Page 16 of Blindsided By You

I slide the papers across the desk towards her. Skylar arches one blonde brow, drops into the chair opposite me, and begins to read. Her eyes widen as she understands what I’ve placed in front of her.

“This is a contract.”

“It is. Skylar, you’re wasted waiting tables at The Railway. Though I’m fine if you want to keep doing that too,” I add quickly. I know she’s set some big financial goals for this year and I won’t be the one to put the brakes on them, even if it does involve nights in the local pub delivering plates of haddock and chips or pizza to slightly tipsy locals. “But, as you know, I’ve got a string of new clients coming on board, and much as I hate to admit it…” She grins at me, anticipating what I’m going to say, and how much the admission costs me. “I need help.”

She covers the ground around the desk in seconds and flings her arms around me. Her embrace sends a flood of unfamiliar, although rather pleasant, emotions through me and I hug her back, relishing the satisfaction that I’ve done a good thing here. Somehow I’ve become a hugger and I’m surprisingly OK with that.

“Right,” she says, finally loosening her arms from around my shoulders. When she pulls back, glistening pearls of happy tears dot her cheeks, and she brushes at them. Mirroring her action, I swipe a finger over my own cheek and confirm there’s also a warm bead of emotion sliding down my face. I’ve become a happy-crier too. I see her sympathetic smile. “I suppose I need to sign this before you change your mind.” Teasing dimples tug at her mouth.

“Zero chance of that,” I say, flicking away another tear. “But yes, sign it quickly, so I can relax. I can’t affordto let you get away.”

The smile doesn’t leave her face as she scrawls her name and slides the paper across to me.

“Thank you Jenna,” she says. “I won’t let you down.”

“I won’t let you down either,” I say. “You’re going places. This is only the start.”

“Did Wonder Woman have a sidekick?” she asks, pressing a candy-pink nail to her lips. She tilts her head towards the large picture I’ve given pride of place on the wall behind me. It’s a bright pop art piece by a New Zealand artist. The moment I saw it in the window of a gallery in London, I had to have it.

My childhood superhero obsession hasn’t gone away, rather narrowed its focus. My all-time number one now watches over me, reminding me of what I can be. It’s Linda Carter’s image I see in my mind when I need to dig deep, to find strength and face whatever villain crosses my path. Sorry Gal Gadot, you’re beautiful and gutsy, but it will always be Linda I picture when I have to go into battle against some scumbag journalist who wants to crucify an athlete, or when online trolls are slinging undeserved shit.

I’ve learned when life gets tough, if I put on my metaphorical Wonder Woman outfit, complete with ‘bracelets of submission’, I’m powerful. Not that I’d ever attempt to actually pour my body into a pair of Linda’s blue satin star-spangled pants. Or attempt to confine my middle with a wasp-waisted band of gold. Although I do think my boobs would look rather spectacular peeking out of the top of that red corset.

“No,” I say. “She always works solo.” I look at the bright face of potential in front of me. It’s like seeing a version of myself with a softer edge, and another set of talents that I lack. “She does have allies though,” I add. “People with superpowers that complementhers. Sometimes they’ll work alongside her. But as an equal, not a subordinate.”

She dips her head in a shy smile, pale eyelashes flickering and the faint flush that always lurks just beneath the surface pinking her cheeks. The subtext in my words isn’t lost on Skylar. She’s far more astute than anyone who looked at her cherubic face would assume. She holds her superpowers lightly, but they’re there. And underneath, she’s got a strength that may be her most powerful weapon because no one suspects it exists. I feel a twinge knowing I too was guilty of prejudging her.

“Thank you Jenna,” she whispers, and I feel another prickle of tears. Twice in one day and it’s not even ten o’clock.

She takes her place at the small desk I’ve added for her. The summerhouse isn’t really big enough for all the stuff I crammed in when converting it to my office. However, I was determined to make it work, craving the airiness of its tall windows, the soothing view of the pool and gardens, and the escape from the lonely cavern of the ridiculous house towering behind it.

In the past, I always liked my own space, preferring solitude and silence as an antidote to the barrage of people and noise that assaulted me whenever I stepped outside. Media management is a frantic world. But somehow here, things have changed and so have my needs. The cosy elbow-to-elbow feel seems to work with Skylar. Already, I’m finding it hard to imagine the day without her companionable presence.

“Oh, and I’ve sorted this,” she says, pointing at the blackened electrical socket by her desk. The shadow marring the white painted wall behind it remains as evidence of the puff of smoke and crackle ofsparks that leapt from it when Skylar plugged in the paper shredder yesterday. “Sparky said he’ll send someone over first thing.”

“Great, thanks for that,” I say, impressed with her initiative. “As your new employer, electrocuting you would definitelynotbe the best start.”

In more ways than one. I’ve made many hiring decisions before, but this is the first time I’ve chosen someone just for me, and who I’ll be paying. She’s worth every penny. And despite our new employer-employee status, I feel like Skylar and I have something more growing here. Teacher and student? Mentor and protégé? Or even friendship. Whatever it is, I don’t want to lose her, especially not fried by faulty electrics.

I settle back to tackling my first challenge of the day: a campaign to lift the image of a rather testy young golfer whose game is falling in direct correlation to a series of newspaper articles filled with nasty half-truths about the state of his marriage. It saddens me, as he’s basically a nice guy, but socially inept and definitely not media savvy. It would be a much easier world if sporting prowess came with the ability to schmooze preloaded. But then I wouldn’t have a job.

An hour later, I’m startled from my work when Andy leaps to his feet, going from snoring loudly, deep in sleep, to raging beast in seconds. I look to the door and see Geordie MacDonald standing outside and I’m suddenly not quite so sure about the wisdom of letting Skylar take initiative.

He pushes open the door with a cheerful “Morning, ladies,” but catching sight of Andy, slams it shut before the dog can get to him. Andy bounces off the glass, stunned for a moment, before leaping to his feet, barking wildly.

Skylar, in her usual no-nonsense style, whisks him into her arms. Andy immediately abandons his seek and destroy mission and begins licking her face. If I’ve become a little obsessed with Geordie MacDonald this week, it’s nothing compared to the insta-love that Andy has for Skylar. Although I have to confess, licking Geordie has come to mind a few times… I shake my head, trying to release the image before I have to face him.

“Andy, Andy, Andy,” Skylar croons. “How about I take you for a little walkie, walkie, walkie?”

She lets herself out of the small side door and heads towards the house, still murmuring Andy’s favourite word like an endearment and leaving me to face Geordie alone.

“All clear?” He steps into the room and it immediately feels crowded. “Whatisit with that dog?”

“Blonde men,” I explain. “He’s managed to combine canine sexism and racism in one scruffy black package with a nasty set of teeth.”

There’s been a parade of strangers through the house since Mum went. We’ve spent months trying to figure out some trend in poor misguided Andy’s attacks. An analysis of his hits shows a clear pattern. But while blonde men might not be Andy’s cup of tea, I can’t help but think they might be mine. Well, one in particular.

“OK,” he says. “Next time I’ll be sure to pull on a beanie. Easier than a sex change. So tell me, what’s the problem?”

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