Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (15 page)

I stare at him in total disbelief. How cou
ld he have done this to me?

I had no
idea he was seeing someone else. I’d just assumed, quite fairly I think, we were exclusive. After all, we’ve been seeing each other every few days and there’s never been anything to make me think he might be with someone else.

But he’s now telling me
not only is he two-timing me but he’s
in love
with someone else?

I’m glad I’m sitting down because my knees feel like they might dissolve into a pool of butter at this
shocking revelation.

I’
ve hardly any time to process the shock when someone else walks abruptly into the booth.

I
jump up and am absolutely mortified to see Brooke Mortimer standing in front of me, clipboard in hand, looking incredible in a sleek red trouser suit and heels.

T
hat’s all I need, my arch nemesis of old kicking me when I’m down.

“
It’s
you
?” She looks as stunned as I feel and we both stand there looking at one another, her in obvious disbelief, and me because I’m completely flummoxed by her sudden arrival.

After what feels like a week
of glaring with totally unveiled fury at me she turns to Scott with a look of utter venom in her eyes.

“
You slept with
her
? You have
got
to be kidding me. Look at her.”

She gestures
wildly at me as though I’m some sort of specimen on a lab table waiting to be dissected.

“
She’s so tall she’s almost mannish, she’s at least a dress size larger than me, probably two, and her hair! Hasn’t seen a conditioning treatment in some time, I’d say. All string and split ends.”

Hang on a minute.
I might be tall and maybe I could do with losing a couple of kilos, but my hair is just fine, thank you very much.  Some might say I look like a sexy cartoon character, in fact.

B
ut then now I think about it, it seems people who think that are two timing bastards.

I feel like hollering,
“
Hello,
I’m sitting right here!”
but don’t as Brooke looks so fierce. After the withering look she levelled at me before I must say I prefer her anger to be directed at Scott.

R
egaining her composure she continues. “You’ve opened up to her, then, have you? Released the shackles?”

This must be
what she tells them to do in her seminar. With a jolt I realise this is
her
life-coaching seminar and she’s asking Scott if he’s ‘released’ himself from the ‘shackles’ of his affair with me.

God, she must
be absolutely
loving
this! Watching me get dumped by a man, who has already treated me like I’m just some sex plaything, right in front of her?

Brings back
some good old memories, I bet.

But
why isn’t she revelling in it as much as I would’ve expected her to? Instead she looks really upset, like she’s just managing to hold it together.

Scott’s voice breaks my thought pattern.

“Jess, this is Brooke, the woman I’ve been telling you about. The woman I love.”

I
stand there in stunned silence as he reaches out and touches both our arms, hanging his head.

“
I’ve treated you both so badly, and I need you to know I am growing through this experience and becoming the man I need to be,” he says to us both.

His
words make me go from stunned silence to apoplectic anger in record-breaking speed as it hits me with a high voltage shock
Brooke
is the woman he’s confessed to being in love with.

Brooke Mortimer is
the woman he’s been two-timing me with.

He’s ma
de me the unwitting other woman.

Could this be any more
messed up? Part of me mourns the loss of the idea he might be gay. That would be significantly more preferable to this screwed up love triangle I’m suddenly thrust into against my will.

I feel
my anger reach boiling point and I blow, unable to contain it any longer.

“
Well, bully for you, Scott. You go ahead and be whatever
man
you want to be, but it sure as hell won’t be within a hundred feet of
me
ever again.”

S
hakily I turn my attention to Brooke, who’s noticeably seething in her heels.

“
You’re welcome to him, Brooke. Looks like you two are made for each other.”

She
goes to speak, opening and closing her mouth a bit like a demented fish, but eventually turns to Scott and says in a low, controlled voice, “Jessica, would you leave us alone please?”

“
Gladly,” I respond with gusto, walking towards the makeshift door.

I turn back to see Scott hanging his head like a
naughty puppy sitting next to a chewed slipper.

I
take a final glance at Brooke as I turn on my heel and notice there are tears welling in her eyes. Well, she deserves him. If I’m a shackle then they can both realise their screwed up potential together, and good luck to them.

