Page 37 of Power Moves
‘Can you not be such a pest? I meant, where is your car?’
‘Valet,’ says Archie, pointing to the porte-cochere, where a guy in a purple dress coat is waiting. ‘I thought it would be more efficient—and I know how you value efficiency.’
‘You guys together?’ asks Valet Guy, scrolling his iPad as we approach his stand.
‘Yes,’ says Archie, as I say, ‘No!’
Valet Guy looks up, amused. ‘The car will be up in five minutes. You can wait over there.’ He gestures to a purple chaise longue. ‘Together or not together,’ he adds.
Ignoring both of them, I perch on the edge of the seat and pull out my phone to check my emails. The car arrives a mere two minutes later. In this rare instance, the efficiency is unwelcome.
‘I can’t believe I’m getting in your car,’ I grumble as I climb into the passenger seat of Archie’s SUV. The interior is smooth black leather, and there’s that same citrus-bergamot smell I remember from the media bus.
Archie grins and starts the ignition.
‘Promise you won’t drive me to a dungeon filled with tech bros who’ll hack my laptop,’ I say.
Archie drums his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Deal. But now I know you’re hiding something, and I’ve got a whole car trip to convince you to give me the exclusive.’
‘Archibald, you’re a fool if you think that’s happening. I’m still angry you made me miss my brother’s birthday.’
‘The media bus was supposed to be a peace offering.’
‘Yeah well …’ I am still angry. I just can’t be bothered to waste my breath explaining why.
The sun is still visible above the skyscrapers and the sky is a periwinkle blue. The Harbour Bridge looms over us, arches of steel slicing across the horizon. As we reach the on-ramp for the highway, the traffic slows. Archie rolls down his window and leans his forearm on the sill.
Involuntarily, my jaw clenches. It’s not that I have an aversion to the fresh air; it’s more that I’ve always found it irrationally sexy when guys rest their elbows on car windowsills. It’s like when shirtless men on Instagram build wooden cabins in back-to-front caps. The brain goes:What about sun protection?while the body goes:HOT.
It doesn’t help that Archie has good arms. I would estimate that since I’ve known him, Archie’s arms—by mere virtue of being attached to his body—have made up for at least one hundred and thirty of his sins. Even when he bumps my shoulder after someone saysThat’s what she saidin a press conference, I find my irritation fizzles out faster than it should.
I turn away before he can catch me staring.
‘Can I make it up to you properly?’ Archie asks suddenly.
I look over. ‘What?’
‘For ruining your brother’s birthday. Can I make it up to you properly?’
I turn back to the road. ‘Unless you have something that allows me to do my job and simultaneously maintain healthy relationships, then you can’t. The only way you could salvage this situation is to wipe my memory of our every interaction in the last six years.’ My mind flickers back to that Facebook message he sent me before he left for France. ‘Actually, make that our every interaction, ever.’
‘So let’s start fresh,’ he says. ‘Pretend we never met at uni, or at work. We’re meeting now. What would you say?’
I frown. ‘Are you kidnapping me? Seems weird that I’d be in your car if I didn’t know you. Unless you’re an Uber driver. Are you an Uber driver?’
Archie laughs. ‘No, my name is Archie. Nice to meet you …?’
‘Camilla. Camilla Hatton. You can call me Ms Hatton. Archie is an interesting name. Is it short for Archibald?’
‘No,’ he says, merging onto the freeway. His thumbs are tapping the steering wheel.
‘Oh well,’ I say brusquely. ‘I will call you Archibald anyway. I don’t care much for you at this point, given we’ve only just met, so your feelings are irrelevant. I must say though, you seem remarkably big. Is it difficult to buy shoes?’
Archie’s smile deepens and a familiar satisfaction spikes in my chest. The man is so easily amused.
‘It is,’ he says. ‘Tell me about yourself, Ms Hatton.’
‘There’s not much to tell. I have minimal talents. I have never played professional football, nor have I commandeered a lucrative and successful career as a political journalist. According to family lore, my sister got the serve and my brother got the speed—I was born with nothing but spirit.’
