Do Not Respond Read online

  Every day I am getting closer to breaking the one rule I promised I would follow since she started work. To never touch her. Growing up, she was always too young, and it was just us as friends. But, naturally, now as adults, the lines have become blurred, and I am an inch away from stepping across the barrier. It is getting out of control.

  I need a bike ride. I need to feel the burn along my legs, until there’s nothing left to feel. I’ve lost count of the mornings I’ve chosen to ride into work just to rein in my thoughts. I’ve had to work on exhausting myself so I stop thinking about her. But she follows me into my dreams nonetheless. Those rich curves send my thoughts into a tailspin. On repeat.

  “So, we ready for our presentation in a few weeks?” Steve says, and I almost high five him for the distraction. “I reckon we’ll nab another award this year.”

  “For sure,” Nige adds, taking a sip of beer, watching me, and I pause before realising all

  eyes are on me, waiting.

  “Of course,” I mutter with false bravado, lifting my glass to my lips only to find it empty. I chuckle and shake my head. “It’s been a big week.”

  The boys chuckle at my empty glass.

  “Looks like you need another, boss.” Brad stands and collects one of the other empty glasses. I hand him mine, and I try to keep my thoughts focused as he strolls over to the bar.

  I can’t help but look at the bartender they were referring to earlier. He is a nice guy, but automatically, my spineless self starts to pick out faults. Too short, grows a goatee like a pre-pubescent teenager—the list continues to grow until I notice the other guys are staring at me.

  “Sorry guys, been a big week.” I cringe, I’m repeating myself, like a Muppet. I instantly begin rattling off the specifications, in case I’ve missed anything. Despite running a project, we work as a team and the boys are quick to pick up on something if it is missed. “We’ve got the project all mapped out; it’s just the presentation we need to practise. Last year, we used too many PowerPoint slides. This time, we need to focus our energy on connecting with the judges.”

  “I think we should send in Nige to do it, so he can flex and make the ladies swoon.” Steve tilts his glass toward him. “Wear a tighter shirt.”

  “Piss off.” Nigel lifts his chin toward me. “Cole can do it. His baby blues will get the girls. Even the feisty ones.”

  My shoulders stiffen, but Brad returns with the drinks, bringing a welcome distraction.

  “Just talking about the presentation,” Steve says as the rest of us grab our drinks. “Cole could do it to woo the crowd.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Brad shifts on the seat and clucks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Maybe we could do something a bit different, like get Letty to present. That would get their attention.”

  Would it be too much to ask for some mental space free of her? Especially if she’s off with some idiot.

  “That would be different.” Steve sips his drink and grins. Fuck, don’t tell me the boys have a crush on her. I would lose my shit, even if it made me the world’s biggest hypocrite.

  “What I’d give to be a fly on the wall….” Nige adds, probably just to make me feel more forlorn. Why not? Kick a guy while he’s down and all that.

  “I don’t think Leticia would appreciate being used as a pawn,” I cut in, clearing my throat that is surprisingly dry, despite the cold beer I keep gulping down.

  Brad raises his eyebrow, and my fingers tighten around the glass, hoping like fuck I won’t have to use my fist for something else. “Don’t get me wrong. If I swung that way she’d be gorgeous, but rather, I think she could intimidate them into making us win. They just need to piss her off, and she can scare the bejesus out of them. That award would be as good as ours.”

  The boys laugh, and I chuckle too, as having been on the end of some of her looks, she would absolutely scare the living shit out of the panel.

  “It would be worth it, just for their reactions,” Steve adds, before looking over to me. “You missed her whining about her sore feet from her excursion today. She virtually limped over here, ready to shoot someone. We’re all lucky to be alive.”

  “The storage room looks well-stocked.” I snicker, taking my final sip as the boys laugh harder. I’m a prick, I know, but it is funny when I think about it. She was stomping around the office, cursing under her breath, while I tried to keep my focus on my screen. Her jerky movements caused my pants to tighten, and there was no way I was going to stand up.

