Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (8 page)

We clink
drinks and he smiles back at me.

“
Wouldn’t drink anything else. It’d just be rude,” he replies.

We look at each other for a moment, remembering the good times we’d had in London,
and then both go to speak.

“
Remember when... ?” I start as we speak simultaneously.

“
Hey remember the time in Notting…” Ben stops and smiles. “You go. Bet you’re going to say what I was going to say though.”

“
Yes,” I laugh. “That night in Notting Hill when we got kicked out of
our
bar because that stupid girl band wanted the place exclusively for themselves and their entourage. We hid in the toilets until the coast was clear and then got to drink free mojitos all night!”

That wa
s a truly epic night, both of us giggling like teenagers all, pretending to be too-cool-for-school London musos. How we’d carried it off is a testament to how stupid the band actually was.

He raises his glass.
“To hot, scantily-clad, talentless wannabes.”

“
Long may they be too out of it on illegal powdered substances to notice gate crashers,” I add.

We clink glasses, both
warmed by the memory.

Coming back to reality I say,
“Ah, yes, but we’re no longer in London, are we? We’re stuck here in Wellington.”

“
Well, you certainly seem to be making new friends already, Jess. Was that Scott Wright I saw you with before?”

I
feel a flutter in my tummy as an image of him leaning in to whisper intimately in my ear instantly clouds my brain.

“
Ah, yes,” I stammer. “He was just here meeting some friends. Wanted to know if I’m coming to the session tomorrow.”

I’m really h
oping my voice doesn’t give away my thoughts.

“
And are you?” Ben raises his eyebrows at me, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“
I’d thought about it and if I have time then I’ll go.”

I feel completely transparent, as though Ben can see right through
my response and can actually hear my thoughts, screaming,
“I want to shag Scott senseless with every fibre of my being!”

I
gnoring Ben’s obvious enjoyment at my discomfort I decide it’s safest to change the subject. “Hey tell me, what did you mean by saying how
well
I looked when I saw you on court today? It’s not like I’m recovering from some dreaded lurgy, you know.”

He laughs.
“No, I didn’t mean that at all. Just you look good. I guess I’d forgotten how cute you are since I’ve been back and I was happy to see you, that’s all.”

“
Cute? Like a puppy?” I tease him, poking him gently in the ribs.

“
Yeah, let’s go with that. Like a puppy.” He gives me a broad grin and I’m reminded of why I like him so much - he’s witty, fun and makes me feel good about myself. Not a bad combination in a friend, really.

That
and he makes me look good too and I’ve noticed a number of women in the bar checking him out and darting me evil looks as we’ve been sitting here.

“
So, how’s it going with you? You’ve been back, what, six months now?” I ask him.

“
Seven,” he replies, “and I absolutely love it. It’s so nice to be near my family, hanging with old friends. Wellington’s got such an awesome vibe to it, don’t you think?”

H
e looks so genuinely enthusiastic I really don’t have the heart to tell him by being back here I feel as though I’ve been forced into penal servitude and would seriously consider a week wearing a burka in Afghanistan as a viable lifestyle alternative right now. Well, maybe it’s not that bad, but you get my point.

“There are some good things, yes. Like …” I search my brain for something to be positive about. “… the coffee. That’s great.”

“
Oh come on Jess,” he replies with passion. “This place rocks! It’s the perfect city with everything you could want in one place but small enough to avoid big city problems, like traffic and pollution.”

I shake my head at him
, smiling at his obvious delusion as he continues. “And you have to admit it’s really funky, Jess. Come on. The murals, the sculpture, the waterfront? The place definitely has a cool, creative vibe to it.”

“Are you thinking of running for Wellington mayor or something, Ben?” I laugh.

His enthusiasm is very endearing but no one in
his or her right mind would ever think this place could compare to a world-class city like London.

“
Oh ha ha, Jess. You’re
such
a comedian,” he replies in good humour. “Have you hiked up Kau Kau, been out to the wilds of Makara, been out of Karori
at all
? The harbour on a day like today is just stunning, don’t you think?”

“
I’ll admit the harbour did look pretty good today. I’ll give you that. But are you telling me you don’t miss London?” I ask, thinking no, I hadn’t done those hikes, and nor was I likely to want to in the foreseeable future. I had better things to do.

“
Do you know, I really don’t. What’s to miss? The traffic? The grime? The amount of my pay packet I had to put into rent each month? Sure, we had a good time there, and London’s a great place, but it wasn’t my
real
life. Nah, Jess, I don’t really miss it.”

“
Well, I do,” I reply, feeling a small but perceptible wave of misery roll over me.

T
his might be a cool bar and Ben was right, the harbour did look beautiful today, but it’s just not the place I want to be.

