Knox
“So, you and Reese have a history?” Bob asks as I sit down opposite him.
“As Reese mentioned, we were in competition for the internship here ten years ago.”
He leans forward slightly. “But your history is a little more complicated than that.”
“What makes you say that?”
The way he’s scrutinizing me makes me wonder how he knows that.
“Let’s just say that Reese’s reaction was not what I expected when I gave her the news that she would be going to the retreat. At the time, I believed she was simply overwhelmed with relief because I’d finally agreed to her request, now I’m not so sure that’s what it was.”
“What was her reaction?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Let’s just say that it wasn’t what I expected.”
His words leave me more curious than before.
Bob continues to study me, his frown deepening. “Did you make John aware of your history when he told you that you would be going to the retreat with Reese?”
“No.”
When I found out that Reese was going to be my partner for the retreat, I’d been shocked. Then amused because I couldn’t stop thinking that great minds think alike. But after the shock and the amusement passed, I worried that Reese would still be holding a grudge and that our history might be insurmountable. It’s one thing to share an assignment and quite another to go undercover at a marriage retreat with someone.
Whittleman, however, made it clear I didn’t have much choice about who I worked with when I hinted that I’d prefer to pick my partner for the assignment. Which was why I decided to come to Magpie Grove early to apologise to Reese and deal with our personal history before we started working together.
“Both papers are putting up a lot of money for this story, Knox. I’m sure I speak for John when I say we’re expecting big things from both of you. Will your history be a problem for either of you?”
“Not for me,” I say.
“Good,” he nods. “Reese won’t cause any problems. She’s one of the best journalists I’ve met.”
“She always did work hard,” I say.
My comment seems to garner Bob’s approval and he smiles. “Right then, now that that’s sorted, let’s move onto the business of your few weeks with us.”
Bob begins to expand on the agreement he and John worked out, giving me a list of article options for my first week at the Sun before walking me out of the office and introducing me to everyone.
There’s only one person in the place I remember working with a decade ago. Everyone else I meet for the first time, and they all seem pleasant enough. The office is a nice blend of the old, young and the middle-aged. And then there’s Cecelia, or CeCe as she instructs me to call her.
The statuesque blonde with the short black skirt, sparkly red top and killer legs is forward. She flirts with me, even as Bob tries to drag me away to introduce me to someone else.
Once I’ve finished making the rounds with Bob, I go back to Reese’s desk and sit in the chair I vacated earlier. Reese gives me a quick sideways glance before turning her attention back to her computer.
“Does anyone sit at the desk behind you?” I ask.
“Nope.”
Since I haven’t been allocated a space, I’m assuming I can choose where I want to work. It makes sense to work as closely together as possible under the circumstances.
Reese sits back and looks at me. “We’ve just received our first information package from the retreat. Ready to take a look?”
I scoot my chair closer to hers, inhaling the soft floral notes of her perfume before I can tell myself not to.
Reese opens the first email, the booking confirmation, and we scan through the details. The reservation was made by Reese on Friday. The two of us are attending as Mr and Mrs Reynolds, wealthy socialites from the Gold Coast, and the deposit has been paid.
“Next one.”
Reese clicks on the file. “Questionnaire one – Sex survey,” she mutters, causing a landslide of apprehension to slide through me.
The document opens and both of us start reading.
1. On a scale of 1 – 10, how would you rate your sex life?
2. On a scale of 1 – 10, how would you rate your satisfaction with the frequency of your sexual encounters?
3. How often do you share sexual encounters?
4. How often do you fly solo with your sexual encounters?
Reese clears her throat. “Does that mean…?”
“How often do you click the mouse when I’m not around.”
It’s worth the stab of heat and the tightening in my groin to see her flush and hear her breath hitch.
“Shall we see what the other questionnaires are about?” she asks breathily, closing the sex survey.
“Yeah.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we’re going to have to get used to talking about sex if we’re going to a couple’s retreat together, but I need a moment to cool down. And the problem with talking about sex with Reese? Well, it’s kind of hard not to think about having sex with Reese. It’s not as if I’m sex deprived, but something about sitting next to the girl I once fantasized about so often in high school is definitely doing something for me.
