Love to Hate You: Brisbane City Hearts, #1

Chapter One

Noelle

It was official. This was the absolute worst freaking day of my life.

It all started sometime in the middle of the night when the power went out, but I didn’t know because I was, well, you know, sleeping. Losing power in the middle of the night was not a big deal. The power eventually came back on, and I was none the wiser except, when I finally woke up, I realised the damn power outage had screwed up my alarm clock. Nobody used an alarm clock these days. Well, no one except me. Everybody had smartphones with a funky little alarm clock app, but I hated them. To me, an alarm clock should sit beside the bed with its little illuminated digital time telling thingies, and it should have a whopping big button on top so when it went off, I could slap it into snooze. A smartphone didn’t give me the same tangible experience.

I did eventually wake up, but I was running late. Like, way, way late.  My boyfriend was extremely unhelpful in his suggestion that I just blow work off for the day and stay in bed with him. He had a trust fund that could finance a small country, but I didn’t and, unlike him, I had to work. It was hard enough working in the building industry as a woman without adding to it with unexplained absences and tardiness. Although, in hindsight, maybe I should have listened to him.

Trying not to panic, I showered, dressed, and left the apartment in record time. I didn’t have time for my usual sleekly styled, GHD-straightened, glossy hairstyle, but I could fashion an elegant French twist like nobody's business and for today that would have to do. I skipped breakfast; I could do without the calories anyway, since it was only eight weeks until my birthday. Which also meant it was eight weeks until Christmas and all the overindulging that went along with it. One missed breakfast wouldn’t do me any harm.

With one eye on the time and the other on the text I was sending to my boss to tell him I was running a few minutes behind (twenty minutes to be exact, but he didn’t need to know that) I didn’t notice until it was too late, that it was raining. Again, not a big issue, except it meant the stairs were slippery and with my attention elsewhere, I did a great impression of someone slipping on a banana peel.  My arms wheeled as I skated helplessly along the slick stairs, and I landed on my arse, hard. And in a puddle.

I scrambled back to my feet and checked to make sure no one had witnessed my fall from grace. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, my arse burned from kissing the concrete, and my skirt was wet with dirty puddle water, but I didn’t have time to change. I was now running twenty-five minutes late, so I said a prayer that the inevitable summer heat would dry me out before I got to work. That was an exercise in fruitlessness because this was Brisbane and that meant the tropics and the tropics in summer meant humidity, which was not conducive to drying things out. It was also not summer technically, not yet anyway. But, again, this was the tropics, and we only had two seasons; summer and, almost summer.

Finally, I made it to my car and headed to work. I took a few moments to breathe deeply and compose myself. I would be thirty soon, and that meant I would officially be an adult. Things like that didn’t happen to adults—things like oversleeping and falling down stairs.  Things like that didn’t happen to successful project managers who were thirty and fabulous. And that was what I had determined I would be.  

To say that the proximity of my thirties didn’t freak me out was a lie. I was completely freaked out by the thought of turning the big three-oh. It was only people in their thirties who thought the thirties were the new twenties. Not that I wanted to be in my twenties forever, I just wanted them to last a little longer. I would even be happy to stay twenty-nine for a few more years. It wasn’t like I wanted to be twenty-one again or anything. I was having fun, and I didn’t want it to end. Thirty meant growing up, and I just wasn’t ready to do that yet.

The traffic light in front of me turned amber, and I slowed to a stop. The roads were wet, and even though I was in a rush and running late, I wasn’t prepared to risk injury. My parents died in a car accident, on a wet road during a rainstorm, so it was one of those things I was kind of obsessive about. The guy behind me, not so much. I found out as much when he rear-ended me and then got out of his car to abuse me.

My car was drivable, at least, and after he calmed down enough, we exchanged numbers and insurance details. It wasn’t a big dent, just enough for my credit card to have a minor heart attack. Yeah, I had insurance, but there was that whole excess thing you have to pay, and my credit card was already maxed out. I promised myself I would tighten my belt—Christmas was coming after all—and now I needed to get my car fixed. 

Finally, almost exactly an hour late, I arrived at work. And it was chaos. All the office personnel were out on the footpath, and there were big scary men in uniform baring the door and preventing anyone from getting in. 

I sidled up to one of the office girls, hoping she would tell me what was going on.

They have shut Harper Jamison down, she said, her eyes wide. Bankrupt.

Shit. This could not be happening. I had bills to pay. It was nearly Christmas. I couldn’t afford to be out of work.

What do you mean? I asked her stupidly.

She shrugged. Apparently the company defaulted on some loans and the bank is calling them in. No one knows where Mr Harper is. She lowered her voice and whispered conspiratorially to me. The rumour is he skipped town and left Mr Jamison holding the bag.

