THE NEXT MORNING Zoe and Evie sat in their usual seats on the train.
It was a gorgeous Melbourne winter’s day—crisp blue skies and a brisk chill in the air. Yet Evie felt warm. Scratchy. She took off her bright red bomber jacket, then put it back on again. She fiddled with her beanie—black today, with double pom-poms that looked like teddy-bear ears. And she tried to stop staring at the electronic sign telling them how many stops to Armand’s South Yarra stop.
Thankfully, Zoe was too busy sexting Lance, who’d landed back in Australia after his final overseas army posting. A few days, then, till Evie had to find somewhere else to live.
She rocked forward as the train came to a halt. Her eyes zoomed to the doors. And a familiar form filled the space like liquid darkness.
Cool, distant, professional, she told herself. But, as Armand’s eyes swept over the carriage before landing on hers, her nerves zapped and zinged, the hairs on her arms standing on end.
Zoe’s hand flapped in the corner of Evie’s vision as she waved for Armand to join them.
“Zoe,” Evie hissed. “Leave him be.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Eyes still locked onto Armand, Evie saw the squaring of his shoulders before he excused himself as he made his way up the busy aisle.
“Good morning, Evie.”
“Hey, Armand. Um, this is my friend Zoe. Zoe, Armand.”
Zoe held out a hand and shook Armand’s with relish. “Sit.”
The schoolboys must have had a day off, as there was a spare seat across from them. While Armand settled in Evie rearranged herself so as not to spend the trip playing footsie with the guy.
Zoe said, “I hear you two are working together.”
Evie caught Armand’s gaze, inscrutable as ever. “I only mentioned we were working together, not what we’re working on.”
Zoe scoffed. “I wouldn’t understand it anyway.”
“She really wouldn’t. Then again, neither would Armand.”
Armand’s intense gaze darkened, just a fraction. It was quite the thing.
After three solid seconds of eye contact, his gaze swept to Zoe. “She thinks I’m a Luddite.”
“I thought you were French. Didn’t you say he’s French?”
“I did. He is.” Evie’s mouth kicked into a grin and Armand’s eyes seemed to spark in shared amusement. A secret shared. Evie’s heart took a little tumble.
She swallowed quickly and turned to Zoe—much safer—to explain the history of the Luddites and their aversion to new technology.
The conversation then moved on to the design program Zoe was being forced to learn for work, to when it might be cold enough for proper coats, to the underfloor heating in Armand’s penthouse apartment in South Yarra.
“Posh,” Zoe said. “Does it have an extra bedroom?”
It took Evie a moment to break free from the Zen of listening to Armand talk and realise where Zoe was going. She gave her friend an elbow in the ribs.
“Ouch. It’s a perfectly reasonable question.” Zoe sat forward. “Beneath the cool exterior, our girl here is brimming with panic as she is under the mistaken impression she has to move out of my place this week.”
“She mentioned she was moving,” Armand said.
“My boyfriend is moving in, so she thinks she has to leave.”
“It’s a one-bedroom place. I sleep on a futon in the lounge. When Lance moves in it will be a little...”
“Cramped,” Evie said right as Armand joined in with,
“Intimate.”
“That too,” Evie said, her voice a little rough. Their eyes locked. Evie swallowed. So much for “cool, distant, professional”.
Taking Armand’s loaded silence for disapproval, Zoe added, “Don’t worry. It won’t distract her from work.”
He shook his head, his mussed hair unsettling and resettling in an even more appealing alignment. “I’ve seen her work. It would take an air-strike siren to distract her.”
Zoe laughed. “And you’ve only known her a day. I wish my boss saw me like that. I’ve been working there a year and a half and she still thinks my name is Zelda.” Zoe nodded towards the door. “Your stop, guys.”
Armand stood.
This time Evie knew better than to try to keep up, so she made a play out of slowly collecting her things.
“Don’t be late,” he instructed. Then with a nod he was gone.
Evie saluted his back, then scrambled to get her backpack from under the seat.
“I like him,” said Zoe as Evie stepped over her legs.
“Then you can have him.”
Not wanting to look as if she was following Armand, Evie had dawdled to work. In the end she ran late, puffing by the time she reached the Bullpen.
Naturally the first person she banged into was her boss.
“Mr Montrose!”
“Evie. How goes it? Settling in all right? Making friends? Getting the lie of the land?”
“Great!” she enthused. “All is great!”
