The Same Deep Water Read Free Page B

thought I smelled the brand. I doubled back to the men’s fragrances section and ran through a selection before the mix of scents confused my brain and the realisation what I was doing embarrassed me.
    “For you, lovely Phe,” he says with a smile, the words I wish were only for me but are spoken to every girl who passes through here.
    “Thanks.”
    One day I’ll say more than my order, my name, and a ‘thank you’ to Ross, but on the conveyor belt of customers, there’s no time to chat. So I return his smile with the false confidence that rests on my surface, and leave.
     
    ****
     
    Red pen covers the paper on the desk in front of me, obscuring the majority of the typed text. My body floods with stress, which is processed into head-pounding frustration, then tears threaten. My boss, Pam, could choose a different colour or use pencil. The words scrawled in red mock me, especially the capital ‘NO’ and ‘RE-WRITE’.
    Pam began working at Belle de Jour in the weeks I was away; my original boss, Nora, was headhunted by a bigger publisher in Sydney and left suddenly. If I’d met Pam at my initial interview, I doubt I’d have taken the job. Pam knows I’m lucky to have the job, even more so since my absence, and takes advantage of my gratitude. I attempt to keep my head down until I’ve proven my worth but biting my tongue becomes harder each day.
    My daily tasks are everything Pam can’t be bothered doing: answering her emails, fielding her phone calls, and fetching lunch from the nearby deli. After large hints from me about learning to write articles, Pam relented and allowed me to, but on something she chose. Excited I might write my first feature piece, my heart sank when I was given a list of facial products to write a comparison of.
    This is my fourth draft.
    How hard can it be to write an article comparing moisturisers and serums correctly?
    I glance around the open plan office, which is half-empty, most people are in meetings I’m not privy to. I should be watching the phones, but the red on the paper steals my patience and I grab my bag. Heading through the expensively furnished room, past the pictures of magazine covers, awards, and accolades, I reach the elevator.
    One tear manages to escape my eye and I catch the drop with a finger, cursing. My make-up will run down my face if I don’t get a grip.
    In the lobby, I pause and pull out my phone.
    
    I hit send on the message to Guy.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    The tables outside the small cafe line the pavements, crammed together on a small strip; surrounded by metal chairs that stick to your legs in the height of the Perth summer. There’re no menus here, just a chalkboard listing food and drink inside the dark wood panelled building. The places near my workplace are trendy, this one is on the edge of the suburb and popular with locals. After arranging to meet Guy, I composed myself and returned upstairs to work. Several hours later, I wait for him. This is short notice; will he come?
    As I sit with my glass of sparkling water, I realise I don’t know whereabouts in Perth Guy lives, or how far I’ve asked him to travel. After half an hour waiting, I shift my chair so I’m beneath the black canvas umbrella and out of the strong sun.
    Guy appears and I squint against the bright sunlight as he approaches with a laid-back gait to his walk. A young girl at a nearby table double takes as he passes. Guy stands out amongst the other pedestrians, taller than most with his dark blond hair now touching the edge of his jawline, the muscles on his tanned arms moulded by his blue t-shirt sleeves. I didn’t pay full attention the day in the shadows, but this guy – this man – is hot. My mouth dries as he reaches me and as soon as the dark blue eyes meet mine, my heart rate picks up.
    I didn’t expect this reaction to him.
    Guy drags a chair from under my table and sits opposite. “Hey, beautiful girl.”
    I wrinkle my nose, but his