Page 90 of Masquerade

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Kate stepped into theground floor lobby, and the atmosphere shifted subtly. The bricks and mortar, the very air settled on her chest like an enormous boulder. The Clelland building had turned against her. It hurt to breathe. Liam’s anger was a live force here, as was her failure to find the words through her stunned distress and his anger to tell him about Kate Higgins.

She’d placed her novel on the end of his desk, planting a bomb, waiting for it to blow up and for all the decisions to be taken out of her hands. Cowardice. It hurt to discover she’d been a coward for a long time. Crossing the lobby was a feat of endurance; a controlled breathing exercise. A romance writer afraid to risk her own heart because she’d been hurt before. She was an embarrassment to her tribe.

Summoning her best meet-and-greet smile, Kate emerged from the elevator on the top floor. The last few weeks had taught her to appreciate the acting lessons her father had insisted on for his teenage daughters. There were no cracks in Ms. Dowdy’s mask of professionalism. This was a short visit, in and out. A thank you to George, and she’d be on her way.

Except she’d come to close one door in the hope of opening another. To finalise her contract with George, so her next conversation with Liam, if he’d listen, wasn’t about Greentree Passage, the state government, Selina or Andrew, but about whether or not they might be friends or lovers ever again. She was hoping to glean a hint from George’s choice of words, and the silences between his words, about Liam’s state of mind.

Her nostrils twitched as she headed down the corridor of the executive floor. She could almost catch a whiff of Liam’s distinctive scent here—where they’d met, where they’d circled each other and the project before agreeing to work together. Where she’d started to fall in love as well as in lust with him.

Kate pressed a hand to her stomach, uncertain whether the three-ginger tea and dry toast she’d nibbled a few hours earlier would stick. Hell, she hadn’t had this kind of roiling, gut-rebelling attack of nerves since she’d told her parents she’d enrolled in a Sydney University and was leaving them, her home, the city and the state.

Liam wasn’t here, so her panic wasn’t necessary. His scheduled ten-until-noon session at Parliament House had become a fixture in his diary in recent weeks. But the butterflies flying formation in her belly refused to be appeased by the news he was off the premises.

In and out, she reminded herself. A shortish, hopefully informative goodbye.

Her resolute footsteps were muffled by the corridor’s deep carpeting.

“Kate left something behind with the Greentree Passage research folder.” Helen’s sharp, nasal voice carried through the half-open boardroom door.

Kate paused mid stride. No, she hadn’t. She held herself motionless, the door to George’s suite of offices suddenly an impossible distance past the boardroom door. Kate did the bulk of her work off-site, and on the rare occasions she’d accepted the offer of a hot desk, she’d left no trace of herself or the project.

“She reads romance. Isn’t that sweet, Amira.” Helen raised her voice, and Kate could picture the malice lurking around the woman’s perfectly shaped bow lips.

“The Search.” Amira’s softer tones dripped with scorn. “The cover says Nora Roberts is an internationally acclaimed writer.”

“If you like the sort of rubbish that tells women to stay in their place. That place being flat on their backs with their legs spread.” Helen took up the attack, and the cloying scent of her perfume followed her voice through the door.

Kate pressed herself against the wall, seeking invisibility.

The last time she’d seen the two women together was the day George had announced Liam would lead the Greentree Passage project and Kate would be his research assistant. The women were joined at the hip in a way Kate and Anna weren’t. Helen and Amira wore twin business suits, twin smart watches, twin expressions and were twinned in their annoyance of an outsider’s role in George’s new initiative. A role they might have expected to fill.

Their criticism reconfirmed all the prejudice she’d faced over her life, the stereotypical putdowns her father, his friends, Andrew and his friends felt free to share with anyone who’d listen.

Their disdain made her decision to explain to Liam more important. Not telling him meant she’d placed him on the same level as all her critics. The belated insight made her want to weep.

She inched along the wall, trying to place the women in the boardroom, although they seemed to be moving around. Unless they walked towards the windows, her chances of bolting past the door unseen were zilch.

“The folder’s mine. So’s the book,” Liam’s faint lilt froze her in place; his casual comment raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

“You’re kidding,” Helen managed.

“About what?” Liam wasn’t supposed to be here. And her next meeting with him wasn’t supposed to include her eavesdropping in the hall like the spy he’d accused her of being.

“You don’t read romance.” Amira’s voice vibrated with incredulity.

Kate held her breath, straining with her entire will for his answer. She imagined his two colleagues watching him with the same focused attention.

“When I get a chance. I also read crime and sci-fi, but there are some nights only a good romance will do. My mother’s a fan. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. Not everyone is smart enough to handle it.”

Was he deliberately paraphrasing Karly Lane? Kate had included one of Karly’s romantic suspense’s on the list for his mother’s birthday.

“You don’t have to be smart to read this stuff,” Helen objected.

“I’ve always thought being smart included being open-minded,” he said. Kate heard a thump which had to be the book landing on the solid teak table. “Looking for love is a universal drive. Romances are about the trials, tribulations and joy of finding it.” He sounded unperturbed.

Kate closed her eyes briefly. He’d be standing hipshot, all solid male animal in his sexy suit, and the temptation to walk through the door and applaud on behalf of herself and every other nervous, beginning romance writer rocketed through her.

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