“I see. Armand has scared you witless, has he?”
Evie laughed. “He’s rather intense.” Arrogant, short-tempered, closed-off. Mysterious, hunky, fascinating.
“Can be. Comes from being a genius among mere mortals.”
“Then how come you’re so nice?”
Jonathon blinked, then looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time since they had met. Notice me. See me. And please don’t fire me.
Thankfully he laughed. “You’ll keep.”
He looked ready to move on when he turned back to her. “Keep me in the loop, Evie.”
“Of course.”
“Not merely apropos the investigation. With regards to Armand.”
Evie swallowed, not quite sure how to answer. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“The usual. If he’s playing nice, if he’s giving you enough space to do your job, how goes his state of mind.”
“State of mind?”
Jonathon glanced over her shoulder, the very image of nonchalant. “Has he spoken much about his life before he came here?”
Apart from the story about the little girl, he’d barely spoken at all. “We’ve mostly talked about the work.”
“Is he settling in? Making friends?”
Help.
The only time she’d seen him interact with anyone was when he’d glared down at Jamie at lunch. “I can’t really say.”
A flash of a smile. “You’re loyal to him already. Good to see.”
Was it loyalty? Or the fact she didn’t know him at all?
Suddenly Evie’s stomach tightened and her ears began to burn as she remembered a similar conversation with her last boss, asking her how things were going with Eric. On that occasion she’d completely misunderstood—blustering over the fact that they’d broken up, kind of, that they were in the process of moving on, not realising her boss was asking if she’d noticed anything untoward.
Not that Armand seemed anything like Eric. Polar opposite, in fact.
Eric had been affable, like a St Bernard puppy. He’d appeared harmless and wasn’t.
While Armand... He was far more at the Doberman pinscher end of the scale. A stunning specimen, but instinct said it was best not to stray too close. And yet he read actual books. Stood on the train so old ladies could sit. Had seemed genuinely concerned—in his own intangible way—that she might soon be out on her ear.
Before she could come to any logical conclusions, Jonathon gave her a nod and left her to hurry to her office.
She went to press her thumbprint against the security pad, only to find it was missing, the door unlocked and Armand working on the security pad, coloured cords poking out every which way.
She edged in behind him, intrigued. Electrical circuits were one of the first things her granddad had taught her about when he’d realised it was easier to answer her zillion questions than hope they’d go away on their own.
Making to “play nice”, she went to point out he had the wrong micro-screwdriver, when he reached into a small toolbox and pulled out the right one.
The man might not know a gigabyte from a bug bite, but he clearly was capable in countless other ways. Of course, it only served to make him even more intriguing when she really needed him to become less.
He grunted. Then said something in... Swedish? She realised he was also on the phone. A regular old landline tucked between ear and shoulder.
But it was the tone of his voice that was the biggest surprise. It could almost be mistaken for chipper.
She glanced towards Jonathon’s office, wondering if she ought to tell him. But it didn’t feel right. If Jonathon wanted them to get along, then she’d make it her focus to get along.
She caught Armand’s eye as she moved to her desk to let him know she’d arrived. He gave her a small nod as she passed—practically a hug in Armand world.
Then stopped when she found a new addition to her little corner—a small cabinet, elegant, wooden, most likely antique, with enough room for her backpack and a shelf for personal touches she’d brought from home. And, above, a pair of fat knobs nailed to the wall, the perfect size for her scarf. And her beanie.
She turned to ask Armand if he knew who to thank but stopped short when she saw him leaning back in his chair, ankle hooked over the opposite knee, a hand waving through the air as he illustrated some point the person on the other end of the line could not see.
It was the smile that got her. Wide, crooked, creasing the edges of his eyes until they were no longer stormy. Her blood rushed so hard and fast she could hear it in her ears.
Gaze sweeping unseeingly over the room, those eyes caught on hers. A mercurial, sparkling blue-grey, like sunlight on water.
The swinging stopped. His hand dropped. The smile slowly melted away.
But the light in his eyes remained. Just for a moment. A breath really. But enough for something to rage to life deep in Evie’s belly.
Then he blinked, his gaze sliding away from her as if it had never caught, his chair turned to face the other wall as he continued his discourse, the foreign words quieting, easing down the phone lines.
Evie sat. Switched on her computer. Got to work. But it was a while before her heart slowed. Before she could even see the screen.
A half-hour later she jumped when Armand said, in English this time, “Team meeting.”
