Match Me If You Can. Michele GormanЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Two

       Rachel

      ‘You are a really good architect,’ Rachel told herself again. ‘You are ready for this. You’ll nail it.’ She studied her reflection. ‘But you’re a wanker for talking to yourself in the mirror. And your outfit’s all wrong.’

      She sucked in her tummy and peered at her lilac dress. If she was a little less curvy she could have borrowed something from Catherine’s form-fitting monochrome closet. Maybe something in confidence-inspiring beige. Their stuffy corporate clients would probably appreciate that more than her bright swingy frock and loudly contrasting tights.

      Not that her clothes were totally to blame for the impression she made. Her hair also had a lot to answer for. Deep red and wavy, it rejected any attempt to look composed. She didn’t exactly whisper sophistication so much as shout colour-blind cat lady. And while it was nice to be mistaken for one of the junior architects, today she wished she looked all of her thirty-one years.

      She unclasped the chunky red fabric flower necklace and stuffed it into her bag. It clashed with her hair anyway, which was starting to frizz from the damp November day.

      Stifling a yawn as she reached her desk, she was tempted to lay her head down, just for a second. Instead she dialled her mum’s office.

      By the third ring she knew it would go through to voicemail.

      ‘Hi Mum. I’m just getting ready for my presentation. It’s this morning, remember? I just really wanted to … Well anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes after.’ She was about to hang up when she thought she heard a click. ‘Hello Mum? Hello? Oh. I thought you picked up. If you get this message before ten thirty, call me, okay? I’ll just be going through the presentation one more time.’

      Hanging up, she clicked again through her slides. Midway through, the screen began to blur. Just a little rest was what she needed …

      She opened one mascaraed eye when James set a steaming takeaway cup on her desk. The aroma made her nose twitch.

      ‘I figured you could use this,’ he said, handing her a pastry bag to go with her coffee. ‘You weren’t actually kipping, were you?’

      Stretching, she glanced at the wall clock. ‘Just a little one. Chocolate croissant?’ she guessed. ‘Ooh la la.’

      ‘Oui madame, zis eez zee least I can do,’ he said in a pathetic French accent. ‘Seriously, I’m sorry I kept you out late.’ Remorse was written all over his boyish face.

      ‘Don’t be,’ she mumbled. ‘I figured if I stayed up I might be tired enough to sleep. Stupid plan.’

      She’d watched her bedside clock pass two a.m., then three, with her mind racing over the pitch this morning.

      She sipped the hot sweet coffee. ‘God that’s good, thanks,’ she said. ‘You feel okay?’

      He slurped the last of his drink. ‘No thanks to you.’

      ‘You didn’t have to finish the bottle, you know.’

      ‘Oh but I did, Rach. You wouldn’t help me.’

      Like she’d risk a hangover on the most important morning of her career. She had the tolerance of a toddler on antibiotics anyway. ‘I meant you could have left it unfinished.’

      He stared at her like she was insane.

      ‘Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to.’ James put the extra pinch in penny-pincher. His guilt must have been overwhelming to splurge on a coffee and croissant.

      ‘Better drink up,’ he said. ‘They’ll be here soon. Are you nervous?’ His direct blue-eyed gaze didn’t leave her face.

      She sipped, considering his question. Was she nervous? She used to dream about getting this chance. Now part of her wished she was just a trainee architect again. It wouldn’t be so bad doing CAD drawings and photocopying floor plans for the next thirty-five years, right?

      Yeah right. Like she’d give up this chance after working her arse off.

      ‘Why should I be nervous? It’s only our careers on the line,’ she said as the takeaway cup shook slightly in her hand.

      He noticed, and put his hand over hers. ‘You absolutely definitely shouldn’t be nervous. You’re going to be great. We both are. We can go through the presentation again if you want?’

      They both glanced at her screen. A skyscraper screen saver hid their slides. ‘No need. I know it better than the national anthem.’

      ‘You’re a star.’ James smiled as he strolled back to his office humming “God Save the Queen”.

      The second he rounded the corner she went back to the presentation. They might be friends but she wasn’t about to let a chocolate croissant make her forget that they were also rivals.

      * * *

      She’d just about got her flipping tummy under control by the time he came back with his suit jacket on. ‘Ready?’ He pulled at his buttoned-up collar and straightened his tie.

      She gurned at him. ‘How’re my teeth?’ On account of the big gap between the two front ones, she always checked.

      ‘Clear. Mine?’

      ‘There’s something brown in there.’ Rachel pointed as he snapped his lips shut.

      Panicked, he took a swig from the mineral water on her desk. ‘Better now?’

      ‘It looks like … no, must be something stuck in there from all the arse-kissing you’ve been doing.’

      ‘Really, Rachel?’ he said. ‘You want to joke right now? My arse-kissing got us this meeting, and it’s not over yet. Get ready to pucker up.’

      She tried to smile as they walked into the conference room but her lips started quivering when she saw her boss making small talk with their most important clients.

      Get a grip, Rachel. As far as they’re concerned you’re perfectly at ease. They don’t know that you’ve aged in dog years or restarted your nail-biting habit over the presentation. They can’t see the uncomfortable crotch hammock that your too-yellow tights are making under your dress.

      She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to plunge her hand down the back of her tights to make adjustments.

      ‘Ah, Rachel, James, hello.’ Their boss stood up when he saw them. ‘Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Rachel Lambert and James McCormack, two of our brightest young architects. I think you’re going to love what they’ve come up with.’

      His expression warned them not to prove him wrong.

      After work, Sarah yanked open the front door before Rachel could get her key out of the lock. Then she nearly wrestled her to the sofa.

      ‘Ace, you’re home! Let me take that for you!’ She grabbed Rachel’s giant portfolio case.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Rachel protested as Sarah wrenched off one of her brogues. In her tiny hands the shoe looked