This was news to me. Harper Jamison Construction was one of the biggest construction companies in the city. I lucked out getting a job with them because I’d done my placement with them during my degree, and they kept me on because I didn’t suck. I clawed and crawled my way into my current position, being overlooked time and time again by management for a promotion because I was a girl. They couldn’t fault my work. The only issues they had with my work was some of the contractors didn’t like being told what to do by a woman. Now, apparently, they were broke, and I was out of a job.

What will happen to all the holiday pay and overtime we’re owed? I asked, and Kerry (Kelly, Kristen, I don’t know something starting with a K) just shrugged.

From what I’ve overheard, she replied, it’s all gone.

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

I heard my credit card gasp out a dying breath and I couldn’t believe the money I’d been counting on to get me out the debt heap I was in, was gone.

There was a commotion at the door, and it opened to reveal my boss, Mr Jamison, being led away by two uniformed police officers in handcuffs. That did not look good for my future career prospects. I should have listened to Charlie and stayed in bed.

I sat in my favourite coffee shop indulging in the one wicked decadence I allowed myself—a large caramel cafe mocha with whipped cream. It was the four C’s - Caramel, Coffee, Chocolate and Cream, and it was everything a girl needed to help her get over the worst day of her life.

It was still raining, and my skirt was still not dry. Add to that the fact that the stupidly high humidity had turned my hair to frizz. This day sucked.

Not even the chocolate/coffee/sugar coma I was heading for could make the rest of the afternoon look any better. I should go home, crawl back into bed and see if, by some miracle, I could wake up and start the day all over again—without the sleeping in and the fall, and the whole losing my job thing.

Dragging my sorry arse out of the cafe, I waved goodbye to the barista and headed for my car. It wasn’t like I loved my job, but it was a means to an end. Working for such a high profile construction company would look good on my resume when it was time to move on. I just hadn’t thought I would be moving on quite this soon.

The building industry had been slow, the economy was still sluggish, and with the way our government seemed to have a revolving door policy when it came to Prime Ministers, it didn’t look like it would turn around all that soon. I thought working for a company like Harper Jamison would protect me from this very thing. It just went to show that the big guys are just as likely to fall as everyone else.

There was no point dwelling on the negative, or so I told myself. Yes, I’d lost my job, but it wasn’t the end of the world. I was good at what I did. I graduated top of my class, and my work was leaps and bounds above the other guys I worked with. All of my projects came in on time and, if not under budget, then they at least broke even. I would be a good hire for anyone, and I had a proven track record. Plus, I looked fabulous, so that couldn’t hurt.

Feeling better about my predicament than I had a few moments ago, I drove home with my stereo blasting and singing along to Taylor Swift at the top of my lungs. This was not a setback, but an opportunity. It was the kick up the bum I needed to get out there and find the job I really wanted instead of continuing to play it safe. I didn’t have any savings, but my boyfriend, Charlie, owned our flat and never asked me to pay rent, so I didn’t have to worry about that. And we ate out most of the time, and he always paid, so I wouldn’t have to worry about food. Luxuries would have to be put on hold and Christmas would be lean, but surely I would have a job by then, so it wouldn’t really matter. Yeah, it was all going to work out just fine.

I pulled into my parking spot and hummed as I walked carefully up the stairs and into the lobby. I pushed the button for the elevator and took a moment to fix my hair. Hopefully, Charlie would still be home, and we could spend the afternoon together. A little afternoon delight was just what I needed to pull me the rest of the way out of this slump and put a positive full stop to the end of the day.

The elevator dinged, and I waited for the couple inside to exit before I entered and pressed the button for the penthouse. Charlie’s family owned a string of resorts, along with this apartment block. There was no way I could afford to live in something this fancy on my own. I’d been earning a good wage, but I had student loans and credit card debts to pay off, not to mention a fierce retail habit. It was my only vice, well apart from the Caramel Cafe Mocha with Cream, and a little shopping never hurt anybody. I was so strict about everything else in my life. I didn’t think a little retail therapy now and then was a big deal. I worked hard for my money, so I should get to enjoy it.

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors slid open silently. I fished my key out of my bag and let myself into the apartment.

Charlie, I called. I’m home. You would never believe the day I’ve had.

It was at that moment I realised that something was wrong. The Gucci bag and Manolo Blahniks in the hall were gorgeous, but they weren’t mine. And then there was the thumping noise coming from the bedroom that seemed familiar, but out of context, I couldn’t quite place it.

