Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (14 page)

Despite Morgan’s continued absence things with Estil have been ticking over nicely, even if I’m hardly feeling in control.

She’d emailed me a list of the potential clients she’d met at the Women’s Expo
after our first coffee at Mojo. I’d decided to follow up on them, managing to make quite a number of appointments from her leads.

Despite feeling
about as out of my depth as a kitten in a swimming pool, I’ve had some really good styling sessions with women of all shapes, sizes, and walks of life. I’ve got to the point where I’m starting to feel like I can really do this now, but god do I wish experienced, connected Morgan would come back to make it all infinitely easier.

So,
my home life and my career have slightly wobbly green ticks, but I’m very happy to report my love life has a great, big, fat neon green tick against it right now.

I’ve been
seeing Scott every few days since our first trip up Mt Victoria, and we have absolutely mind-blowing sex every single time. And I mean every time. Without fail.

It’s pure
, unadulterated heaven.

Other than sneaking a couple of get togethers in at home when Mum’s been out, all our other encounters have been in unusual and exciting locations, which has really added to the thrill of it all.

Boring and predictable this man is most certainly not.

We almost got caught at it in the sports kit
closet at the tennis club last week and we’ve discovered quite a number of excellent secluded spots for al fresco shenanigans in the Botanical Gardens.

He makes me fee
l so sexy, so adored. I feel like the most desirable woman on the face of the planet right now, thanks to him.

Angelina
Jolie, eat your heart out - I’ve got my own Brad, and he’s a fully-fledged, hot sex god of the highest order.

We’re well and truly in
the first flush of excitement in a new relationship. You know the feeling, when it’s almost physically impossible to keep your hands off one another?

I’ve
got to say though, it definitely feels a bit like we’re living in a porn movie, only without the bad Seventies soundtrack and the big bushy moustaches. Thankfully.

In fact we’re so busy having hot animal sex
we really don’t have much time to talk, other than fun, flirty exchanges immediately preceding said animal sex of course. So I’m surprised when he calls me while I’m sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper over breakfast at the weekend.

“
Jess, it’s me. Can we meet up? I need to talk to you about something.”

“
Talk? I’d much prefer to do other things,” I respond flirtatiously, thankful Mum is having a shower, still happily humming away to herself.

I’m all for her being happy, but t
his contented humming thing of hers is getting out of hand.

“
Want to know what I’m wearing?” I continue.

S
o I’m in an old, baggy T-shirt and a pair of oh-so-comfortable pink stripy pyjama bottoms, but he doesn’t need to know that. And besides, I doubt even real life porn stars sit at their kitchen table in all their sexy get up and sky high heels on a Saturday morning.

Particularly if they live
in the conservative ‘burbs with their mum.

“
Yeah, babe,” he drawls, slipping easily into our usual banter.

B
ut then he seems to refocus himself. “I mean, not now, Jess. Can you come and meet me at the Lido? I really need to see you, you know?”

Perhaps we’ve now reached the talking phase of our relationship? Well
, I don’t mind, as long as it’s not
all
we do.

Thirty minutes later and I’m showered and dressed and heading out the door.

“Where are you off to, Jessica dear?” Mum calls from the living room.

“
Oh just into town to meet Scott for coffee.”

“
Well, bring him back here afterwards. It’s high time I met this new man of yours. After all, you’ve met mine,” she trills happily.

The woman’s completely besotted, I tell you.

“Sure thing, Mum. I’ll see what his plans are and then I’ll call to let you know.”

Meeting Mum is a big step, but
we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now and I still think he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

S
o maybe it is about time?

***

Arriving at the Lido Café I spot Scott sitting at one of the tall tables against the wall so indicate I’m ordering a coffee and then walk over to join him. Weirdly he doesn’t stand up to kiss me and he has an entirely unfamiliar grim look on his face.

“
Scott, are you all right?”

I’ve never
seen him like this before. We’re usually all over one another from the moment we meet, looking around for a place to get to know one another Biblically once more.

“
Jess, babe, sit down. I’ve got to tell you something.” He looks very serious.

Intrigued but mildly alarmed I do as he asks.

“I’m doing a course this weekend,” he begins. “It’s called Livid.”

“
Livid
?” I laugh. “What is it, a course for angry people? Bloody good name if it is.”

“
Yeah, I suppose. Angry people, sad people, lost people, people like me who need the push to take their business to the next level.”

He’s looking me directly in the eye as he says this,
clearly taking this conversation extremely seriously.

“
So why’s it called
Livid
, then?” I ask, still amused but nevertheless feeling confused and a little apprehensive.

“
Livid? What do you mean?”

No
w it’s Scott’s turn to look confused. His gorgeous forehead crumples as he gazes at me questioningly across the table.

“
You know, livid. Angry. The course is basically called ‘Angry’, right?”

“
No, Jess, it’s called Live It.” He repeats, “Live. It.”

He sounds it out to me as though I’m some sort of idiot
.

“
It’s the name of the course I’m doing this weekend. It’s an intensive, transformational life-coaching seminar and it’s made me realise a few things about myself, things I need to share with you.”