I push
the door open, feeling utterly humiliated. I manage to get outside into the blinding sun, race across Civic Square, up into the Central Library and burst into the ladies’ toilets where I bolt the door. I plonk down on the toilet seat and dissolve into hot, angry tears.

How could he have done this to me? I might not be the best listener in the world but I’m pretty sure I would have remembered it had he told me he was screwing another woman.

And not just any other woman - Brooke Bloody Mortimer!

God, I feel like
such
an idiot. How could I not have known? There must have been signs. I know we never went to his place, but he said he lived on the other side of town and that it was much hotter to have sex in unusual places (which it is, by the way, in case you were wondering).

H
e was always checking his phone and had to cut our time together short a lot. Maybe that should have told me? But I stupidly assumed it was because he was so busy coaching and working on his business.

What was I thinking, meeting him for a chat? We ne
ver meet for a chat. I reluctantly admit I’d hoped he was going to suggest a nice dinner out or a minibreak in Taupo. Something romantic that’d take our relationship to the next level.

How wrong can a girl be?

All h
e wanted to do was to dump me, for … her. What had I expected? Living the life of a couple of porn stars as we’d been doing wasn’t likely to end like a loved-up, happy Disney movie, was it?

You’re a fool, Jessica
Banks. A great big floozy fool.  

After collecting myself and trying in vain to de-puff me eyes, I decide my only option right now is to head home. Mum hears me arrive and comes bustling into the corridor to meet me.

“
Hello, dear. I thought you were bringing Scott home, dear. I’ve been baking some… oh”

She notices the state I’m in, all pink and puffy, standing there slumped against the wall
.

“
Oh, dear. What happened? Come here.”

She cuddles me in close and I tell her all about
the morning’s events - how humiliated I’d felt, and how of all people he had to be two-timing me with Brooke Mortimer.

“
Brooke can’t be feeling too happy right now, either dear.”

“
You know what, Mum? I don’t give a damn how Brooke’s feeling,” I snap, still feeling enraged.

“
She’s been dealt a hard blow by this Scott fellow too, you know.”

“
I suppose,” I reply, realising Mum’s right but not wanting to admit it. Brooke looked deeply shocked when she saw me. I guess she’s had to deal with a cheating boyfriend this morning as well.

But right now all I want to do is feel sorry for myself.

“I know what will cheer you up. Why don’t you go and see one of your lovely friends? Laura, maybe? Have a good old moan and then have some fun. You’ll be laughing at this in no time.”

I’m
feeling pretty doubtful about that right now.

“
But I can’t talk to Laura,” I say, suddenly aghast. “She’s friends with Brooke. She’ll think I’m the devil woman, like I did this on purpose or something.”

How can I face her again?

“Good Heavens, Jessica dear. I’m sure she’ll think nothing of the sort. She’ll be very supportive of you in your hour of need. She’s such a sweet, level-headed girl. She was just wonderful after Lindsay’s death, of course.”

Mum may be convinced
of her ability to be supportive over this despite seriously conflicting loyalties, but I’m not.

“
Think I’ll give Ben a call instead if it’s all the same to you.”

L
ooking at her I add, “Thanks, Mum. You’ve been great.”

“
Oh nonsense,” she replies, patting my knee. “What are mothers for?”

***

I reach Ben’s apartment in the city in the late afternoon after texting to see if he could see me, telling him something awful had happened and I needed a friend’s shoulder to cry on. Being the great mate he is he explained to his mountain biking buddies there was an emergency, left them in the deep recesses of some bush-clad mountain somewhere, and rushed back to his place to see me.

I’m standing at the front of the apartment block when he drives up, bike
attached to the back of his muddy old SUV. He parks and jumps out of the car, approaching me in his cycle gear.

“
Jess, you look like shit,” he laughs. “What the hell happened?”

“
Thanks,” I reply, attempting a laugh but failing miserably. It’s always pleasant to be laughed at by your friends when you’ve hit rock bottom.