“
You’re right about one thing though,’ I say, taking a swig of my drink. “We’re here and we just need to make the most of it. That’s why I’m excited to have started up Estil with Morgan. That way I can bring some London glamour into these Wellington women’s lives, help them shine, you know?”

“
You decided to go ahead with it then?” he asks.

I’d
told Ben about our exciting new personal styling business in an email when I was in London. His tone seems a little dubious, however.

Ignoring it I reply,
“Yes and we had our first client today and it went really, really well. Other than Morgan having to bail half way through that is, but I managed to pull it together and the client looked just great.”

“Harrummph,” Ben grunts.

“
What was that noise for?” I laugh, nudging him playfully.

“
Well, Morgan’s always been a bit flaky.”

“
In what way?” I ask, sounding defensive.

What was
this? Beat up on Morgan day? First Mum and now Ben? I thought everyone adored Morgs as much as me.

“
Come on, Jess, she’s hardly stuck at a job for more than five minutes, has she? Marketing, now personal styling. Didn’t she study something else for a while there too?”

I nod at him
, thinking of her interior design aspirations.

“
All I’m saying,” he’s looking at me earnestly now, “is be careful, Jess.”

Ben is one of those people who makes you feel as though you’re not only the funniest and wittiest person on the planet but your wellbeing is the mo
st important thing to him. Although I’m flattered he’s so concerned about me, I’m affronted on behalf of Morgan.

“
Don’t worry,
Dad
,” I say, gently ribbing him for being so boring and sensible. “She’s amazing at this styling thing and I know we’ll work well together. There would’ve been a really good reason for why she bailed today. And anyway, we’re such good friends.”

“
Did you sign a contract with her?” he asks.

A contract?
God he’s
such
a lawyer.

“
No, we don’t need to, Ben, because as I said we’re
friends
. And besides, we’ve agreed up front how it’s all going to work.”

Man,
he’s starting to make me feel really uncomfortable. It’s just because Ben doesn’t know Morgan the way I do. She’s one of the nicest, most supportive, caring and fun people I know. So she’s been weird over the last day or so. There’ll be a totally plausible explanation for it and I’m sure she’ll tell me all about it when I see her tomorrow.

I decide to change the subject
to something I’m more comfortable with. “So how’s your practice going? Keeping everyone above the law and making squillions of dollars?”

Ben i
s one of those really talented people who always seems to make a success of whatever he takes on.

“
Want another drink?” He asks and I nod enthusiastically as he orders two more mojitos from the barman.

“
It took a few months to get off the ground but we’ve all busted a gut to make it work and we’ve been pulling in some big clients. So I’d say things are starting to look really great.”

Th
at’s the other thing about Ben - he’s really positive, a kind of cheerleader type. Without the scanty outfits, high leg kicks and pom poms however. Clearly.

“
That’s so great, Ben.” I’m genuinely happy for him. “And the love life? How’s Amber? She was out here a while back, wasn’t she?”

Amber
is Ben’s girlfriend. They were together for nearly two years in London and are now doing the long distance thing. She has a great job in media over there and doesn’t want to give it up, and being British she can live there the rest of her life if she so wishes. Unlike me. She’s bright and supermodel beautiful.

He hesitates briefly.
“Yeah, she was here in May. Not sure she liked Wellington much though.”

“
I can understand that. After London it’s a bit of a shock.”

“
You’ll learn to love it, Jess. It might not have the excitement of London, but it’s got its own thing going on. Just give it a chance.”

We
stay at the bar for another few drinks and have lots of fun catching up on all our news and laughing about good times in London.

Eventually
I catch a cab home feeling slightly squiffy and happy to have such a good old buddy back here in the wilds of Wellington.

I wake up the following morning feeling slightly muzzy in the head, thanks to the unnecessarily large number of mojitos I downed with Ben last night. I’m happy I’ve managed to sleep until seven. I must be kicking the jetlag, which is great, as I really have to be on my game now we’re getting more Estil clients.

Time to get on with
the website. Morgan had texted me the details of the appointment at three today as well as another client for Monday, so things have really started rolling, which is fantastic.

I
shiver and notice it’s raining and blowing a gale outside and the temperature seems to have dropped ten degrees since yesterday.

“
It’s a southerly,” Mum informs me thoughtfully, as I wander into the kitchen to make tea and toast.

“
Winds of up to one hundred and ten kilometres per hour expected today with a high of just nine degrees, dear. Less with the wind chill, so wrap up warmly.”

“
So much for Cardio Tennis,” I reply dejectedly.

Guess I’ll need to put off the pleasure of
flirting with Scott the Sex God for another day. Besides, my body is definitely feeling yesterday’s session this morning and I’m starting to get feel guilty about the lack of work I’ve put into the website since my flight home.