  I turn my wrist to check the time, and jolt. “Gotta dash, boys, got a place to be.” Standing, I tug the satchel over my head and grab my wallet out, tossing a couple of notes on the table. “Have a great weekend and drink a couple for me.”

  I leave the boys to head to my usual destination once a month. My bike is at home, as riding at the end of the week is more chaotic than on any other day. Every dickhead and then some are on the road, and Friday night after a busy week means more excuses for cars to take shortcuts, with us riders being unintentional markers to clean up.

  I head out to the tram stop and check my emails as I wait. As predicted, a summary of my appointments is synced to my calendar, a few reminders that were emailed to me by Leticia to help prepare for next week. Earlier, when I had checked the time to find it was 5:16 p.m., she came charging through the door, returning from her errands. I made a deliberate point not to look busy. It didn’t escape me that she looked furious. Shortly after going through her computer, she had thumped at her keyboard, and then a small smile had gathered across her lips after her fingers stopped attacking the keys. Fuck, she was cute. A warmth grows in my chest, and I puff out a breath at my own stupidity.

  A short time later, I arrive at the Magnolia Heiss Gallery and touch my bag, relieved I made it to the bank earlier that day. I walk to the white-rimmed doors and push against the frame. The open-spaced frontage, with a reception desk surrounded by vases full of magnolias, gives the impression that I am heading into a beauty spa, yet it is anything but.

  “Mr. Lawson,” Annette, the curator, greets me as she walks briskly to my side, her silver bob cut so sharp I could probably nip my finger across it. Not one hair moves. Her thin red lips part on a smile as her eyes twinkle at me. I’m her weekly cash cow.

  “Afternoon, Annette. Are those pieces still in?”

  “Yes, they certainly are. We have some really wonderful canvases this week for you to see. I’ve sold a few, but I made sure to save these ones for you.”

  She says that every time, and every time, I nod. She steps forward and grabs my elbow, pulling me to the side of the desk and leading me into the main gallery. I let her take me to the far corner where three canvases are hung, all containing original photographs that have been painted over the top of.

  “She chose a few landscapes this week, and then this lovely one to the side.” Annette points, releasing my arm as she continues to talk. After a moment, I let her voice wash around me as I focus solely on the pieces in front of me, blocking everything else out.

  One is sunset over the city with an urban outline of the central business district, whilst the other looks like the stormy St. Kilda Beach with the iconic Luna Park in the forefront. The final, which is more striking than the others, shows a pair of feet in the crystal waters at a beach. I know just by looking at those toes who they belong to.

  “C’mon Cole! The water is so nice, you need to come here and see.”

  “Letty, I wake up to this every day! I know what it looks like.”

  “I know that, fool, but today it’s just magic.” Her face turns to me, and I’m blinded by her smile.

  I blink to shake the memory away. My eyes focus on the script of Letty in the corner, and I grin. Even her signature is carefree when she paints. That signature is like the smile she wore when she left tonight.

  “I’ll take all three.” I see the prices for each to the side of the paintings, and I get my wallet out. She rarely charges more than $150 a piece, even if they are worth doubl
e. The paint alone is expensive, but Leticia was never one to make someone bleed for her work.

  “Fantastic!” Annette taps my forearm as I hand over the money, then reach into my satchel to retrieve the piece of paper and pen I’ve stored there earlier. I open it quickly to write the painting next to each address before handing it to her. She nods. “I’ll have them delivered on Monday morning if that suits?”

  “Perfect, thank you.” I smile as I pop my wallet and pen away. Annette reads the note and queries, “Oh, would you like the beach portrait at the nursing home?”

  “Yes. It might give them something to smile about.” I put my hand out to shake hers, and she clasps it eagerly.

  “Thank you once again, Mr. Lawson. Our artist is fantastic, and her paintings are so vibrant and passionate. She’s getting noticed, as a few other clients have been drawn to her as well. We’re going to host an evening soon where our clients and guests can meet our artists. We’re going to fundraise this year, if you’re interested….” She stares up at me, and I nod.