“
Not helping though.” I procure an unconvincing smile, but abandon it before it’s even fully formed.

He unlocks the door to his apartment block and we
walk up the stairs. Once inside he offers me a beer and sits me down on his comfy sofa.

I take the beer from him and comment,
“You know you’re meant to offer me a cuppa. You know, tea and sympathy? Not a beer. Ben, you’re such a bloke.”

“
Yeah yeah. Take what you’re offered, woman,” he jokes. “Mind if I have a quick shower? Then I’m all yours.”

He’s covered almost head to toe in mud,
complete with splatters on his glasses, so I nod my assent and settle into his sofa, beer in hand.

He returns all squeaky clea
n in a fresh T-shirt and shorts and sits down next to me.

“
I’ll do my best to be a chick now. Tell me all about it.”

Which I do, although I leave out the bit about how we had
remarkable sex all over the city, figuring he wouldn’t really want to hear that bit, being a bloke and all.

When I tell him how
Scott was treating me like the other woman he got all dark and heroic on me, offering to “have a word”, as he put it. But I declined, pointing out, for all his bastard behaviour, Scott was still his tennis coach and it really isn’t recommended to offend anyone in possession of a ball machine.

I may be upset
, but I pride myself on being able to think practically.

“
You can do so much better than him, you know, Jess,” Ben says.

“
But he was fun and sexy and, well,
American
. He hated living here too. We clicked.”

As I say
this I start to wonder whether we had really clicked. We either had sex or moaned about Wellington to one another. Not a whole lot to base a relationship on, really.

And then there was
the fact it had dawned on me gradually he was hardly my intellectual equal, which doesn’t matter much when you’re just going at it like rabbits, but really does if you want something more. Which I’d thought I had.

“
Yes, but he was also playing you like a fiddle, Jess. It wasn’t real.”

It’s a good point. He was hardly what you could call
truthful with me from the outset. So did I really know him at all?

“
No offence Ben, but men are such bastards. First Luke and now Scott. I sure know how to pick ’em.”

“
Thanks!” He nudges me playfully. “Not all men are bastards, you know. There are some good ones out there too.”

“
You’re right,” I say, giving him an appreciative hug. “Like you.”

A slightly awkward silence follows, both of us
no doubt thinking about our surprising kiss on Park Lane all that time ago.

Well, I am, anyway.

“So,” I continue, breaking the moment, “thanks for being my shoulder to cry on. You’re pretty good at this, Ben. I’ll check with HQ - see if I can get you an honorary Chick Card printed up.”

“
Nah, I’m good,” he laughs.

“
Now, let’s forget about bastard American tennis coaches and go out and get rat arsed,” I say.

After
the day I’ve just had I could do with a decent drink, forget the fact it’s still not even lunchtime.

“
I’ve got a better idea. Get your bag.”

He jumps up from the sofa and
grabs his sneakers. Shame he’s still in love with Amber. He’s so cute and such a good guy. A rarity in this fair world of ours, I’m sadly discovering.

***

“Where are we off to?” I enquire as we reach the street in front of his apartment block.

“
I think it’s time you got to see how awesome this city really is, Ms. Banks. Let’s start with an excellent Wellington coffee. You need it after that beer, you lush. The best coffee in the world – even
you
have to admit that, Jess.”

He takes my arm and
we walk along the street. It’s a gorgeous, sunny spring day, marred only by the famous Wellington wind, which blows mercilessly at our backs, pushing us swiftly along the street.

“
I’ll give you that one, Ben. Where?”

“
Dixon St. A place called Memphis Belle. They keep winning awards for their coffee.”

“
Never been there, but prepared to be impressed.” I smile at him.

What an awesome friend Ben is.
So cool and fun. He’s just what I need to take my mind off cheating, two-timing pricks.

We reach the café and order our coffees – flat whites, of course – and Ben is indeed correct. These coffees are just fabulous.

I go to order something to eat but Ben stops me, saying, “Not allowed. Eating at the next stop.”