Charlie? I called uncertainly, walking through the lovely open plan apartment towards the bedroom door. The thumping noise got louder as I approached and was accompanied by voices…and moans.

At that point, anyone would think I was an idiot for not knowing exactly what was going on behind those doors, but I honestly didn’t have a clue. If anything, I was concerned something had happened, and Charlie was trapped or injured. What I did not expect to find when I opened the doors to the bedroom I had shared with Charlie for the last six months was him screwing another woman.

Don’t mind me, I said as I breezed into the room and straight to my closet.

I don’t know what possessed me in that moment, but I pulled out my suitcase and began filling it with clothing. It had to be shock. That was the only explanation for my detached frame of mind.  I grabbed anything and everything I could see before moving to the dresser and opening drawers.

Noelle? Charlie said in a strangled sort of way, but I would not look at him, I’d seen enough.

I shoved the lid of my suitcase down hard and snapped it shut. There were still more clothes I would need, but I had to get out of there before reality crashed back in and I did something I would regret.

I’m leaving, I said as I dragged the suitcase behind me and out the doors. Carry on, forget I was even here.

Charlie chased me to the front door, starkers. He still had a goddamn erection, and it waved at me accusingly.

What the hell, Noelle? Charlie yelled at me.

I’m sorry, I replied calmly. Didn’t I make myself clear? I’m. Leaving.

Why? he asked, and I snorted in disbelief.

I flung my hand out, indicating the general direction of the bedroom, and I waved it around, widening my eyes at him.

That’s just Pamela, he replied. She’s an old friend of the family.

Just catching up on old times were you? I asked.

He blushed, and Little Charlie drooped a bit. Well, I…ah…it didn’t, doesn’t, mean anything.

I snorted again. Not to you, maybe, I snapped. But it does to me.

Come on, he pleaded. Be reasonable. It was just this once.

I looked towards the bedroom, our bedroom, and she was standing there, naked, thin, tall and with a luscious head of flaming red hair cascading over her shoulders and framing her perky, and obviously fake, boobs.  Yeah, it was petty, but I could be petty after finding her in bed with my so-called boyfriend.

You could always join us, he said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

I slapped him, hard, across the face before gathering up my things and walking out. I didn’t love Charlie, but what we had worked for us. I gave up my sweet little flat for him. I suffered through countless Brazilian waxes for him, and how did he repay me? By sleeping with someone else.

The rat bastard.

I never liked him, Darcy said as she plonked another Piña Colada down in front of me. His eyes are too close together. They always creeped me out.

I slurped my drink in a disturbingly unladylike fashion. Liar, I cried. He was the best-looking guy I’ve ever had, and you know it.

She wiggled her hand back and forth in the air in a so-so motion. He’s hot, she said, but he’s not all that. There are ten guys in this bar right now who are way hotter than him.

I looked around the bar. She was probably right. Darcy had a boyfriend, but it didn’t stop her from checking out the action. Me? When I hooked up with Charlie, I didn’t even bother looking anymore. There was always a reacher and a settler in a relationship, and I was under no illusion that I was the reacher. Charlie was so far out of my league that I still to this day, didn’t know how I managed to be in a relationship with him. He was rich, hot, and everybody loved him. He had that loveable rogue thing going on, and he’d sucked me right in—the rich and hot hadn’t hurt either.

I hadn’t always been as put together as I was now. I was the nerd in high school, the girl everyone loved to make fun of. I had braces, glasses, frizzy hair, and I was chubby. Everything a shy kid going through high school did not need.  But something amazing happened when I graduated and went to uni. With a little bit of help from my roommate (Darcy) my ugly duckling became a swan, and I got a taste of the popular life. Parties, boys, alcohol, and sex.  The four glorious rights of passage. I lost my virginity, and I never looked back.

I met Charlie at a work function, and we clicked immediately. He wooed me. You haven’t been wooed until a rich playboy had wooed you. We went to all the best clubs, got into all the VIP sections, went to all the exclusive parties and I met some really cool people. No one I would call a friend, but the type of people you want your name associated with. My poor little shy-girl heart practically burst with the wonderfulness of it all.

I didn’t love Charlie, but we were friends, and I enjoyed being with him. I enjoyed being part of a popular couple, and if that made me shallow, then I didn’t care. I was bullied and picked on by popular people all my life.   All I’d ever wanted was to be accepted by them. Now I was…well, I had been. My status among the beautiful people, sans-Charlie, was yet to be determined, but I didn’t hold out much hope. Losing Charlie would mean giving up the life I’d become accustomed to.  It was almost tempting enough to go back to him, but that would make me shallow.

Don’t look so glum, Darcy said, nudging me. You could have any guy in here.

