Ten
Alexander
There are easier ways to waste a morning, but I've always preferred the kind that at least looks productive.
From the outside, I'm working. My office overlooks the river, five floors above a town determined to call itself a city.
The zoning brief spread across my desk is open to page fourteen.
My laptop displays legal precedents. A fresh coffee sits beside my keyboard.
Anyone walking past the glass walls would assume I'm having an exceptionally efficient Tuesday.
They would be wrong. I've been reading the same paragraph for more than thirty minutes. Not continuously. I've just started at it multiple times.
It's been two weeks since I met Harper. Not that I'm counting anymore. I counted for the first few days. After that, it simply became part of the morning routine. Wake up. Gym. Coffee. Check Harper's Instagram. Immediately regret checking Harper's Instagram. Go to work. Repeat.
It's becoming irritating. And I have become the kind of obsessive man that I hate.
I unlock my phone. Again. Her latest story is what you'd expect from a woman who writes books for a living. Coffee. A notebook. A pair of reading glasses sitting crooked across several handwritten pages.
The caption simply reads: Never underestimate the power of a cold start.
I smile despite myself. She always seems to have coffee. I can't decide whether she genuinely enjoys it or simply uses caffeine as a crutch. Either way, she's alive. Posting. Writing. Functioning. That should be enough.
It isn't.
I lock my phone. Pick up the zoning brief.
Read about two lines before unlocking the phone again.
Ridiculous. I'm forty-two years old. I own property.
My superannuation is in excellent shape.
Somewhere there's probably a certificate congratulating me on twenty years without so much as a parking fine.
And yet…
Here I am.
Checking the Instagram of a woman I spent one night with because she smiled like she'd forgotten how and laughed like it surprised her every single time. I lean back in my chair. This isn't about the sex. That would almost be easier.
It would be simple enough to chalk it up to chemistry, appreciate the memory, and move on.
Instead, I keep remembering stupid things.
The way she cradled her glass in both hands.
The way she'd apologize before saying something.
The way every smile arrived a heartbeat later than it should have.
She carried sadness like a blanket. The sort that worried me.
I don't even know why. She never told me, and I never asked.
In fact, she'd been very clear that she wasn't looking for anything beyond one evening.
I'd agreed. At least I thought I had. I glance back at her profile. No wedding photos. No husband. Nothing that tells me whether she's okay. Only books. Coffee. Friends.
Tiny snapshots of a life carefully cropped around whatever hurt too much to show. I catch myself wondering why she didn’t wear those glasses that she wears in the photo on her night out. They are unbelievably sexy. Who knew that glasses could be that sexy.
I shake my head.
"Get a grip."
The office, thankfully, doesn't answer back. I finally force myself to lock the phone and slide it into my desk drawer. Out of sight. Problem solved. It lasts almost four minutes. Then I open the drawer again.
By three o’clock, the sky is the colour of wet cement and the building’s air conditioning is running so hard it rattles the vent above my head.
I am still at my desk, still pretending to read the same brief.
The phone is back in my pocket, safely muted.
The coffee is cold, its surface dotted with tiny, oil-slick rainbows.
I check the time again. Seventeen minutes have passed since I last looked.
Adrian appears in the doorway, without knocking as usual, carrying two coffees and a folder so battered that the manila edges are beginning to fray.
He looks the same as he did before lunch: suit crisp, hair tidy, the only concession to reality being a loosened tie and the shadow of five o’clock stubble.
He holds out one of the coffees, this one with a plastic lid and a perfect ring of condensation around the collar. I take it, grateful for the heat.
“Update on the Carter file,” he says. “They want to renegotiate the arbitration clause. Shouldn’t be a problem, but we’ll need to tweak the standard language.
I flagged it for review.” He drops the folder onto the centre of my desk, then settles in the visitor’s chair like a man prepared to dig a trench and wait for enemy fire.
We have worked together for six years. In that time, I have learned exactly four things about Adrian Vale: he never gets bored, he is married and he never wastes words.
I also know, from experience, when he sits like this, hands folded over his knee, eyes steady and dark, it’s because he wants something.
I suspect he wants me to notice that he wants something, but this is a long-standing part of our game. He always wins.
