After my stomach settles from the flips that took place during my scolding, I turn my attention back to work. Hopefully, I can make peace later, but for now I’d better behave.
TWENTY-ONE
Beautiful Stranger
Marcus wasn’t lying. The last three hours have been extremely emotional. I’m sick to my stomach and want nothing more than to get the hell out of here. Tutting and huffing, I slam the binder shut. Letters mix together in a ball of fury in my mind. It’s all too much to bear. How am I going to sit in that courtroom and hear these people speak?
“I can’t,” I say under my breath, finding the door handle and pressing down hard. “I need to get out of here,” I whisper, stepping into the lift with hands curled so tightly shut, my nails press sharply into each palm.
The elevator dings. My expensive heels clop loudly as they meet the floor. My heart races faster. Poor Stephanie. No little girl should ever have to know such evil. I won’t read another word of her torture. I can’t. Why did Marcus bring me here for this? I’m not the right person. Tears threaten to spill.
“Abigail, where are you going?” Marcus says. His deep voice echoes around me.
I don’t know where he came from and I don’t answer him. Instead, I pick up my pace.
“Abigail, stop,” Marcus commands, his tone packing a punch.
I halt, turn sharply, and stare into his eyes. “What do you need, Mr Klein?”
“I’d like to know where you might be going, Miss McMillian.”
“Fresh air.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t think I ever will be again.” I walk backwards. Our gazes remain locked. His lips part, but I don’t stop moving as I await his words.
Thud! My body hits the floor hard. My legs move in every direction. There’s an instant pounding in my head.
“Shit! Are you okay?” The words flow out with a hint of humour entwined with concern.
Slowly, I raise my arm and give a thumbs-up. How embarrassing. Opening each eyelid, I’m greeted by Marcus, who leans over me, looking down. His lips are curled upwards yet are pressed firmly together, as if he’s trying to contain laughter.
“What just happened?”
“Well, you tripped over a potted fern and fell backwards into the side of the sliding doors.” The tight-lipped expression on his face relaxes, but he soon stifles laughter.
“You better not laugh at me, you arse, help me up. God, did anybody see?”
His head shakes. “Well, probably Trin. And, actually, I guess security cameras,” he chokes out.
“Get that tape … go, go, and go.” I moan.
Marcus’s arm grips mine, lifting my body with ease from the floor.
After pushing myself away from him, I use both hands to smooth my hair and to fix my skirt back into order.
“You are so clumsy,” he states.
“That obvious, hey?”
“Yes,” he says before his expression becomes much more serious.
“So … I will bid you farewell, sir. My job here is done for today.” Nervously, I put more distance between us. “I can’t—”
“Abigail.” He lurches forwards. “Let’s find you a seat.”
“I’m fine. I’m just going to get some fresh air.”
“Come with me … You could have a concussion.” His hand grasps mine, but I shake it free.
“Please don’t.”
“Nobody will think anything of it.”
“That’s not the point. You can’t just—”
“What?”
“Never mind. I just need some air,” I beg.
“You need to return to your office and talk to me.”
“You’re so bossy … You know that, right?”
“I prefer persuasive.”
“Nope. You’re just plain bossy.”
“Well, I am your boss. Now—”
“Correction, you are my boss for this week. That’s it.”
“Very true. Please let me get you some water and have you seated comfortably so we can make sure you’re okay.”
“By we, you mean you. And by office, you mean the constrictive shoebox provided, right?”
He grins before splaying his fingers gently across my back, ushering me towards the lift.
“Stop touching me.” I wiggle to shake him off. A single chuckle annoys me as he follows behind. “I know you’re looking at my arse, so stop it.”
He says nothing, but I can imagine he’s smiling that big, beautiful smile of his.
The doors part, and we both enter. I take the corner and press my spine hard against the wall.
Marcus thumbs the button for level one and stands across from me with a weird smirk on his face.
What is he thinking?
There’s a screech, then a conking sound, and we’re jolted up, then down before the lift stops dead. The doors do not open.
“One floor. We had to go up one floor. Only one level and this thing shits itself.” Throwing my head upwards, I scream, “Why me? Seriously, why me?” As quickly as my head rose, it lowers. “You did this, didn’t you?” I snarl, outstretching my finger in accusation.
“Not at all.” Marcus’s hands rise with his palms held out in defence. “This seems to be a malfunction. Someone will get to us shortly. Try not to panic, Abigail. Please tell me you don’t have a problem with confined spaces?”
I burst into a fit of laughter, allowing my body to shrink down to the floor. My legs stretch outwards as I continue to release my frustration and anger in the form of laughable hysteria.
“I get trapped in these things all the time. I’m fine with this, trust me.” I brush away tears caused by humour from my eyes.
“This does not surprise me. The curse?”
“The one and only.”
Marcus presses a button and speaks, “Maintenance, Marcus Klein here. One other person and I are stuck between ground and floor one in the elevator. Could you please give an approximate amount of time it will take to get us out?”
“Good afternoon, Mr Klein, Oscar here. Welcome back to Sydney.”
“Thanks, Oscar, good to be back.”
“We’re already working on the lift. It appears to be a power malfunction. Shouldn’t take too long to fix.” He sounds raspy, the voice of a long-term smoker.
“Thanks,” Marcus says before removing his jacket and settling down on the ground opposite me.
There is silence as I slip my arms out of my own jacket, laying it down before taking a long inhale.
“Now, now, don’t be greedy, sucking in all our air like a Hoover.”
I roll my eyes in response.
“Do you want to talk about it yet?”
“Nope,” I mumble.
“Are you always so stubborn?”
“Apparently. It’s what my mother tells me anyway.”
“I can see why.”
A comfortable silence resumes.
“This is a pretty rough case,” I blurt out.
“That it is.”
“I think I want to go home.”
His eyes narrow. “Okay. I can have that arranged.”
“Good.”
Marcus sits there staring at me. I wonder what he’s thinking about. His expression doesn’t give anything away. It’s a blank canvas. Suddenly, he jumps to his feet before edging closer and closer, until he kneels beside me.