Not really sure how to respond I
reply, “Great. Self-growth and all that. Well done you.”

I punch him lightly on the arm
in what I hope is a light hearted but supportive way.

He stands up from the table and asks me to follow him.

“But my coffee,” I plead.

Not drinking a Wellington coffee when ordered and pa
id for is nothing less than a crime against humanity.

“
Get it to go. I need you to come with me. Jess, it’d mean a lot to me if you would join me at Live It right now. It doesn’t need to be for long, you know? But I need you to hear some things. Seriously.”

“
OK,” I reply dubiously.

What the h
ell, it could be interesting. And who knows? I might be able to hand my business cards around, make some more contacts for Estil. With Morgan out of the picture I’ve been doing my best to attract new clients through networking and it’s been proving quite successful, but it could do with an injection of new blood.

We wait in
awkward silence for the coffee, not talking and certainly not touching. Any attempt on my part is thwarted by his odd rigidity. What’s up with him? He’s never like this. In fact, he’s quite the opposite, all over me in seconds.

After what feels like an eternity
my coffee arrives and we walk across the street in silence and into the foyer of the City Town Hall. I can hear voices on microphones followed by cheering coming from the hall behind closed doors in front of us.

“
Can you wait here for a minute, babe? I need to find us a private sharing space so we can talk.”

A
“
private sharing space”
? Oh good Lord. Kill me now.

I find
a bench to sit on. “I’ll wait here until you find this
‘private sharing space’,
” I say to him with more than a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

Putting my coffee down on the bench next to me
I make the inverted commas sign with my fingers, but Scott just creases his beautiful brow at me in concern again, then turns on his heel and walks away. I sit for a couple of minutes, sipping my coffee and wondering what’s going on. Scott seems really agitated and I wonder what it is he needs to say to me.

He returns in about two minutes
, takes my hand, and leads me through the doors into the main hall.

The
large room is abuzz with people talking, crying, and cheering. Some are in small breakout groups, while others are sitting in chairs, watching someone on the stage speaking into a microphone.

I catch her saying,
“… and it was then I realised my gambling was hurting my family as well as me…” before Scott whisks me into a small booth with four office chairs, closing a makeshift door behind us.

This must be the private sharing space
he was looking for.

Yippee.

He offers me a seat and sits down himself in a chair opposite me, looking nervous. He squares me with his gaze.

“
Jess, I’ve done you wrong.”

I
can’t help but burst into laughter at his quaint expression, almost spitting out my coffee in the process. I feel like I’m in a Fifties Western, with my cowboy about to confess he’s stolen some cattle from the neighbouring farm.

“
Done me wrong? Been a naughty boy then, have you?” I laugh and rub his knee suggestively, hoping he’s just playing some sort of silly game and that we can get this over with so we can leave to get on with doing what we usually do together.

But instead of responding to my playfulness he continues to look grim.

“Jess, you need to listen to me. Listen. To. Me.”

More of the idiot treatment.
This is starting to get on my nerves. I mean, I don’t like to sound arrogant, but it’s become pretty clear to me over the last few weeks that, although I’m not likely to give Stephen Hawking a run for his money any time soon, of the two of us it’s not me with the intelligence deficit here.

But I decide to play along. He quite clearly has
something he wants to say to me and my interest has been piqued.

“
Tell me all about it, Scott. Tell me how you ‘
did me wrong’
.”

I can’
t help smiling at him as I repeat the expression, but I stop abruptly when he bows his head, looking nervous, and I realise there really is something serious going on here.

What exactly
does he need to say to me?

He launches into what sounds like a thoroughly rehearsed speech.

“Jess, in order to grow I need to release the shackles of my current predicament, a predicament of my making. Mine and mine alone.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard him string a sentence
together with more than one multisyllabic word, let alone several.

“
I must take responsibility for my actions. I need to be free so I can pursue my dreams,” he continues.

“
Scott, you’re sounding like a brochure for one of my Dad’s self-healing retreats. Just tell me, what’s going on?”

All humour has gone from my voice
as I stare intently at him, causing him to squirm uncomfortably in his chair.

“
Jess, you’re an amazing woman and I have had an incredible time with you. But you need to know I’m…” He stops and looks directly into my eyes for a moment, then immediately averts his gaze.

“
You’re what, Scott?” I’m feeling pretty apprehensive now. “You’re leaving me? You’re gay? Oh my god, you’re not gay are you?”

Suddenly it all makes
sense - this man is far too good-looking and well-groomed to be straight.

He has the audacity to
appear affronted.

“
No, Jess. I’m not gay. I’m… I’m in a relationship with another woman, a woman who, up until just this morning, I took for granted. But a woman I need to be with. As much as I want you Jessica, I want, need and love her.”

With his speech over he perceptively relax
es, sitting back in his chair with a deep expulsion of breath.

To say his little confession
has quite the opposite effect on me has to be the understatement of the century.

“
What
?” I screech, trying hard to comprehend what he’s just said. “You’re in a relationship? You’re screwing me and someone else? I’m the…’ I can’t quite bring myself to say it, ‘…the…
other woman
?”