Chapter 12
As Katrina padded towards the Balmont Residences in her gym gear, she was a jangle of nerves.
For the second night in a row, her sleep had been fragmented.
Most of her morning had been spent apologising for the hash she’d made of her timekeeper duties at the carnival yesterday.
She had been too distraught to send more than a thumbs-up emoji in reply to a flurry of group-chat messages lambasting Craig and telling Katrina that nothing could dim her inner light (Gabby), that they should meet up for a drink (Nicola), and that Tranquerb Hawthorn Helper capsules might be a soothing dietary supplement (Pauline).
And Katrina still didn’t know what Nick had told her friends in the stands.
Had he said anything about Dreamwives? The very thought made her feel sick.
But three good things had happened in the past forty-eight hours.
Her Friday night appointment with the company’s first female client had been a roaring success.
A magistrate with three gorgeous Afghan hounds, Mahi had found their ad on the NOW (Network of Women) forum.
After demolishing Katrina’s dinner, bending Katrina’s ear about industrial relations and getting Katrina to clip the dogs’ toenails, she’d promised to spread the word about Dreamwives.
Secondly, Katrina had got through to Justin.
He hadn’t wanted to speak to her last night, but this morning she’d caught him slathering peanut butter on toast in the kitchen and had explained to him how silly rumours like the one about her and Nick travelled around Colville like viruses, best ignore them.
Justin had nodded, once. She took that to mean he accepted her explanation.
Thirdly, she now had a lifeline – the lawyer friend of Ilse’s recommended by Michelle.
On a brief, Friday-afternoon video call finagled by Ilse, the smiley, middle-aged lawyer had looked cosy and mumsy until she opened her mouth.
Thanks to Dreamwives, Katrina could even afford her services (for a few hours).
A custody meeting was scheduled for Monday; Katrina’s lawyer would take on Craig’s lawyer and everything would be settled.
But not if Craig heard about Dreamwives. Not if he called Katrina an unfit mother and convinced the boys to move out for good. That was why she had to know what Nick had told Gabby, Nicola and Pauline.
In a way it was lucky Nick had made an appointment for Saturday night, even though Katrina had never expected to play a Dreamwife on the weekend; at least she’d get a chance to press him for details.
When scanning his latest questionnaire, she’d noted, with relief, that he didn’t want her to make dinner, but he’d requested that his Dreamwife wear upmarket activewear, including a ‘cropped, tight tank top’ and ‘bike shorts’.
She’d felt a twinge of unease at this. Perhaps Chloe had favoured figure-hugging exercise gear at home?
Since Katrina wasn’t a nineteen-year-old gym babe taking thirst-trap photos, she’d compromised with a smart gym tank and full-length Lululemon tights.
When she reached the door of Nick’s brooding block of flats, she pressed the button for number 19. Immediately, Nick’s voice crackled through the speaker, as if he’d been waiting by the intercom.
‘Come in,’ he said. Then the door clicked and Katrina went inside.
Riding the lift to his apartment, she inspected herself in the mirror.
She looked as miserable as she felt, and that wasn’t professional.
Shoulders back, chin up, smile on. Her usual game face.
As soon as Nick answered her knock, she would say a brief hello and ask him straight out: what exactly had he told her friends at the carnival?
But Nick opened the door before she could knock, and her question died on her lips. She clocked, in quick succession, his button-down shirt and pressed chinos, the sensual music floating out of the apartment, and – most alarming of all – the gooey expression on his face. A chill passed through her.
‘Hi Katrina,’ he said in a low, caressing voice. ‘Come in.’
Katrina wanted to leap back into the elevator and stab at the ‘close door’ button, but she let Nick guide her inside his apartment. Perhaps she was mistaken – perhaps his support group was finally working?
One glance confirmed her worst fears.
The apartment had been transformed. It was lit by the romantic glow of dozens of candles and the table was set for two, cosy and catty-corner, with a tablecloth and proper wine glasses and full place settings for three courses.
One of the glasses had a slick of red wine at the bottom of it. Dear God, Katrina hadn’t expected this.
As the music shifted from soft and sensual to something sexier with a throbbing bass line, Nick exclaimed, ‘I love this song!’ He started to sway, thrusting out one hip, then the other, drawing his hands through the air in a disconcerting manner, as if he were doing tai chi in the park at dawn.
Katrina tried to smile but couldn’t manage it.
She desperately seized on the delicious scent wafting from the kitchen. ‘Did you cook?’ she asked loudly. ‘I didn’t know you could cook. Is it a roast with broccoli? I like broccoli, don’t you? Cruciferous vegetables are so nutritious.’ They were also the unsexiest things she could think of.
