Wife For A Week. Kelly Hunter
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at all. He turned towards her and smiled that slow, easy smile that bypassed brains and headed straight for the senses, and then—
‘We’re here,’ he said, and the lift doors slid open.
Nick’s office suite was a visual explosion of colour and movement. Cartoon drawings covered every inch of available wall space; computers and scanners crammed every desk. There was a kitchenette full of coffee and cola; a plastic trout mounted above the microwave. The whole place was organized chaos and completely intriguing. ‘So how many people work here?’ she wanted to know.
‘Twelve, including me.’
‘Let me guess—they’re all men.’
‘Except for Fiona our secretary. Sadly she refuses to clean.’
‘I like her already.’
‘Figures,’ he said. ‘So does Clea. This is my office,’ he said, opening a door to a room that was surprisingly tidy.
‘What’s the basketball hoop for?’
‘Thinking.’
Right. ‘And the flat-screen TV and recliner armchairs?’ There were two chairs, side by side, a metre or so back from the wall-mounted television.
‘Working.’
Ah. Why she’d expected a regular office with regular décor was beyond her. There was nothing the least bit ordinary about Nicholas Cooper. ‘So tell me more about this game of yours. Is it something I’d know all about if we were married?’
‘You’d know about it.’ Nick’s voice was rich with humour as he slid a disc into the gaming console and gestured towards an armchair. ‘If we really had been married these past three years you’d have banned all talk of it by now.’
That didn’t sound very wifely. ‘Couldn’t I have been supportive and encouraging?’
‘Sure you could. I was thinking realistically, but we don’t have to do that. We can do fantasy instead.’
‘Hey, it’s your call. You’re the fantasy expert. By the way, how long did you tell your distributor you’d been married for?’
‘I didn’t.’ He slid her a glance. ‘I’m thinking a couple of months, maybe less. That way if we don’t know something about the other it won’t seem so odd.’
‘Works for me.’ And then the game came on. The opening music was suitably raucous, the female figure on the screen impressively funky. ‘Very nice,’ she said politely. ‘What does she do?’
‘Mostly she fights.’ He handed her a gaming hand-set. ‘Press a button, any button.’
Hallie pressed buttons at random and was rewarded by a flurry of kicks, spins and feminine grunts. Not, Hallie noted, that the figure on the screen even came close to raising a sweat. ‘Are those proportions anatomically possible?’ she wanted to know.
‘Not for earth women,’ said Nick. ‘Which she’s not. Xia here is from New Mars.’
‘New Mars, huh? I should have guessed. The clothes she’s almost wearing are a dead give-away. Does she have a wardrobe-change option?’
‘You want to change her clothes?’
‘Well, she can hardly kick Martian butt in six inch stilettos, now can she?
He stared.
Hallie sighed. ‘You’re losing credibility here, Nick.’
‘What did you do before you sold shoes?’ he wanted to know. ‘Bust balls?’
‘I worked a blackjack table at a casino in Sydney for a while.’
‘Why did you stop?’
‘I never saw sunlight.’
‘And before that?’
‘A brief stint washing dogs in a poodle parlour.’ The memory was dim, but still worthy of a shudder. ‘Too many fleas.’
‘So are you actually trained in anything?’
‘I have a fine arts degree, if that counts for anything. And I’m halfway through a Sotheby’s diploma in East Asian Art. That’s why I came to London.’
‘Why East Asian Art?’
‘My father’s a history professor with a particular interest in dynasty ceramics, and I hung out in his workshop when I was a kid, read all his books.’ It had been the crazy-cracks in the glazes that had first captured her interest. The rich history behind each of the pieces had held it.
‘So you’re following in your father’s footsteps. He must be proud of you.’
‘No, mostly my father ignores me. I learn anyway. I can spot a fake dynasty vase at fifty paces. In fact I’m absolutely certain the Ming in the Central Museum’s a fake.’
He stared.
‘All right, ninety per cent certain.’
‘So why aren’t you finishing your diploma?’
‘I will be. Just as soon as I earn enough money for my last two semesters.’
‘By selling shoes?’
‘It’s a job, isn’t it?’ she said defensively. ‘Interesting, well-paid jobs are hard to come by when you’re a student. Employers know you’re just filling a gap.’
‘Couldn’t you ask your family to help out?’
‘No.’ Her voice was cool; he’d touched a nerve. Her brothers would have lent her the money. Hell, they’d wanted to give her the money, and so had her father for that matter, but she’d refused them all. Little Miss Independent, and it galled her that they hadn’t understood why she’d refused. None of her brothers had taken money from anyone when they’d started out. She was staying with Tris because he had a spare bedroom and because London rentals were outrageously expensive. That was all the help she was prepared to accept.
No, money for nothing wasn’t her style at all. But ten thousand pounds for a week’s work…a week’s fairly unorthodox and demanding work…Well now, that was a different matter altogether.
‘How much do you need to complete your studies?’ he asked curiously.
‘Ten thousand pounds plus money to live on. But I’ve already saved five so with your ten thousand I figure I’ve got it covered.’
‘And then what?’ he said. ‘Will you roam the world in search of ancient artefacts and long-lost oriental treasure?’
‘Yeah, just like Lara Croft and Indiana Jones,’ she said, heavy on the sarcasm. ‘You know, maybe you need to get out more. You might just be spending too much time in fantasy land.’
‘See? I knew it wouldn’t take long before you started sounding like a real wife,’ he countered with a grin. ‘Don’t you want to be a tomb raider?’
Sure she did. She just didn’t think it very likely. And as for sounding like a nagging wife…Hah! Wait till she really put her mind to it. ‘Right now I’m thinking I want to be Xia here, because she’s really good at this alien butt kicking business, isn’t she? What does she get if she wins?’
‘Points.’
‘Points as in money? Does she get to shop afterwards?’
‘Only for a new weapon.’
‘What, no plastic surgery? Because I really think a breast reduction is a must here.’
‘Our target demographic is teenage boys.’
‘I’d never have guessed.’
‘Besides, there’s nothing wrong with her breasts—those are excellent breasts. Fantasy breasts.’
Hallie