Legally Addicted - By Lena Dowling Page 0,39

in the face. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Her heart palpated in her chest like she was about to have a coronary. This was all going way too fast. She stumbled back against a copy machine, accidentally setting it going.

‘Crap.’

‘It’s okay, don’t panic. Here — just push cancel. Someone’s left it activated for a job — no harm done.’

Miriam studied her.

‘Are you okay, Georgia? You look strange. It’s not just the copier is it? Speak to me, Georgia.’

Georgia’s mouth felt like it had filled with something dry and thick, making speech impossible.

‘Brad l-loves me?’ she stuttered.

‘Me and my big mouth. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. Look, don’t freak out. Brad hasn’t said he loves you, has he?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re in the clear then, aren’t you?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Just go with it. Enjoy the ride. I know you don’t believe this, but sometimes things do work out, okay, and if it doesn’t, well, no matter what, at least you’ve got your office back, haven’t you?’

‘And I’ll have my addiction centre.’

The idea immediately cheered her up.

‘Not this proposal you’ve given me to type up? The centre that’s going to cost three million dollars a year to run?’

Miriam gestured towards the handwritten document Georgia had placed on her desk, the three million dollar sum leaping out of the dot point summary on the first page.

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not going to ask Brad to fund that, are you?’

‘I was thinking about it. The Spencer Trust is already paying most of the outgoings for the women’s shelter anyway, and this is a huge improvement to the existing service.’

‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Georgia.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know, but something tells me that where Brad’s concerned it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.’

‘Like what?’

‘Uh, nothing. Just be careful, okay.’

‘What’s going on? One minute you’re trying to push me into his arms and the next you’re telling me to watch it?’

‘I don’t think Brad likes being asked for money.’

‘There’s a big difference between being cranky when he’s asked to put in for an office sweepstake and something as important as this centre.’

Miriam was reading far too much into Brad’s touchy response to an office whip-round. Getting the pip over the endless annoying requests for colleagues’ various raffle tickets and sponsorship drives or the odd sweepstake was hardly the same as supporting a major initiative to tackle drug addiction.

‘If you say so.’

Miriam’s reluctance to back down unsettled her, but she dismissed it. Her secretary made far too much of a big deal about a lot of things, including the idea that Brad was in love with her.

‘Oh, and there was another message from Brad, one I didn’t have time to write down. He said he’s made reservations at Café Macquarie, for dinner at eight. He also said he’s making it easy for you, and you’d know what that meant.’

He was making it easy for her.

After work, it was a relief not to have to decide whether or not to show up at Brad’s apartment. Meeting for dinner somewhere neutral was a lot less confronting, and choosing a café, somewhere unpretentious where she would feel comfortable, was thoughtful of him. She had searched for the address on the internet. Café Macquarie was on the sixth floor of the former maritime building housing the city’s fine art collection. After returning to her apartment to shower and change into something more relaxed, she took a train back into the city to the stop nearest the art gallery.

She found the lift tucked away behind the gallery’s reception area, and once the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor, it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Oh no.

From the slick foyer where two receptionists alternated between welcoming guests and taking bookings on their headsets, she could see that Café Macquarie was a dining establishment, but not a café by anyone’s standards.

Contemporary styling, high backed leather chairs, sparkling glass reflecting the candlelight, and a staggeringly close Sydney Harbour Bridge illuminated large in lights made her want to retreat to the elevator. Taking an uncertain step backwards, she saw Brad already seated at a table. His dark eyebrows rose in brief but certain acknowledgement.

He had seen her.

There was no choice but to walk into the restaurant. For the moment she was covered head to toe in a black coat, but once she reached the table she knew that she was going to have to take it off. Underneath the coat she was wearing slim fitting jeans, knee high boots,