She rolls her eyes. “You and your extreme hate for door-to-door salespeople. What if it’s one of your neighbours needing help with someone?” She waves her arm in the air excitedly as if she has the perfect answer to a riddle. “Like that hot guy two doors down with the Labrador. Maybe his dog has gone missing and he wants you to help find it. Or it could be Muriel. She might have a medical emergency. She’s near death you know.”
“I’ve lived here for two years, and besides Muriel, I’ve spoken to my neighbours a grand total of like ten times. It’s not my neighbours, and it’s definitely not Muriel. She rings me if she needs me, and for your information, she is not near death’s door. That woman has more life in her than a teenager. Do not answer that door or I will confiscate all the ice cream from my house and you’ll never be able to eat it again.”
Her eyes bulge. “You would never!”
“I so would.”
The person at my door knocks louder, and I fight the urge to yell out something about them clearly not knowing it’s dinner time. And then a deep voice calls out, “Charlize, are you home?”
I freeze.
It’s Owen.
And I’m nowhere near dressed enough for him to see me.
“Well shit, maybe you do have the job after all,” Poppy says as she stands.
My heart races, and I grab her hand as she tries to walk past me. Yanking her back down to the couch, I whisper-yell, “Where are you going? Do not answer that door!”
“Oh, I have no intention of answering that door. A girl’s gotta have somewhere to come for ice cream. But I’ma need more ice cream so I can sit back and eat it while watching you deal with Owen North.”
“I am not answering that door.” I glance down at the ripped denim shorts and old tank top I’m wearing. The one that says “I’m Here For The Gang Bang.” And then I look around my messy home. It’s clean but really messy. I’ve dumped laundry to be folded on my other couch, bills are strewn across my table where I sat today trying to figure out a payment schedule, and nearly all the Tupperware I own is on the kitchen counter because I had the brilliant idea at 1:00 a.m. last night to tidy my cupboards. None of these things are fit for Owen’s eyes.
“Charlize, your car is in the driveway, so I’m guessing you’re home,” Owen calls out. “I really want to speak with you.”
Damn. It’s not my car. I smack Poppy’s arm. “You should have parked your car around the damn corner!”
“Just let him in already. You know you want to.”
I want to see him again. I just don’t want to see him right now. But when he continues to knock on the door, I give in and decide to just let him in and get this over with.
“You sure know how to make a man work for it,” he says when I yank the door open.
“You don’t know the half of it!” Poppy calls out.
His gaze drops to my shirt, and I know he’s read the gang bang slogan when his lips curl up at the ends.
“What are you doing here, Owen? Did I leave something behind this morning?”
“I came to finish our conversation that you walked out on.”
“I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“I’ll be quick.”
Goodness, he just doesn’t give up.
“Fine,” I mutter and motion for him to enter. “Come in.”
I lead him to the kitchen table and hastily pile all my bills and other paperwork at one end of the table. Owen does not need to see that I am incapable of running my financial life. It’s true that I’m good at analysing and predicting the share market, but sticking to a budget is not my forte in life. Not when there are so many p
retties to be bought.
“Was everything okay with that woman this morning?” I ask as we sit after he says hi to Poppy who is on the couch looking extremely pleased with the current turn of events. “She seemed super stressed.”
“That was Tahlia, my assistant. She had a family drama that came up. We worked it out, so all good there.” He leans forward. “You were in the middle of telling me about your experience with trading.”
I like that he helped his assistant with her family drama. And that he didn’t just make out that it was a trivial thing. Most of the men I know would wave it away like it wasn’t worth a moment of their time.