“
I’d check with the club if I were you, Jessie dear. They have indoor courts too, you know. Perhaps it’s on one of those when it rains.”

I perk up
significantly at this prospect, decide to call the club to check, and learn my wonderful mother is indeed correct. My body pains and muzzy head are miraculously forgotten at the thought of seeing Scott again. Amazing how that happens, isn’t it? Someone should work out the chemical processes involved and bottle it - they’d make a fortune.

I decide to get onto the website later, reasoning
the exercise will help clear my head. I know, a flimsy excuse, but I’m only human, OK?

Mum
offers to lend me the car again, as long as I drop her off on the way at a sale at the city’s premier department store, Kirckaldie and Stains. It’s a small price to pay for vehicular freedom in a city devoid of a subway, so I happily agree.

As we drive along Lambton Quay
, Wellington’s main shopping street, Mum asks, “Don’t you think it’d be a good idea to go and see the Whitmans, darling? I’m sure they’d love to see you again after all this time. It must be so hard for them.”

Cindy and Todd Whitman
are Lindsay’s parents. They live in a large house in Roseneath, the most expensive suburb in Wellington bar none.

“
I will, Mum, but I’m pretty busy right now.” I know it’s the right thing to do, but I don’t need to rush it. “I have my new business to run, which really is the most important thing in my life right now.”

And there’
s the small matter of a certain tennis coach I keep thinking about. A woman has to prioritise, you know.

“
Well, you know best, darling. Just here will be fine.”

I pull the car over to the
kerb and she kisses me on the cheek as she opens the door. “See you tonight,” Mum says cheerily. She pauses. “Oh, and there’s something I need to talk to you about, dear.”

“
Oh?” I ask, feeling a little concerned.

I’ve found in my twenty-eight years on
this planet when someone says, “we need to talk” it’s invariably bad and really best avoided at all costs.

“
Oh don’t look so worried! It’s nothing for you to feel apprehensive about. Just something we need to discuss.”

“
No prob,” I reply.

What could it be? There’s a crisis at her bridge club I simply must know about? She wants me to help her form a neighbourhood vigilante group, to ensure no more fences are painted the wrong shade of beige?  The mind boggles.

“
Bye, Mum. Have fun,” I call out, considering adding, “don’t buy anything in lavender”. I decide against it in the interests of harmonious family relationships.

Well, I guess I’ll find out what she wants to talk about in good enough time, but right now I’ve got a tennis session to flirt my way through on the other side of town.

***

Maybe I should’
ve taken the bus, I think, clutching onto the steering wheel as I crawl along the road along the waterfront. The rain is driving at the windscreen and the wipers are working so hard they look like they’re about to fly off and whack some unsuspecting pedestrian on the head. Traffic is backed up and people look miserable standing at the traffic lights, willing them to change so they can cross the road and escape the virtually horizontal rain.

I
smile as I wonder how Ben’s grand love affair with Wellington’s shaping up this morning. Maybe not so well, I reckon.

I look at my watch and realise the fifteen minutes I’d allowed to get to the
club based on my original trip was grossly underestimated thanks to this storm. I’ll be late and flustered by the time I get on the court.

Finally
, after what feels like a week at the wheel, I arrive at the club, jump out of the car and experience a sharp intake of breath at the shock of the cold as I hastily dash across the car park.

I make my way
to the women’s changing room. After putting my clothes in a locker before heading out the door to join the others on court I catch a frightening glimpse of myself in the mirror. Spits of rain have managed to splatter my carefully applied mascara under my eyes, making me look more like an American footballer than a woman about to head onto a tennis court, and various unflattering wisps of hair are standing at about three different angles, all to varying degrees of fuzziness.

Not exactly the picture of calm, seductive tennis ace I was
aiming for today.

I wipe the mascara from under my eyes, cursing my decision to wear it to impress Scott with my ‘
natural’ beauty, smooth my hair into the cap I’d thankfully left at the bottom of my tennis bag, and rush over to the indoor court where Scott’s already putting the big-hitting housewives through their paces.

“
Morning!” Scott calls out to me from the other end of the court. “Jump in with Jonelle and the others when you’re ready, Jessica.”

“
Sure,” I call back.

I do a few quick stretches and then join
Jonelle and a couple of other women on court. I say hello to them and join in but I’m really off my game. I feel thrown by arriving so late and just can’t get it to gel on the crosscourt forehands or backhands.

As Scott sends everyone off for a run around the court he calls me over.
“Hey, New Girl. Having some trouble today, I see.”

He gives me that crooked smile again, although this time I’m
so annoyed by my inability to hit a ball his flirting barely registers.

“
Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with me today. I can’t make it click,” I reply.

“
Maybe you were out too late last night, drinking with your boyfriend?” he suggests.

“
Oh, Ben’s not my boyfriend,” I reply, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Just a good friend from way back.”