  “I’ll think about it.” I clutch the strap to my satchel and make a move for the front door. “See you next month.”

  As I reach the door, my phone rings from inside my bag, and I retrieve it, flipping it over to see a familiar name. Elliot, Leticia’s father.

  “Hey, Elliot, how’s things?” I push through the doors and out to the busy street.

  “Fantastic, thanks. I’m looking forward to improving my handicap tomorrow, if you’re still able to play.”

  “Definitely.” I cancelled the last two weeks due to too many work commitments, but I’m not going to cancel again. I hate cancelling on him. “I might have to bring my A game,” I joke, knowing that Elliot’s been kicking my arse for years.

  “You’ll need more than that, but lucky for you, I’ll play left-handed.”

  I smile as I board the tram. Elliot is naturally left-handed; he just enjoys teasing me. “Yeah, I’m going to need more than that.”

  “Bernadette is expecting you to lunch afterwards, by the way.”

  “I’ll be there, as long as I don’t need a trench coat to protect my shirt.”

  Elliot chortles on the line, as he knows how messy his wife is in the kitchen. “I told her just sandwiches. The last time we had guests, it took me a solid ten minutes to scrub the ceiling from her pasta bake. That stuff can leave a mess!”

  “Was it worse than her fish pie?”

  “Bloody hell!” His voice booms. “Don’t remind me of that!”

  I laugh, causing the passenger next to me to glare. I wink back, and he turns away, triggering another laugh.

  “Do you know what Letty was up to tonight?” Elliot asks. “I tried calling her, but I can’t seem to reach her.”

  My laughter dies instantly, and I quickly cough to clear my throat. “No idea, sorry. She didn’t say anything at all. Is she all right?” I pry, hoping for some light to be shed on her movements.

  “I presume so; it’s just strange that she didn’t answer her phone. The only time she doesn’t answer it is when she’s on a date, so maybe that’s it.”

  I grip the casing of my phone and will myself not to crush it. “No mention of dates, or anything,” I add.

  “Well, if she’s going on dates and being social, that means that job is giving her some freedom. I’m glad you gave her a chance after I—”

  “Yeah, she might be out somewhere,” I interrupt, not liking to be reminded of that conversation about her job. The guilt prickles my neck, and I lift my free hand to rub it for a moment.

  “Speaking of not answering calls, Judi told Bern that you were avoiding her.”

  “Oh shit, I’ve been busy and I forgot,” I groan. Now my mum is using her powers of manipulation to get her friends in on the act of getting in touch with me.

  “Give her a call, Cole. Before she sends a search party.” Elliot’s voice is friendly, yet firm. He knows that my mum is a determined woman.

  We chat for a bit more before ending the conversation. I moved to Melbourne when I was nineteen and kept in contact with Elliot and Bernadette to an extent, much to the relief of my mum, who was afraid of me turning into a hermit.

  When we speak on the phone, Elliot generally asks how Leticia is doing at work, but we genuinely leave it at that. Sure, he’ll throw in a comment here or there about her—after all, that’s how I found out about the gallery she sells her pieces at, but he never asks about me and her. Maybe she breathes fire when she speaks about me. I expect no less. I push her so hard, but the cracks have yet to show. If they knew how much of a prick I still was, they’d have every right to slam the door in my face. The resentment I harboured toward Letty that forced the wedge between us all those years ago is still the biggest hurdle I have to cross.

  Even while we play golf, Elliot uses the time to hear how his daughter is going at work. I have a feeling he wants the satisfaction of knowing that she is well looked after and that he made the right decision in asking me to take her on. When he came to see me that day at work, after he’d seen the advert I’d placed in the paper, he was adamant her art wouldn’t give her a stable life like a “secure” job could. If he saw how well her pieces were beginning to sell and how she was slowly becoming more popular, his opinion would be different.

