Chapter 5
The argument with Jordan chased her through the weekend and the next week.
And okay, maybe she had been a teensy bit selfish, focusing on her own goals and not making time for others, nor making time for him.
And fair enough, he was probably finding it hard, missing her while his routines remained much the same.
It wasn’t like he had a shiny new world to explore.
So she’d been the bigger person and forgiven him, overlooking his unkind remarks as simple jealousy.
See? She could be gracious and forgiving, which was exactly what Jesus would do.
In fact, she was so gracious and forgiving that she hadn’t even mentioned to Jordan just how much she was bothered by his comments—which doubly proved how gracious she was!
So she’d made more of an effort this past week, and it was nice to see their friendship settling back into a version of normal, even if her heart hungered for something else.
Something different, something more. More, like drinks with Gwen and her crowd.
More, like the promise of riches as Maurice promised.
And she had to hustle to make the most of those appointments when they were available.
Which meant blowing off some of the old ties, like the weekly family video chat, because that just so happened to be when so-and-so was free for drinks, and EJ wanted to pick their brains about what steps to take next so Dream Match could attract more quality investors.
But even as she and Jordan resumed their near-daily check-ins, she couldn’t help but notice there was less in common these days.
His conversations still centred around Donwell and what he was doing there, and while she’d been interested at first, by the second week she was so consumed in her own world that she didn’t really care much anymore.
It wasn’t like he could really relate to her life, and anytime she dropped some news about who she’d seen or what she’d done, Jordan would get uptight.
Her phone rang, and somehow she knocked it off the coffee table onto the floor. She scooped it up, only to spy her Bible wedged under the table, where it had been for the past two weeks. Oops.
She tugged it out, then wiped off the dust and crumbs. “Fine, I’ll read it soon, I promise.” She hoped God heard.
Her phone flashed its reminder of a missed call, distracting her, and she tapped open the screen. “Gwen! Hi. How are you?”
“Hey, I know this is very last-minute, but are you free tonight?”
A thrill of anticipation rippled through her, even as she paused, taking in her new normal work attire of sweats and Uggs. “Well, look at that. I am now.”
Gwen laughed. “Good. I had someone cancel, and I wondered if you were free. I’ve got tickets to an exclusive party on a yacht. I know you’re always keen to schmooze, so I wondered if you’d like to come.”
Oh! While part of her was thrilled by the invitation, another part rankled at being described as “keen to schmooze.” Was that just another way of saying social climber?
Still, opportunities like this didn’t happen every day, and she got the feeling that if she said no now, then another invitation wouldn’t come her way again soon.
“I’d love to. Thanks for thinking of me. ”
“Great! I knew I could count on you.”
Hmm. Again that feeling of pique flared. Did Gwen say that she thought EJ was the kind of person so eager to get her name out there that she’d be willing to attend the opening of an envelope? Grr. Look at her. She was getting as bad as Jordan for second-guessing all that happened.
“Is there anything I need to know about who will be there?” Her real question that she couldn’t quite ask was “What do I need to wear?” Because asking that would reveal her to be the newbie she was desperate not to appear.
Gwen dropped a bunch of names mostly recognised in the social pages, like a who’s who of entertainment, political, and sporting stars. “And who knows who else will deign to attend?”
Eric Churchill? EJ kept her lips sealed.
“Oh, it’s cocktail dress, just so you know.”
“Sure.” Cocktail dress? She had a handful of dresses that might fit the bill, but they were all old. Still, there had to be something that still fit. She hoped. Even if it was probably more veering into work attire than cocktail dress, at least she could look good.
Gwen issued more instructions about where to meet, which left little time if EJ was to get her makeup done and hair sleek and straight.
In an ideal world, she’d get one of the beauty consultants at the David Jones department store makeup counters to do her makeup, but she didn’t have time.
Which meant she’d better get going right now, shower, get changed, then begin the arduous task of making herself look beautiful.
Or at least pretty. Even if Jordan didn’t seem to think she was.
“Stop thinking about him,” she muttered to herself twenty minutes later as she blow-dried her hair. “Think about all the new people you’ll meet tonight instead.”