She turned to find him at the lounge. The halfway mark of the office. No-man’s-land.
Evie played with the zip on her bomber jacket as she moved out to join him. Then sat primly on the edge of the couch. Her hands clasped together.
Armand said, “You go first.”
“Who was on the phone?”
He baulked. “A colleague.”
“A colleague...?”
“Performing background checks.”
She waited for more, to get some insight into who in his life could make him smile that way. But nope. She got nothing. “Have they found anything to report?”
His eyebrow jumped.
Evie brought her hand to her chest. “Or am I not allowed to ask?”
Armand’s inscrutable gaze flickered and she half expected him to say, no, she was not allowed to ask.
In the end he waved a conciliatory hand and went on to outline the work he’d done so far. The accounting errors that seemed just that. The dead ends he’d reached. The players he was targeting as suspicious. It was an impressive amount of work. She wondered that he’d had time to sleep, much less settle in, make friends.
“I bumped into Jonathon this morning,” she said when he was done.
“And?”
“He asked me to keep him in the loop.”
Armand stilled. No, he stiffened, his entire body going rigid. But his voice was smooth, giving nothing away as he said, “It is his business.”
“It wasn’t about the business. He asked me to keep an eye on you.”
Armand shot to his feet, pacing back and forth over the same small patch of floor, muttering in French and a little English about “trust” and “allegiance”, with a few choice swear words thrown in for flavour. It was more emotion than she had ever seen him display—anger, disappointment, regret. The mix volatile, unexpected; she couldn’t hope to pin each down.
Evie stood, running suddenly sweating palms down the front of her jacket. “Armand, I told you because I have no intention of following through.”
Armand stopped mid-stride. “What do you mean?”
“The way I see it, we are a team. If one of us is playing the other it won’t work. Been there, done that, don’t ever want to go through it again. But if I’m wrong, if this is more than Jonathon stirring, if there’s something about you I should know...”
Armand pinned her with a dark glare. “You said it yourself—we are a team. We are not friends. There is nothing you need to know bar the report I just gave.”
The burn travelled fast, singeing her cheeks till they flared. She held up both hands in surrender. “Forget I said anything.”
He gave her one last, long look before he walked slowly to his chair, where he sat and watched her from his place in the semi-darkness.
Evie crossed her arms. “I take it the team meeting is over?”
Armand waved a hand in agreement before he scraped his fingernails through his stubble.
Evie scooted back to her own desk, where she sat, stiff-backed, staring unseeingly at her monitors.
A few moments later, Armand’s voice came to her. “If this job is so important to you, why not do as Jonathon asked? Why tell me at all?”
She turned, keeping her fingers poised on the keyboard. “I didn’t think it was fair.” One thing she had taken out of the implosion of her last job and her part in it was that whatever happened she had to be able to live with herself.
Armand sank his face into his hands a moment before giving it a good scrub and looking at her with haunted eyes. “Bad things happen to good people in this world. I’ve seen it time and time again. If you don’t toughen up, grow a thicker skin, I fear for you, Evie. I really do.”
“If you’d prefer to sit over there in the darkness, glowering at nothing, keeping whatever has Jonathon so concerned all bottled up inside, you’re going to have a stroke. I fear for you, Armand. I really do.”
She glared at him and he glared back. When her eyes began to water at the stalemate she blinked, rolled her eyes and got back to work.
Her fingers slammed down on the keyboard, till she remembered it was her beloved prototype and took more care. Mind spinning in a dozen different directions, she forced herself to concentrate. To curb her anger. To do her job.
But, as the code finally drew her in, one niggling little thought kept flashing at the corner of her mind.
Evie might not know much about why people acted the way they did, but she did know family. She knew community. She knew fellowship.
She hadn’t felt much of that in her last job. They had valued her but only for the skills she offered. They’d rated her so highly they’d stuck her in a secure office where no one bar top management—and Eric—could visit. Rather than feel appreciated, she’d felt isolated. Like a tool rather than a human being.
Armand said he feared for her, which meant she wasn’t merely a cog in the corporate machine to him. To him, at least, she mattered.
She settled in with a small smile on her face, feeling as if they might not turn out to be the worst partnership ever assembled after all.
Evie’s stomach rumbled.
After their earlier standoff, the office was deathly quiet. Armand must have heard. But when she looked up it was to find him in his regularly programmed position—frowning over his reports, the pool of golden light cast by the banker’s lamp throwing craggy shadows over his deep, soulful eyes.