‘I wanted to make tonight special for you, Kat.’ Nick spoke in the same caressing tones, undulating towards her step by horrifying step. ‘I ordered from Kirk Keane’s restaurant. Do you like Kirk Keane?’
How to answer that question? ‘Ye-es,’ she said. ‘Kirk Keane’s food is very nice, but Nick, you didn’t have to go to so much effort. This is a professional Dreamwives appointment, not a date.’
A wash of bright colour engulfed Nick’s face. Then he lunged towards her with a vehemence that made Katrina step back.
‘Oh, no,’ she said, trying to pretend it was a misstep. ‘Are you all right? Did you trip?’
‘Let me speak,’ he said fervently, grabbing her hand, and Katrina saw it was hopeless.
Resigned, she let her hand dangle in his like a dead fish.
‘I wanted to ask if you’d date me outside of business hours,’ he pleaded.
‘As soon as I saw you at the gala, I knew it was meant to be you all along, not Chloe. Enough of this Dreamwives rubbish, Kat. I love how it connected us, but now it’s just you and me. ’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Real life.’
Swallowing, Katrina carefully extracted herself from his grip. She knew that most Dreamwives clients were vulnerable, lonely and struggling, just like Nick; why hadn’t she and Michelle anticipated this very situation? Because they no longer saw themselves as objects of desire?
She told herself she was a professional, providing a professional service, and that she needed to draw some clear lines.
‘You’re a lovely human being, but I’ve never thought of dating you.’ She braced herself for the inevitable argument – and sure enough, he wasn’t about to be derailed.
‘That’s not true,’ he said with ill-founded confidence. ‘You had a massive crush on me in high school.’
‘That was over thirty years ago.’ When you were attractive, she thought, and instantly felt mean. And shallow.
Nick’s face fell. ‘But you cooked me fish tacos. You remembered I loved them.’
‘I did my research.’
‘You called me “babe”!’
‘Because I thought it would make you comfortable. I was doing my job. You’re a good person and I consider you a friend, but I don’t want to go out with you.’
Nick stared at her, his flush mottling, his breath growing ragged. Katrina could almost see his dreams crumbling before his eyes.
At last he said, in a strangled voice, ‘So they were right, then.’
She frowned. ‘Sorry?’
‘I didn’t believe them, but it must be true.’ He threw her his wounded-puppy look. ‘Michelle Redlin got in first.’
‘Michelle?’ Katrina echoed, her head swimming. ‘Got in . . . What? I don’t understand.’
Nick rubbed his eyes and groaned. ‘Nicola told me yesterday that you’d met Michelle again at the gala, and Pauline swore you two used to hook up backstage at high school during Grease, and now everyone says you’re in love with Michelle again and you’re having an affair.
Pauline saw you two together at the QVB, fondling each other.
I can’t believe you’re a lesbian, Kat! We snogged in sick bay! ’
Despite her shock, Katrina felt a flash of delight.
So her Colville friends hadn’t been sniffing around about Dreamwives.
They actually believed that Katrina was juggling both Nick and Michelle – or, even worse, that they were all part of some polyamorous throuple. Didn’t they know her better than that?
‘Nick, you’ve got it all wrong,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m in business with Michelle. That’s all it is. Not that anyone at Colville needs to know about Dreamwives, do they?’ She wanted to make this clear, though Nick’s focus wasn’t on Dreamwives.
‘But Pauline swore she saw you two—’
‘I was fixing Michelle’s hair.’
Nick’s expression changed, as if it all made sense now, and Katrina relaxed. But then he tried to put an arm around her, and she sidestepped. She was tempted to walk out of the apartment, but her excellent new lawyer was expensive. She needed cash.
‘Nick, please remember the no-contact clause,’ she warned him.
‘But if you’re not seeing Michelle—’
‘I’m not seeing anyone,’ Katrina said. ‘I’m not in a good place.
Craig and I only just split up.’ She took a deep breath.
‘Look, I don’t want to take advantage of you.
We can terminate this relationship here, without any bad feelings, or we can keep going the way we have been, but we’re never going to date. ’ She couldn’t be clearer than that.
‘Okay,’ Nick said gloomily. ‘I understand. But wait – were you really hooking up with Michelle back at school? Are you bi?’
‘I wasn’t hooking up with Michelle at school, Nick.’
‘Not even once?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ Did he seem . . . slightly disappointed?