A Girl Less Ordinary. Leah Ashton
And to look at her, absolutely no one would ever know, or even suspect, how much she was shaking inside.
What had she just got herself into?
CHAPTER THREE
THE next day, Ella stepped out of one of the Armada building’s high-rise elevators onto the charcoal-flecked white marble tiles that paved the lobby of Jake’s floor. Armada shouted out to her in foot-high mirrored letters above the reception desk, and every piece of furniture in the vicinity seemed to be made out of glass or chrome. It was all very … shiny.
Somehow she’d expected something different of this space—something different from the rest of the corporation’s building. Jake’s PA had explained that it was the developers’ floor—basically the place where all the geeks like Jake worked. Although, of course, his PA hadn’t called them geeks. She’d used words like software engineers and system architects, all of which had whizzed right over Ella’s head.
But effectively, this was Jake’s domain—and it just wasn’t what she’d expected. With all its hard edges and heavy aura of obscene wealth, it didn’t seem to fit with the guy who’d worn faded jeans to an executive board meeting.
This whole building just wasn’t where she’d imagined Jake would end up—the boy who’d first earned her awe with his skill with those ancient computer games they’d played on his mother’s unreliable, flickering TV. Even back then, in the early nineties, he’d dismantled and tinkered—always needing to know how things worked. He’d built things, too. As soon as their school had internet, he’d been there at the library, figuring out how to build a web page. And then software that actually did stuff. Although she’d never really understood how it all worked—she’d been so easily impressed—a little counter on his web page that counted down the days to her birthday had wowed her far more than the pages and pages of programming code he was so proud of.
She gave her name to one of the handful of efficient-looking receptionists, and then took a seat on an uncomfortable white leather couch—with shiny chrome feet and armrests, of course. Beside her, floor-to-ceiling windows gave her a clear view down to the Royal Botanic Gardens, although she could see only glimpses of the harbour, what with the surrounding skyscrapers acting like splayed fingers across her eyes.
The sound of footsteps drew her gaze back into the room, and there was Jake.
In a variation of what he’d worn yesterday, but this time his jeans were dark grey, and his white T-shirt had a complicated logo splashed across the front of it.
Without thinking, she smiled—not a businesslike, work-appropriate smile, but a big, cheesy grin. Even if his outfit broke every one of her executive style guidelines, this was the Jake she remembered. It was an unexpectedly reassuring contrast in this environment of austerity and high gloss.
For an instant—so quickly gone that she was almost sure she’d imagined it—he smiled back. And then his gaze drifted to the camera bag at her feet, and his lips thinned.
‘Let me guess—you’re not carrying that camera around for the fun of it?’
No hello, no nothing.
Bringing her grin down a lot of notches—to determinedly cheery rather than genuinely cheesy—she replied, ‘Nope. You and this camera will be seeing a lot of each other over the next couple of hours.’
His lips managed to get even thinner. ‘Fine. Let’s get this over with.’
The cool words were just the reminder she needed. Jake was no more the boy who’d once lived in the fibro house with the overgrown lawn than she was the girl in the multicoloured weatherboard cottage next door. And right now, he was not pleased.
She toned down her smile even further—to bland—and smoothed her palms down the back of her skirt as she stood. She grabbed her handbag and hooked the heavy camera bag over her shoulder.
Jake muttered something under his breath that sounded something like total waste of time.
She simultaneously bristled and ignored him.
His conviction that he didn’t need her was, almost, a little endearing. He really had absolutely no idea. But he would—very soon.
So she didn’t bite.
‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘Lead the way.’
Without a word he led her down a corridor lined with meeting rooms, all but one empty. Through the nearly opaque glass she could see an enthusiastic meeting in progress, and, from what she could surmise given her blurry view, all attendees were dressed just as casually as Jake.
‘So the dress code on this floor is “jeans”?’ she asked Jake’s back as he strode ahead.
‘My staff can wear whatever they like,’ Jake replied. ‘What they achieve is more important to me than what they look like.’
‘Dressing professionally is about more than just looking good,’ she pointed out.
Jake didn’t even bother to look over his shoulder. ‘They’re just clothes,’ he said, in a frustratingly dismissive tone.
But again she held her tongue. After today she’d have many opportunities to change his opinion.
At the end of the hallway, Jake opened a heavy door, holding it open to let her walk in ahead of him.
It wasn’t a small door—quite the opposite in fact—and yet Ella found herself hesitating.
Why?
He wasn’t crowding her, he wasn’t doing a thing but stand there. But he was tall, and broad—just big—and even in jeans his presence felt far from relaxed. Literally and figuratively, he filled the space around him.
You’re being ridiculous.
But it was as if suddenly every cell in her body were aware of him and, as a result, she’d apparently lost her ability to move.
If she waited another nanosecond, he was going to notice. And that would hardly help the situation if he knew exactly how effortlessly he pushed her off balance.
So she took a deep breath. And walked past him.
There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?
She mentally smacked herself in the forehead as he closed the door and his deep voice directed her to take a seat.
She really needed to pull herself together. She was as jittery as … well, whatever was jittery enough to overthink walking through a doorway.
She sank into a red leather chair across from a glass and stainless-steel desk. The whole office looked like an explosion of dot-com clichés—multicoloured couches grouped in a corner, a mini basketball ring above the bin, a football table in front of the panoramic windows. There was even one of those magic eight balls on the desktop.
‘Great office,’ she said, because it was. Although, once again, she had an odd sense of incongruence, as if Jake didn’t quite belong.
He shrugged, arranging himself in his chair across from her: one shoulder propped against its back, his backside dangerously close to the edge of the seat, one leg thrown out stretched, the other bent haphazardly at the knee. Sprawled would be an apt description.
All dark and broody, he did sprawled well.
‘Armada hired some fancy interior designer,’ he said with derision, dismissing the room with barely a glance
Ah. That made sense. And again she was oddly reassured that this wasn’t Jake—a crazy reaction, given her role was to help Jake fit better into exactly this type of environment.
Ella tugged at the houndstooth fabric of the hem of her skirt, her knees pressed together primly, her back ramrod straight.
She was acting as if she were