This man worries about me. He’d care if something terrible happened to me.
Armand looked up and Evie started at having been caught staring.
“Did you bring lunch?” she blurted.
“Lunch?” he asked, as if he’d never heard of such a concept that might take time away from glaring at paperwork. “Non.”
Even while she wasn’t playing his game, Jonathon had hit on something when asking if Armand had made friends. She knew how it felt being the odd one out at work. Just because she’d decided not to report back, it didn’t mean she couldn’t help.
“I’m heading down to the Yum Lounge to find something decadent and delicious to eat.” A pause, a deep breath, then, “Care to join me?”
Armand looked up, those dark eyes bringing on tingles and skitters and rising heat. Then he surprised the heck out of her by shutting his notebook and saying, “Oui, I will. Merci.”
“Really? Great. Okay. Let’s go.”
Evie held out a hand, motioning to the door. But Armand refused to go before her, waiting with barely reined patience for her to trot through.
Once out of the office, Armand locked the door, even though the security key pad meant that only select people had access anyway. No trust, that man. Since reading people wasn’t her forte, she gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. Probably best he was in charge.
As they reached the Bullpen the energy, the laughter, the sense of chaos couldn’t have been more different from the intense quiet of upstairs. She glanced towards Armand to find him tense, bristling, on high alert. For a moment it was easy to picture him as he might have once been, not hunting a problem, but the kind of man who’d take care of a scared little girl.
She shot him a smile. Turned it into a grin. Gave him a nudge with her elbow.
While his face said he was still considering her sanity, his shoulders relaxed and the tendons in his neck no longer looked like they might burst from his skin.
When he took a turn towards the Yum Lounge, Evie grabbed his wrist. He froze, as if shocked by human touch. Making a split-second decision, she slid her fingers into his and dragged him towards the Game Rooms, stopping when she found Jamie and a couple of colleagues battling it out to get past what looked like the penultimate level of Insurgent: Jungle Fever III.
She called out, “Hey, guys.”
Several heads turned. Some waved, others raised cans of energy drink. When some looked warily over her shoulder she glanced back at Armand, realising she was still holding his hand.
She let go. His hand immediately sank into the pocket of his suit pants. Then she tipped her head in the direction of the room, prompting him to acknowledge the crowd.
“These guys are on our team too,” she murmured.
He muttered something in French. She did not believe it was complimentary.
“You guys game?” someone called.
“Totally,” Armand responded.
Laughter bursting from her mouth, she turned to find Armand had moved in closer. She rolled her shoulders, subtly, in an attempt to stave off the warmth washing over her at his nearness.
Jamie, who was sitting in a straight-backed chair, fingers flying over a controller, sweat beading on his forehead, didn’t move as he said, “Miss Evie, nice to see you down here.” Then, “Armand. Welcome to hell.”
“Looks fairly close,” Armand said, his hard gaze now locked on the huge screen where soldiers in camouflage gear, loaded up to the eyeballs in weapons, tried to shoot their way out of an ambush.
“How long have you been stuck there?” Evie asked.
“This session? Two hours and sixteen minutes.”
Another guy added, “That’s not including the several days before that.”
“Jonathon pays you to do this?” Armand asked.
“We’re about to launch Jungle Fever IV and need to make sure we haven’t doubled up on any scenes.”
“Do you use military consultants?”
One guy looked up. “My uncle was a lieutenant in Vietnam. We brought in a few of his mates to fill in the blanks.”
Armand shot him a look. Gave him a single nod, appeased, before standing up straight.
Evie took a couple of steps into the room. Eyeballed the screen, catalogued the tools lists of each player. “You want help?”
Yet another guy hunched over a controller muttered, “We are beyond help. And I’m out.”
He put down the controller and slumped over in the chair.
Evie held out a hand and someone passed the controller to her.
After a beat she offered it to Armand. “Care to show them how it’s done?”
A flash passed over his eyes, a moment of connection, like lightning within a storm. A thrill shot down her spine, making her toes curl.
Then he slowly shook his head. “All yours.”
“All righty, then,” she said, taking a moment to shake off the pins and needles. She ran her fingers over the buttons, familiarising herself with the remote. Cricked her neck one way, then the other.
“Follow me,” she commanded Jamie, then set to unlocking the level in a minute and a half.
The room erupted in a cheer befitting a gold medal performance.
