room. She won’t miss me.’

Amy stalked to the door, yanked it open and let out one of her high-pitched, loud and distinctive whistles. Willa wasn’t surprised when she soon saw a Saints waiter outside the door.

‘Is the small function room empty?’ Amy asked.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Good. Tell Guido that I’m using it for a while, and ask him to please bring me a bottle of that Burnt Tree Chardonnay I like and put it on my tab,’ ordered Amy, and with a luscious smile sent him on his way.

The kid, drooling, whirled away to do the goddess’s bidding. It seemed that Amy, always a good flirt, now had a PhD in getting men to jump through her hoops.

Amy turned back to Willa and shrugged at her astounded expression. ‘I hold a lot of work functions here. Guido owes me.’

Amy led Willa out of the bathroom, down a decorated passage and into a small function room that held a boardroom table at one end and a cluster of chairs at the other. She pulled Willa to the set of wingback chairs and gestured to her to sit.

‘It’s so good to see you, Willa,’ Amy said, taking the seat opposite her. ‘You look so...different. Classy...rich.’

Willa knew what she saw: it was the same face and body she looked at every day. She was still the same height, taller than most woman but skinnier than she’d been at eighteen. Thick, mocha and auburn shoulder-length hair, with a heavy fringe surrounding a pixie face dominated by silver-green eyes.

‘That’s because I am classy...and my husband—ex—whatever—is rich,’ Willa said, making a conscious effort to keep the bitterness from her voice but doubting that she’d succeeded. ‘Gym, designer clothes, best hairdresser in Sydney.’

Amy lightly touched her knee. ‘Was it awful...being married to him?’

Willa considered lying, thought about glossing over the truth, but then she saw the understanding and sympathy in Amy’s eyes and realised that while she wouldn’t tell Amy—tell anyone—the whole truth, she didn’t have to blatantly lie. She and Amy had been through too much for her to lie.

‘Not awful, no. Boring—absolutely. Wayne wanted a young, gorgeous trophy wife, and that’s what I’ve been for the past eight years.’

An eight-year marriage condensed into two sentences...

‘God, a trophy wife.’ Amy winced. ‘But you’re so damn bright...you always wanted to study accountancy, economics, business.’

‘Yeah, well, Wayne wanted beauty and acquiescence, not brains. I kept up with the markets, trends, but he’d didn’t like his wife talking business. I was supposed to be seen and not heard.’

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