The Wrong Girl (3 page)

Lily hit send and sipped her water, enjoying her last day off by spending a few hours at the beach. Fucking Pete, she thought, with overwhelming disappointment. Why'd he have to go be such a
dick
.

Lily turned her thoughts elsewhere: tomorrow was Monday, her first day back at work, which raised a mixture of excitement and anxiety. She produced the cooking segment on
The Daily
, a morning show that had been around forever and often felt like it. Her executive producer always wanted Big Name chefs, but the problem was, they usually worked until two a.m. and couldn't be bothered making the seven a.m. call time. At the end of last year Lily had suggested the show go back to the old model of one in-house chef so everyone wasn't in a complete state of panic four days a week, and amazingly her idea had been approved. A new chef had been decided on over the Christmas break, and she was nervous thinking about who it might be, since the decision would likely have been made by her series producer, Eliza, a sweet but ineffective woman with about as much chef knowhow as a pot plant. The new chef could make or break Lily's year, depending on whether they were fun and easy to work with, or stubborn, lascivious and cantankerous, which was what she had learned to expect based on her experience with a largely male chef's pool. She shook her head; she hadn't even been asked for suggestions.

Lily used to think she wanted to be the on-air talent, when she first started in TV, fantasising of her Bridget Jones moment and becoming an overnight sensation, but she soon realised she'd be terrible at it. In fact, it might be her worst nightmare. She preferred being behind the camera, with all of her mistakes and her private life protected, and absolutely no need to wear heels, or entertain the notion of hairspray. Much better. Much more Lily.

The next morning Lily pulled her long, dark straight hair up into a messy bun and looked at herself in the far-too-truthful bathroom mirror. She was wearing a pair of black jeans, ballet flats and a light-grey top she'd bought in Byron Bay that walked the line between T-shirt and dressy top. She knew today would just be workshopping; why dress up? Of course, that wouldn't stop Eliza from wearing her office-lady finest. She persisted with the idea that traditional female business attire, the stuff favoured by Melanie Griffiths in the late '80s, was ‘professional' and ‘polished' even though in everyone else's eyes it was just ‘vividly outdated'.

There were no spots left in the car park, as far as Lily could tell. Finally, after almost ten minutes of zooming her small, had-it-since-uni VW Polo around columns and partitions, seeking that elusive car space, Lily spied one. It was a good one too, right near the lifts. She put her foot down and sped towards it, only to see a sleek black ute gracefully reverse into it three seconds before she arrived. She slammed on the brakes and her jaw plunged in shock. Who does that? It was clearly hers!

She waited to see who would exit this horrible bogan chariot, so she could fire them a greasy and then bookmark them for future greasies too. A head emerged, then broad shoulders in a simple white shirt, followed by dark denim jeans that were full-stopped with navy trainers. The man slammed the car door closed and spun around. He was
astonishing.
Tall, with dirty-blond hair with a slight curl, olive skin, three-day stubble and a body that would definitely list the gym as a close friend. He noticed Lily staring at him and frowned, as if
she
had done something wrong. Then he walked off to the lifts, leaving Lily to fume at this rude, beautiful bandit.

She reversed and did another few laps, settling for a reserved park one floor up, empty because none of the execs were in this soon after new year's. She couldn't stop thinking about the guy who had stolen her spot; who was he and why was he parking down with the commoners? He looked like he should be presenting the evening sport segment, or selling luxury yachts. Actually, yeah, he'd definitely be in sales, she thought. Gross. If there was one thing worse than a guy in a tarted up ute who stole your car spot, it was the fact that he was a salesman too.

Lily's desk, she was disappointed to discover, was as messy as she'd left it, press releases and a pile of cookbooks balancing precariously over her keyboard. She'd secretly hoped the cleaners would tidy her pigpen over Christmas, but unless you put something actually IN the bin, not next to it, not leaning against it, they didn't take it. She sighed and slung her bag over her chair. Another year of Leftovers You'll Love and Fast Feeds and stovetop burns and washing burned debris off pans. Was she up to it? She'd get there. The first week back always sucked, but she loved her job overall. Plus, she'd worked too hard and for too long at
The Daily
to simply up and find work elsewhere.

‘Any ants? They're having a fucking field day on mine,' a voice from behind said. Lily spun around to see a flame of red-pink hair and a wide smile standing behind her.

