Page 93 of Power Moves
‘You need to tell HR.’
I scoff bitterly. ‘There is no HR! And even if there was, what would I tell them? Besides, I can’t get him kicked out of his job because thenIwon’t have a job. We’re a package deal. I work for him. If he doesn’t work, I don’t work.’
And I love my job. Even in all of this chaos, it’s still startlingly clear: I love my job. It’s the only thing I’m good at. I can’t lose it, and that means I can’t tell anyone what happened. If this gets out, my face will be everywhere within seconds, subjected to the worst kind of trial by media, my name reduced to nothing more than a lightning rod for every polarising anti-male, anti-feminist, anti-politics or anti-media diatribe. To avoid it, I’d have to go into witness protection and move to the Maldives, which admittedly doesn’t sound so bad at the moment, but what on earth would I do there? Become a fisherwoman?!
I heave out another sob. I thought Boss and I were Batman and Robin—not James Bond and a token, replaceable female—but it turns out I’m nothing more than a convenient option on a quiet night in Wagga.
Suddenly there’s a loud knock at my door. Is Boss still there?!Fuck!Has he heard everything?! I really hope these walls are triple brick.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ I blurt.
‘Call Jessie,’ commands Maxy.
‘I will,’ I lie.
‘I love you,’ he says.
‘I love you more.’
I stifle a sob as I hang up, and steel myself to open the door. I grab the blouse, sweat-stained from tennis, that’s lying on my bed, and wipe it over my mascara-streaked face. I glance at the mirror on the wall but my face still looks terrible, so I make the grown-up decision to have this conversation from behind closed doors.
‘Boss?’ I yell. ‘I’m fine. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened. I’m not calling the police.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ thunders an excruciatingly familiar voice.
I wrench the door open. Archie is standing in the corridor with his hands balled into fists. ‘What happened?’ he asks, his voice unnervingly low.
‘Nothing,’ I say, feeling my entire face turn lobster-red. I cross my arms.
‘You’ve been crying,’ he says, pointing at my shirt, which is wet from tears and mascara dribble.
‘No, I haven’t.’ My voice is shakier than I’d intended. I clench my teeth to try to force back the tears but the crease between Archie’s eyebrows looks something like concern and it’s dissolving my resolve into the dust that cakes Egyptian tombs: death and air and history all churned up into a giant asthmatic nightmare.
He reaches towards me and I flinch, taking a half-step back.
‘Millsy, you can talk to me.’ His face looks so open and sincere that for a moment I’m transported back in time, to that corner seat under the frangipani tree. How helistened, how he said the right things, how my mind raced at everything he seemed to be: funny, smart, genuine, caring. How—for a moment—he made feel better.
A ringtone startles me from my trance. There’s a buzzing sound coming from Archie’s pocket. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on me. It rings out then starts again.
‘You gonna get that?’ I ask, inclining my head towards his phone. ‘It could be a scoop.’
‘I’m not answering. I’ll put it on silent.’ He slides it out of his pocket and because the screen is facing outwards, I read the name before he does.
‘Kristina?!’ My jaw drops to the floor so fast it almost dents the floorboards. ‘Kristina fromNorway?!’
‘I didn’t know it would be her!’ says Archie, desperately tapping the ignore button.
‘So between the tennis courts and now, you had—what?—four hours, and you’re already on calling terms?! Have you already planned a sexy FaceTime session?’
I’m beyond upset now, I’menraged. Hot tears are streaming down my face again; my cheeks are wet with glistening fury. I throw my hands in the air.
‘I’m so glad you’ve moved on, Archie. This is great news. We can go back to being colleagues. That is, until Boss fires me straight after the election for not kissing him back even though—’
‘WHAT?!’ Archie’s explosion is eerily similar to Maxy’s.
FUCK!!!I didn’t mean to say that. ‘Nothing,’ I hiss. ‘I’m going to bed.’ I try to push the door closed but Archie shifts his arm to hold it ajar.
‘I’m going to ask you this one time, Millsy. Did Minister Harcourt just force himself on you?’