I thumb through the file, initial the flagged pages, and keep my expression neutral. “Who’s handling the mediation?”
“Jonas thinks it should be you.”
I pause, not from surprise but because I am calculating the degree to which I will regret saying yes. “I’ll do it. Just send me the calendar.”
He nods. “It’s next Thursday. Conference room two.”
Adrian looks halfway to a daydream when his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen.
"It’s Luca."
I nod towards it.
"Take it."
He answers without leaving the chair.
"Hey."
A pause.
"No, I'm just speaking with Alexander."
Another pause.
"I know."
I turn back to the file in front of me, trying not to eavesdrop. It does not last long.
"…Friday still works."
Another pause.
"No, somewhere quiet."
Luca says something loud enough that even I can hear the irritation in his voice.
"I know she's not going to want somewhere busy."
More silence. Then…
"No, I'm not taking her to that place. She'd hate it." I can't help smiling.
Whoever the ‘she’ is, she's clearly loved. Adrian rubs a hand across his jaw.
"I know she's having a hard time."
Another pause.
"I know."
"…Eight months is a long time to lie to someone."
My pen stops moving as my interest peaks. Adrian's expression softens.
"No… we'll make sure she's okay."
A beat.
"I promise."
The call ends. He drops his phone onto the desk with a sigh, and I can’t help myself from prying.
"Luca?"
"He worries too much."
"About?"
"A friend."
He takes a sip of coffee before adding,
"She's going through a divorce."
I nod absently.
"That’s tough."
"It is when your husband's been sleeping with his secretary."
Something in my chest tightens at the thought.
"Jesus."
"Apparently convinced the secretary the marriage was already over."
I stare at the legal brief. The words blur slightly as I feel a wave of empathy for anyone that has to go through that.
"What's her name?"
"Harper."
Every muscle in my body seems to lock up at once.
"…Harper?"
Adrian looks at me with what looks like… suspicion?
"You know a Harper?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"Her surname."
"Bennett."
I feel my heart drop.
"Bennett?"
He frowns at me in confusion. Obviously more baffled by my reaction that I am. And I certainly should be baffled. I only met her once, this reaction is not normal.
"Yeah."
I lean back slowly. Adrian studies me carefully.
"What?"
I look down at the coffee in my hands.
"I know Harper."
His eyebrows lift.
"Oh?"
"We met a couple of weeks ago."
"Where?"
"A bar."
He waits me out and I sigh.
"She came home with me."
His expression doesn't change.
"You didn't know about her situation?"
"No."
"About Ethan." He pauses when he sees my face flash with confusion. “The soon to be ex.”
"No."
"The divorce." I shake my head.
"I knew she'd been hurt." I pause briefly. "I just didn't know what happened."
I take a long breath before deciding, fuck it.
“I can’t stop thinking about her. I was thinking about reaching out on her Instagram but was worried I would come across like a stalker.”
Adrian is quiet for a long moment. Finally, he says,
"Alex…"
I look up at him, already bracing for his judgment.
"She's in a really vulnerable place."
"I know."
"I mean it."
"So do I."
He studies my face.
"You just told me that you can’t stop thinking about her."
I feel like I am a child being told off, not the forty-two year old lawyer that I am. But there is no point denying it now.
"Every day."
Another silence.
"I looked her up that night." I laugh quietly at myself. "Her friend had tagged her in a photo at the bar."
"And?"
"I've checked her Instagram every morning since."
Adrian smiles.
"That's unlike you."
"I'm painfully aware."
He stands, collecting the empty coffee cups.
"I'll tell Luca we should take her to Riverstone."
I look up.
"What?"
"The restaurant."
"Oh."
I'd forgotten that he was taking her out.
"Yeah. Good choice."
He heads for the door before stopping.
"And Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"She is in a really tough place right now. I don’t think she is ready for anything just yet."
"I know." I almost whisper.
He leaves. My office falls quiet again. I stare out across the river, replaying every moment from that night. She wasn't mysterious. She was heartbroken.
And somehow… She'd trusted me anyway. I let out a slow breath.
"…Well."
I shake my head.
"…Fuck."