For the second time I wonder how we’re going to get through a couples retreat together, especially if she blushes like that every time I bring up sex and I get horny just from seeing her get all affected.
Reese clicks on the next link, and I’d like to say the next questionnaire is nowhere near as intense, but I’d be lying. He wants the details of our fights, our insecurities, our finances. This guy wants us to lay ourselves bare for him, and a lot of it will require Reese and I collaborating on some fairly intimate and intense subjects.
There are also three more sex surveys to fill in. I only get as far as reading the first two questions on the third survey before she shuts it quickly.
1. What is your favourite sex position?
2. On a scale of 1-10, how much does your partner enjoy this position.
“Should we take a break first?” Reese asks, looking a little flushed and not meeting my gaze as she begins printing out the current survey she has open.
I take off my jacket, also feeling hot. “Let’s break for a bit,” I agree.
Fifteen minutes later, I return to our desk ready to get down to work. However, CeCe is standing at Reese’s desk, talking to her. When CeCe sees me approaching, her blue eyes lighten, her smile widens, and she blatantly checks me out.
“Bob never mentioned how long you’re in town for, Knox,” she says as I reach them.
“Ah, around a month.”
CeCe looks up at me under heavy lidded eyes. “Long enough to have some fun then.”
“I’m sure Knox will be too busy for that kind of fun,” Reese says sharply.
I look at Reese and our eyes lock, and I’m thrown back ten years to when I told her we’d have fun when I convinced her I wanted to take her to prom.
“That’s my kind of fun, too,” CeCe tells me, oblivious to the sudden tension between Reese and me.
Reese’s eyes are as cool as her voice as she says, “We should get on with this, Knox.”
“Maybe we could double,” CeCe suggests to Reese, ignoring the comment about work. “You and Max and Knox and I.”
Reese looks like she’d rather do anything else. “I’m not sure that’s…”
“Going to work this week,” I say, having no desire to double with Max and Reese. “I have a lot of work to get through and I want to settle in.”
Far from being put off, CeCe leans in, putting a hand on my chest. “Maybe some other time.”
“Maybe,” I say suggestively, smiling.
As much as she’s a looker and I like the fact she’s forward, starting something with someone in the office is a dumb idea. Besides, I’m married to my job. It’s been that way since I realized women don’t like coming second to my career.
CeCe gives me one more suggestive look. “I’ll make sure you have my number, you know, for when you have time.”
“Bob isn’t a fan of office romances,” Reese says abruptly as I sit down next to her.
“This is only my temporarily office, and I’m not looking for romance, I’m only interested in-”
“Fun. I remember. That was your M.O. back in high school.”
“Nothing wrong with fun, Cameron,” I say, bristling at what sounds like criticism. “Besides, it was a bit of harmless flirting. I didn’t say I’d take her on a date.”
“You hinted at it, and your flirting isn’t always harmless. Sometimes you lead a girl on and then humiliate her.”
Her eyes flash fire, and I want to point out she was never into me, thus I never led her on. The humiliation, though… “I’ve apologized for prom already, and I thought high school was water under the bridge.”
“It is.”
“Then quit reverting to your judgmental and holier-than-thou self.”
The comment flies out of my mouth before I can stop it. Her face takes on the same pinched expression it did when I apologized for my past behaviour earlier.
“You were the judgmental one back in high school, Knox,” she snaps, standing up. “Calling me a stuck-up bitch to everyone else but never having the guts to tell me what you thought about me, just dumping me as a friend without any word as to why.”
Our eyes lock and hold, neither of us speaking. The hurt in her eyes though, it both surprises and slays me.
“I’m going out for some air. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Reese,” I call after her when she starts walking away.
I look down at the list of questions the two of us need to answer together and then at her retreating back. I don’t know what to say to her, but it seems as if I’m not done apologizing today.
And no matter what she says, she’s not as over the past as she wants me to believe.