‘Al, you've gone all gingersnap!' She hugged her friend tightly and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Alice worked on the home decor and renovations segment and was irresistibly dysfunctional; how she managed to hold down her job, let alone remember to shower and eat each day, baffled Lily. Despite her corrosive persona, a hangover from years of masterful work as a high school Emo, Alice dressed like a preschooler and was the office darling. Lily often wished she could be more like Alice, who was seemingly unfazed by other people's moods or attitudes or demands. She just got on with things; other people's shit was nothing to do with her, she said. It was an inspiring attitude and, as Lily had discovered, impossible to fake. Plus, Alice was twenty-five, and why wouldn't you be that carefree at twenty-five? Lily had been.

‘Did it last night, saw the box at the chemist and thought, fuck it. Plus, I'm really into sunsets at the moment, and this kind of looks like one, don't you think?'

‘You could wear any hair colour and it would look good.' It was true, Alice's peaches-and-cream skin and enormous, dark-brown doe eyes meant she was impervious to the usual rules about colour complementing and clashing. But mostly, she didn't care what other people thought, and
that
was why it worked.

‘How was camping?'

‘
Awesome.
Jules and I borrowed The Pest from her cousin, this horrible old mobile home from the '70s, and we did this huge road trip, and met these mental German B-packers and had the full summer kombi van experience. Did a lot of acid. Didn't really mean to, but on the first night Derek kissed me over dinner and slipped a tab into my mouth and it went from there, really.'

‘That sounds a
little
bit like he drugged you, Al.'

‘I don't know how I'm going to handle this prison after all that fun . . .' Alice spoke as though she were a bank teller who was glued to her stool all day, when in fact she was rarely at her desk, and spent her days racing around the set, or roaming the city, or filming celebrities' houses, or producing lightning-fast renovations.

‘Hey, how was Byron? Did you see that gypsy I recommended?'

Lily scrunched up her face and exhaled through her nose. ‘
Byron
was amazing.' She looked around surreptitiously. ‘But then when I got back I hooked up with Pete – don't make that face – and then he told me he was in love with some girl.'

‘You're fucking with me.'

‘Nope.'

‘That's a
total
spin-out. I really thought if he ever got you you'd be married in, like, three minutes.' Alice, number one fan of love and sex and male-female relations in general, looked genuinely disappointed.

‘Doesn't matter, I'm on a man-detox now. He gave me the perfect reason to ditch men. Won't miss them. Simone's doing it too. We're each other's support.'

Alice burst into laughter. ‘SIMONE? Simone is off men? Oh, now I've heard
everything
. She won't last an
hour
.'

Alice didn't get Simone. She thought she was fake and insincere and that Lily could do better.

‘She'll be fine. I'm excited. Do you even know how much energy men take up, Alice? I guess you wouldn't, since you meet a new guy effortlessly once a week.'

‘Scuse me, I saw Matt for
ages
.'

‘Ah, yes, the DJ who wore T-shirts of other DJs so that people knew he was a DJ.'

‘He was such a lovely donut, but the DJ lifestyle is not for me. Plus he never had any cash and I could only steal enough quiche from the test kitchen to support us for so long.'

‘So you'll be a Sally Single with me?' Lily asked with a smile, knowing full well Alice and single went about as well together as porridge and seaweed.

‘Sure, yeah, whatever.' Alice began walking back to her desk, turning halfway across the office to say, ‘Hey, have you heard about the new chef?'

‘Let me guess, he's a good-looking, conceited megalomaniac with six women on the go and a long-suffering wife at home.'

‘Nah, don't think so. Young. New. A good country boy straight from the pumpkin patch. But sadly, he's not handsome.'

Lily started up her computer and shook her head. ‘Don't care anyway. Not interested.'

‘He is
GODLY
. The bear's flares. All movie-star baby blues, big hands that could make a house from scratch, a voice like a war general and hair that's made of pure silk and you just
know
what's hiding in his pant—'

‘I don't care if it's Tom Hardy himself: I'm not interested.' Lily looked at Alice with a pained look on her face.

‘We'll see,' said Alice, in a singsong voice.

Dale tapped his finger on his mouse. Lily's co-worker was a small, nervous guy with a penchant for train-driver hats, possibly because he was balding, but more likely because it made him feel less visible and therefore less likely to be forced to converse. He seemed to find the world a largely terrifying place. Lily was ashamed to admit she occasionally intentionally made him squirm, with up to three or four non-work questions in a row. Dale cleared his throat.