She swiped on eye shadow, sprayed hair gloss on her freshly dried hair to keep it sleek and shiny, then eyed herself critically in the mirror.
The dress didn’t exactly scream cocktail, but it was black and shaped nicely, with neckline and hemline neither too low nor too high Her leather Prada heels matched nicely, and her long maroon leather jacket would finish the job, giving her an edgy look.
By the time she’d finished primping, it was getting late, so she called an Uber to collect her.
Minutes later she was crossing the Harbour Bridge as the dark water slid underneath.
She received a message from Jordan, asking if she wanted to catch a movie, but she didn’t respond, not knowing what to say.
He’d be sure to want to know more about who she was meeting, and he’d probably only complain when she admitted it was Gwen again.
The Uber veered towards Darling Harbour, named for the governor of New South Wales two hundred years ago.
Although, now that she thought about it, the name would make a great location for the promotion of a romance app …
She hurried to the meeting spot, near the Sydney Maritime Museum, near where an ex-navy submarine lounged in the water, waiting for visitors to clamber aboard.
Mum and Dad had taken them all—including Jordan—years ago, and it had been a fun day out, imagining what it would’ve been like to live aboard such cramped conditions.
She was glad that God had never called her to be a submariner.
Her heels click-clacked on the faux cobblestones, her steps slowing as she recognised Gwen’s bright red hair.
Gwen was standing with someone else, a dark-haired man.
A man who, when he turned, caused her breath to hitch as he studied EJ with that same unnerving stare as he had done two weeks ago at Bennelong.
She swallowed, forcing her steps to press forward, even as she felt a strange sensation, like a fly being smiled at by a spider.
His mouth edged higher. Then he nodded. “Well, hello. We meet at last.”
She tilted her chin, hiding her nerves as she plunged her shaking hands inside her jacket’s pockets. “Hello.”
“You two know each other?” Gwen appeared bemused.
“We met two weeks ago,” he said.
“Actually, we didn’t,” EJ corrected. There was no reason to let this man think he could have his way. “I don’t even know your name.” Well, she hadn’t then, anyway.
His eyes flashed, like he’d never had someone not recognise him, like her attitude was provoking him to try a little harder. Which might be to her detriment. Or maybe not, judging from the way his gaze flicked down her ensemble then straight back up again, lingering on her face.
“Eric, this is EJ Bennett,” Gwen said. “EJ, this is Eric Churchill.”
EJ knew she had to shake his hand, to prove she wasn’t intimidated by this man, even though everything about him seemed a little prowly and unsettling.
But that was only because she’d never before met anyone who was uber-rich before.
Someone who had—by all accounts—partied with Saudi princes and the like.
Who had just completed a media deal of his own that apparently had left certain Asian countries a little miffed.
She retrieved her hand and stretched it out, and he eyed it then her, a discomfiting smirk on his face as he paused. This was a power game, she realised, so she quickly withdrew her hand, took a step back, and shrugged. “Well, nice to meet you.”
His eyes widened a fraction, but she wasn’t going to play. Jordan was right. There was something unsettling about the man.
She turned to Gwen, who was watching the interplay with her own look of amusement. “Thanks, Gwen. I hope you had a good day today. What did you get up to?”
Who cared if asking that made her sound like a small-town hick? She didn’t want this man’s rudeness infecting her own manners.
“EJ?” he finally drawled.
She glanced back, affecting disinterest, with that raised-eyebrow look that Lionel had always objected to. “Emma-Jane. But I prefer EJ.” Especially when dealing with those tech heavyweights who preferred dealing with a man and didn’t realise that EJ was female.
“EJ.” He held out his hand and finally smiled, properly this time, and her stomach swooped.
She didn’t have an excuse not to shake his hand, and she knew she had to now; otherwise, she’d be accused of being rude.
But it felt like round one of this power play had gone to him, something she was sure he was used to.
And something that made her determined not to let him win again.
In some ways, the super-rich seemed to possess powers not unlike a superhero. One look and people came running. Or scattered. Or were drawn like a magnet into their orbit.