Grinning, Evie bowed to the room, bowed to Jamie, then turned to bow to Armand. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, ankles too. Cool as you please.
He shook his head once, his eyes glinting. And then his face lit up with a smile. Teeth and all. A zing shot through her, head to toe, as if she’d been struck by lightning.
Grouchy, he was magnetic.
Smiling, the man was devastating.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jamie throw down his controller and pull off his baseball cap to run a hand over his damp hair. “How?” he asked.
Evie broke eye contact to give Jamie a shrug. “I’m just that good.”
“Everyone,” Jamie said as he pulled himself to standing, “this is Evie Croft. And she is just that good.”
Each of the guys stood to introduce themselves, a flurry of names she’d struggle to remember. Evie laughed, feeling light, happy. Included. It was the best she’d felt since the Day of the Fortune Cookie.
Then her gaze slid back to the doorway to find Armand’s smile now gone. He glanced behind him, as if looking for a way to escape.
With an, “Excuse me,” Evie ducked through the crowd. She muttered, “Uh-uh, don’t even think about it.” Then, tucking her hand into his elbow, she dragged Armand bodily into the room.
Evie shook any hand that came her way and said, “And this is Armand Debussey.”
Armand did surprisingly well in the end—he smiled politely, was charming despite his best efforts and was an adept conversationalist. After a few minutes, it felt as if they were all firm friends.
Fun now over, the crowd dissipated, small groups heading off in different directions, already talking about optic cables and firewalls.
“Well, that wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” Evie asked, turning to Armand. “Even I started to believe you were an actual human person.”
Armand smiled, just a little, and Evie found herself lost in a whirl of stormy blue. She’d never stood so close to him before, apart from elbowing him on the train. Toe to toe. Close enough to count his tangled lashes. The lines on his face that spoke of hardship, worry. Of care.
Her next breath in felt sharp and keen and far too shallow.
Her tongue slipped over her dry bottom lip and Armand’s gaze dropped to her mouth. And stayed. The banked heat in his eyes had her knees giving way.
Then from one moment to the next the shutters closed over his eyes with a snap and he took an instant step back.
“Lunch?” she said, glad to remember what it was called.
He looked at her for a beat. Inscrutable once more. “No lunch. I have something urgent that needs attending to.”
“Oh,” she said, hearing the tinge of disappointment clear as day. “Okay. See you in the office afterwards, then.”
With a nod, and a slight bow, he left the room.
Jamie sidled up to her to give her a bump with his shoulder. “Seems you’re after a lunch companion.”
She had to drag her eyes away from the doorway to give Jamie a chummy smile. The smile she got back was more than chummy.
While Armand was a study in elusiveness and restraint, Jamie was not. There was a strong chance she was reading the signs wrong, but she didn’t think so. The smoulder he was sending her was as subtle as a billboard.
She was hit with a revelation.
What if Jamie was the fortune cookie mistake? Was he the romantic entanglement she had to nip in the bud?
She felt a sudden lightness come over her. If it was true, it would be the easiest fix in the world!
He was nice-looking, smart and clearly keen, but she felt nothing for him beyond friendship. Nothing close to the way she felt when Armand even looked her way.
Suddenly her revelation didn’t feel helpful after all.
“Thanks,” she said to Jamie. “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
His face dropped till he looked like a sad little boy and she knew she’d made the right decision.
“Look, I know I’m a novelty around here but, like you, I’m here to do my job. Just think of me as one of the guys.”
Jamie perked up. “You sure played like one.”
Evie bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from calling him out as a sexist pig. Hopefully she’d have the chance to show them all how wrong they were.
Jamie ran a hand up the back of his neck. “You and Mr Mysterious—you’re not...?”
“God, no! No way! Nuh-uh.” Stop protesting. One “no”is plenty. Okay, one more for good measure. “Nope. We are a project team. And that is all.”
Jamie watched her a moment, then nodded. Backing away, he said, “Rematch?”
“Deal.”
He shot her a salute and headed off.
Left alone in the Bullpen, Evie lifted her gaze up the stairs.
That was what she wanted, right? To quietly go about her job without making waves? Making a splash had been her mum’s deal. Being lauded, applauded, recognised for her artistic talents. Her dreams had been so big that when she’d crashed she’d crashed hard.
Evie had never wanted standing ovations, she just wanted a seat at the table. And now she finally had one.
But, while half an hour before she’d been starving hungry, right then she felt strangely hollow.