Darcy was my biggest cheerleader. She was the one who first showed me how to straighten my hair. She talked me into getting my fringe cut and getting contact lenses. She dragged me to the gym with her and helped me get the body I have now. Gone are the soft lumps and bumps and in their place are strong, toned muscles. Without her, I would still be the shy little church mouse I used to be.

Thanks Darce, I said, resting my head on her shoulder. You’re the best.

Hey, what are friends for, she replied with a big grin. Now, have you had enough wallowing? Can we go home and get on with phase two?

What’s phase two? I asked hesitantly.

Chunky Monkey, she replied with a suggestive raise of her eyebrows. I swear to God that she used any excuse to eat ice cream.

Let’s go, I said, standing up and weaving slightly.

She grabbed my arm, and together we flounced out of the bar. Darcy had kindly offered to let me sleep on her couch. She only had a one-bedroom apartment, but she gladly offered to let me stay with her when I turned up on her doorstep, homeless.

Oh, God. The sickening realisation of my predicament making my stomach churn.  I was jobless, homeless, and broke. I was turning thirty in eight weeks, Christmas Eve to be exact, and I had nothing to show for it.  I hated being out of control, and this was about as far out of control that a person could get.

I think I’m going to be sick, I groaned as the truth of it all rumbled around in my guts.

Just make sure to aim for the gutter, Darcy said. And don’t get it on my shoes.

Chapter Two

Logan

This was officially the worst day of my life.

Well, the worst day of my life, so far. I didn’t make general sweeping statements, and even though I was standing in my office ready to tear my hair out, I would not start now.

My office was a mess, but that was not the problem, it was always a mess. The problem was I generally knew where everything was in my mess, but not tonight. Tonight I didn’t know where anything was. But I did know where to lay the blame.

As well-meaning as Margaret’s attempts to clean my office had been, they didn’t help me now. And maybe if I had been a little less blunt with her, she would be here now and I wouldn’t be about to blow the most important meeting of my year. I might be the CEO, but the board of investors didn’t give a crap about that. They wanted to see a status report, or they would not sign off on the funding I needed.

My IQ level of two hundred and twenty-one meant I was a genius, but filing was just not my thing, and Margaret, in her infinite wisdom, had come in and messed with my system. A system that worked for me. A system that I relied on. Why did Darlene have to leave me to marry that schmuck? How could she leave me like this?

It was unfair of me, but I had less than an hour to find my report, get dressed, and get into town for the meeting. I worked from home. That was best for everyone. People told me I didn’t have a very personable demeanour and that my penchant for being honest rubbed people the wrong way. The board preferred me to work offsite and, to be honest, I preferred it too.

I picked up my phone and pressed number one, my speed dial for Darlene, which I hadn’t changed, even though she left me. It rang a few times before she answered.

Logan! she squealed into the phone. How is my favourite boss?

Are you drunk? I asked her.

Abso-freaking-lutely, she replied with enthusiasm. It’s my hen’s night.

I heard woo-hoos and cheering in the background, and I sighed.

I need your help, I said, trying to cut through the background noise.

I don’t work for you anymore, Darlene replied. What happened to Margaret?

She left, I snapped. And I can’t find my report, and I have a meeting with the board tonight.

I heard her sigh into the phone. You scared off another one? she asked. Does that make four now or five?

I don’t have time for this, and if you won’t help me, then I’ll just let you get back to your night of revelry.

She sighed again. There’s a copy in the credenza under October Reports.

I stormed into the outer office and checked the credenza. The report was exactly where she said it would be. Thank you, Darlene, you are a lifesaver.

Logan, she said, and I noticed the background noise had quietened. You know I love you. We worked together for a really long time and I’d like to think we made a great team.

We did, I said, distracted by the report in my hand as I glanced over the numbers, checking again for any inconsistencies.

So, please take this in the vein I mean it, she went on. You can’t keep calling me like this. I don’t work for you anymore.

I stopped and finally heard what she was saying. I can’t call you? I asked.

She chuckled. Sure, you can call me to catch up or shoot the breeze, we are still friends.

I scrubbed my hand through my hair with the realisation I had finally pushed her too far.

I’m sorry, I said, not sure what else there was to say.

I forgive you, she replied with a laugh, and I heard the background noise ramping up again. But for now, I’m off to live it up with my girlfriends, get drunk, well drunker, and dance until I fall down.

I smiled. Have fun, I said, but it was lost in the female screams that punctuated her statement.

I shook my head and disconnected the call before heading to my room to change, texting my driver on the way.

I knew Darlene was right, but I just hadn’t been able to find the same working relationship with any of the replacements. She just got me and was not