Seemingly p
owerless to refuse him, we leave the café and jump on a bus to Lambton Quay, getting off opposite Kirkcaldie and Stains, the city’s swankiest department store. He takes my hand as we dash across the street where we order a handful of chocolates each from the amazing array of different varieties on offer. We happily gorge ourselves on them as we walk down Wellywood’s main shopping street.

“
These are so divine, Ben. And you know, chocolate is the way to a woman’s heart. And her thighs, come to think of it.”

“
I know. Many a woman has fallen for me and my chocolate moves,” he chuckles.

“
And you have nothing to worry about on the thigh front, Jessie. Now, turn right here. We’re going to be tourists for a while.”

We walk up Cable Car Lane, buy our tickets and get on the cable car heading up to
Kelburn. We’re surrounded by tourists taking photos of the view, interspersed with the odd bored looking student heading up the hill to Victoria University.

We get out at the top and walk down to the lookout. The harbour sparkles in the sun, white caps popping up here and there in the wind, and I’m struck
again by how magnificent the city is - with the blue of the harbour, rolling green hills, and colourful houses dotted around.

“
Awesome, isn’t it?” It’s posed as a question but it’s statement. He loves this city and it’s written all over his face.

“
It is, despite the wind,” I agree, as the wind whips my hair into my face and I need to hold on to the lookout rail to steady myself.

“
The wind is just our way of stopping too many people moving here and ruining our cool little capital. I like to think of us as exclusive.”

He laughs
and so do I. I’m having fun, thoughts of Scott and Brooke thankfully fading.

“
Next stop the Observatory. Come on Jess.”

I’m not so sure
about this one. Last time I went to the Carter Observatory was on a school science trip and it was as boring as hell. Lindsay had the idea to duck out during the show when the lights went down to smoke behind some bushes. Of course it made us all sick and I’ve never even been remotely interested in smoking since, but it was a whole lot more fun than watching a stupid show about the solar system.

But hey, if Ben thinks it’ll be fun then maybe it will be.

As luck would have it we arrive just as a show is about to begin, so we buy our tickets and join the small throng of tourists to watch a show all about Matariki, the constellation indicating the Maori New Year.

I’ll admit it was pretty cool and
I really do feel transported to another… well, planet. Sorry for the weak pun, but I’m recovering from quite a shock you know.

The show ends and we walk out of the Observatory down through the
Botanical Gardens.

“
Now, Madam, please follow me this way. The next part of the tour is for all you culture lovers out there in the form of some seriously cool sculpture,” Ben announces as we stroll side by side.

N
estled in among the plants and on their own little strips of grass are some really beautiful sculptures. I go over and touch one, feeling the cold stone beneath my fingers. Ben laughs at me.

“
What?” I ask, smiling back.

“
Oh just watching you stroking some random rock in the middle of a garden.” We burst out laughing.

“
Yeah, I guess it’s a little perverse, but you were the one who wanted me to see them. And you’re right, they’re very cool.”

We get to the Rose Garden
and my tummy starts to rumble when I notice the café.

“
Let’s eat here, Ben. I’m starving.”

“
That’s the plan,” he replies. “You’ve got to try the breakfast burrito. It’s out of this world.”

“
You’re on, but you have to let me get this one. You got the coffees, chocs, and the cable car, so it’s about time I coughed up.”

“
No way. This is my treat, Jess. You can take me out to dinner some time. My choice. Deal?”

“
Deal,” I reply, smiling at him, feeling warm inside.

This is really fun. And he’s right -
there are some hip places in Wellywood. I guess I’ve been so busy hating being back here I just hadn’t taken the time to notice.

Aft
er our delicious lunch we catch a bus down to Courtenay Place, the city’s mecca for restaurants and bars. After losing a game of pool to him at the Ballroom - I’m convinced he cheated by using Jedi mind tricks on those balls - and downing a round of beers, the wind has thankfully dropped and Ben suggests we go to another bar for a final drink.

“
It’d be criminal not to have a drink by the harbour on such a great evening, Jessie,” he says.