  I ignored the niggling guilt that day, knowing if Leticia ever found out he’d come to me to hire her, she’d be mad but, worse, hurt. I knew it came from a place of love, and not out of malice, yet it didn’t make me feel any less shit about it. I thought hiring her could help bridge the gap between us, before I realised it was too late. Yet, it gave me the chance to see her on a regular basis.

  I head home and prepare a quick dinner while my chocolate Labrador, Duke, jumps all over the back of my legs, eager to head out for a run and a feed.

  “Settle down, dude. We’ll go out soon.” I grab my phone and give my mum a quick call while I eat. After promising to visit next weekend to avoid risking decapitation—she is a ninja with her rose secateurs—I do what any other good son would. I remind her that her other son hasn’t been calling her enough either. That’ll teach him for sending me cards that gave me actual disco balls from all the hidden glitter. My suit pants sparkled all day. That fucker.

  Smiling to myself, I end the call and place my bowl in the sink. Turning, my eyes catch on the canvas that sits above my television. My grin disappears as I’m reminded that she’s always with me.

  Elliot’s words tumble throughout my mind as I consider the date she’s probably on. A date she should be on with me. I want her, but my conscience needs to let go of the past before I make a move. How the hell am I supposed to do that? That night is too raw to forget, let alone forgive.

  Leashing up Duke, I take him for a quick stroll along the walking trails. Living a good forty minutes out of the city means I can be in a semi-country lifestyle. I hate being in the inner city, the manic jungle where the stress gets too high. The hilly suburbs of Doncaster make it easy to switch off my thoughts.

  Leticia’s bright eyes haunt me as my steps become faster, and my stroll turns into a jog. Those eyes used to make me do almost anything.

  “Cole! Look at this shell! It’s so pretty!” She holds a shell the size of her palm, turning it from side to side, capturing the light. “No matter which way you look at it, it’s so pretty.”

  Yeah, I think, looking at her. So are you.

  “I’m keeping it. Straight to my room.”

  And she did, too, filling it with her jewellery and other trinkets.

  Duke tears alongside of me, jerking me back to reality. She was a teenager, and I lusted after her something fierce. But I wasn’t an idiot. She was out of bounds, and I respected that. Now, fuck. She is a new story of chaotic obsession all together. My skin is hot, but I’m yet to feel the burn I crave. Running fiercely with Duke, we eventually head home, but my energy is far from spent. Duke pants as he flops into his seashell-shaped pool outside the back door, his eyes staring back at me. I lean d
own and give him a pat, knowing that I ran a bit rough tonight.

  “I’ll sort my shit out soon, buddy.” I scratch under his chin as he licks my hand. At least he forgives me quickly. I grab a can of dog food and make sure that I’ve given him a little extra for being such a prick. Can’t have my fur buddy pissed at me too.

  Walking to my room, I dress in my cycling bib and cyclist cleats. I spend the next hour and a half out on the road, flying through the hilly streets. I have no fear. I’m on a mission. A mission to wear myself out until any images of Leticia fade, until later on when I return so tired that even the blue eyes that have chased my dreams for years will not be haunting me.

  Much, much later, as my head falls against the pillow, all thoughts of the blue-eyed beauty stop haunting me as I fall into an exhausted heap once again.

  Letty

  Surveying my phone, I curse at the amount of missed calls. Seven. Five from Dad and two from Mum. I flicked my phone to silent the minute I got home so I could eat and design in peace. My housemate, Piper, is a nurse at St. Vincent’s Hospital and is working a night shift, so I can get away with thrashing around to a certain extent. We’ve known each other for a few years, and she is the calm to my storm.

  Looking at my phone, the missed calls from Dad were made one after another, like he usually does. I really wish both my folks would get on the text-messaging bandwagon. I honestly think they picture me sitting, staring at the screen when they call, instead of deliberately ignoring them. Pretty sure they believe that persistence is the key, after all. But to redial straight away … my phone isn’t glued to my hand. I’m not always going to answer it, sure, but they’re going to give themselves a conniption stressing about my life.