“
Well, let’s have a look at your grip. Might be the prob, you know? Show me how you hold your racket for a forehand.”

I show him and he says,
“Not bad. Now your footing.”

I
stand as I would to hit a forehand and then Scott walks around behind me, wrapping his arms around mine, adjusting my grip just slightly. I can feel his body lightly touching my back and bum. Such sudden, unexpected close proximity sets my heart palpitating and I take as deep a breath as I can muster in order to steady myself, trying best to ignore the acrobatics going on in my belly.

“
Try that,” he says, unwrapping himself from me.

“
OK,” I squeak, my legs beginning to feel like jelly.

After what
he just did I seriously doubt I could hit a tennis ball even if I had a two-metre wide racquet.

Just then the others finish their run
, joining us on the court, and he instructs the group to do lunges.

“
You too, Jessica Rabbit,” he smiles at me.

He is
definitely
flirting with me. Isn’t he?

As
if to confirm what I’m thinking, Jonelle lunges over to me - the woman has quads of steel, I tell you - commenting, “Scott’s taken a bit of a shine to you, Jessica. Be careful, you’ll make the others jealous.” She winks at me and I know she’s just teasing, but I begin to feel certain everything that’s transpired between Scott and me is certainly pointing in that direction.

The rest of the session goes
much better than the initial part and I’m feeling pretty good by the time everyone says their goodbyes and start to wander off the court.

A
s I hand over my money to Scott I say, “Thanks so much for helping me out there. It came together so much better after you tweaked my grip.”

“
That’s what I’m here for. Hey do you want to grab a drink from the juice bar upstairs? I’ve got a gap before my next lesson, you know? I could use a juice.”

“
Sure, that’d be great,” I reply as we turn to leave the court together.

I try to look calm, as though
I get asked to the juice bar by heart-stoppingly gorgeous men every day, but inside my stomach is doing an Olympic hurdles race at the thought of being alone with Scott.

Thankfully it’s only a short walk up the stairs
to the bar as I feel like my legs might suddenly give in on me - I imagine it’s pretty hard to look relaxed and seductive in a mass of nerves and excitement on the floor. After we order two Powerhouse juices (apple, orange, spinach, cucumber, and watermelon) Scott suggests we sit in a table at the back of the bar.

“
I know you got off to a pretty slow start today, Jessica, but you’re really finding your form. You’re a pretty darn good player, you know?”

So he
actually wants to talk to me about my tennis game? My heart sinks.

“
Well, I really love it,” I reply. “I’m just not sure how much longer I’ll be able to come to these morning sessions. I really need to dedicate more time to my business.”

Hmmm, t
hat makes me sound important.

“
This is delicious juice,” I comment, pleasantly surprised it’s made from fresh fruit and not out of some carton.

“
Yeah, it’s great, right? Really intense. I love your accent, by the way. I like English girls. They sound so proper, you know?”

I go to correct him but what the hell? If he likes English girls then I can be English.
What’s a little country-confusion in the pursuit of a hot guy?

Completely legitimate
as far as I can see.

“
What’s your business?” He takes a long sip of his juice, not once taking his eyes from me.

“
It’s personal styling,” I reply proudly. Did I really just say “
pur-sonal stalying
”? Hamming it up much there, Jess?

Scott
looks at me clearly confused.

“
You know, working out what colours and styles work for people so they look the best they can?”

“
Oh, right. Kinda like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?” he asks.

“
Well, sort of, but we only style the clothes, not the client’s house and we’re not fabulous gay men running around in an SUV all over town.” I give him a cheeky smile and he responds with laughter.

I like a man who laughs at my jokes.
This is a very good sign.

“
I think that’s awesome. Totally great you’re following your dream, you know? It’s what really matters. I’m working on a business proposition right now myself. I think it’s going to be huge.” He looks really proud of himself.

“
Yeah? What’s that?” I ask, taking another sip of my juice.

“
Well, it’s just kind of a concept right now, but I want to open up a sort of tennis resort up north. We’d have different sorts of accommodation, a tennis camp, a spa, that sort of thing, you know?”

He’s nodding enthusiastically.
I’m really enjoying sitting here with him and don’t want it to end, so I nod enthusiastically back.

“
There isn’t anything like it in New Zealand right now, but these sorts of resorts are huge in Europe and the States, so I really think there’s a gap in the market for it. I really want to coach some of these young up and coming players. This country has had hardly any players high up in the international rankings for just so long and I think it’s more of a resources issue than a lack of talent, you know? There are just loads of talented players out there.”

He’s clearly very passionate about this project as his eyes are gleaming and he’s gesticulating as he speaks
, but it
is
slightly irritating the way he keeps on tagging “you know” onto the end of his sentences.