Best Friend...Future Wife. Claire Baxter

the heritage-listed house had been built. She eased herself into the swing-seat suspended from the iron framework of the verandah and sipped the chilled juice while she thought about the previous day.

      If Luke was going to be living and working here, she wouldn’t be able to avoid him. Nor did she want to. Given the choice between never seeing him again, or loving him and having to hide it, she’d choose to put herself through the agony of being near him. Of course she would.

      She’d learned as a child that it was not only possible but essential to conceal the truth if it would do no good to display it. This didn’t make her dishonest, just very good at burying her feelings.

      Last night had confirmed she was as strongly attracted to Luke now as ever but, more important than that, she was Luke’s oldest friend. As far as she knew, he hadn’t kept in touch with any of his old mates from school or footy. And if he needed to talk about his marriage break-up, his oldest friend had a duty to be there for him. And she would.

      If he still loved his wife—and she suspected he did—he’d be suffering dreadfully. She’d certainly seen flashes of pain cross his eyes when he’d broken the news to his family. He was the type to make light of his feelings, so the fact he hadn’t been able to hide how much he hurt made her heart ache for him.

      If it would help him to talk about Yvonne, she’d listen. The next time he asked her to hang out, she wouldn’t make excuses. She’d force her feelings back into their box and do what she had to do.

      Raucous squawks from seagulls drew her head up, and she watched the birds circling for a minute before she stood to go inside. Much as she’d like to stay, she had no time to waste. She had a media conference to organise.

      On the way from the basement car park to her office, Della stopped by Reception to greet Bonnie and check for messages.

      Bonnie, framed by floral arrangements, sat behind a curved jarrah desk. ‘Hi, Della. Marvin’s been looking for you.’

      ‘Already? Is he in his office?’

      ‘Mmm. Jason’s in there too.’

      ‘Is he?’ Neither her boss, Marvin, nor her assistant could claim to be early starters. This crisis must have freaked them. She hurried to drop a pile of files on her desk, plonked down her briefcase and handbag, then headed along the passageway to Marvin’s corner office. With no sign of his secretary, Della knocked on his door and entered.

      ‘Here she is,’ Marvin said, consulting his watch. ‘Della, we have a problem with this media conference today.’

      ‘A problem?’ She took a seat next to Jason, who flashed her a brief smile.

      ‘Tom Dermont rang me at home this morning. Apparently, your mobile was switched off.’ He raised his eyebrows.

      ‘I had a headache—’

      ‘Never mind that now.’ He waved a hand in front of his face as if swatting her words away. ‘The point is, he wants to front the media.’

      Della closed her eyes. ‘Dear God.’

      ‘Exactly. What the—?’ He ran a finger around his shirt collar. ‘What the flaming heck are you going to do about it?’

      Stifling her gut reaction to panic, she took a deep breath. ‘I’ll talk to him, Marvin,’ she said in a level voice.

      ‘Talk to him? You’ll need a jackhammer to get through his thick skull.’ He glanced at the door, as if afraid he’d been overheard. ‘Do it quickly. And let me know how it goes.’ He picked up his phone and Della stood to leave.

      ‘Don’t worry, Marvin,’ Jason said. ‘I’ll help her.’

      Della turned on her heel, her eyebrows rising in disbelief. The nerve of him. She would have made it clear she didn’t require his assistance if Marvin hadn’t already begun his phone conversation. She strode towards the door, and he scuttled across the office behind her.

      In the passageway, Jason dashed in front and barred her way. ‘Don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Della,’ he said. ‘I was only trying to help. Didn’t mean to make it sound like you couldn’t handle it.’

      No, of course he hadn’t. Not in front of her, anyway. Out of her hearing was a different matter. He’d been laying the groundwork for his advancement for the past six months. And she wouldn’t have a problem with him taking her position, as long as he waited for her to vacate the office before moving in.

      If things went to plan, and she won the promotion to partner as expected, it would work in her favour to have a ready-made replacement. She wouldn’t hesitate to recommend Jason in that case. If, however, he continued to make snide comments like the one she’d just witnessed, she might suggest the company look elsewhere for its new senior consultant.

      Ignoring his squirms, she got down to business. ‘Start making up the media kits,’ she said. ‘I emailed the media release to you late last night. Have you seen it?’

      ‘Haven’t checked my in-box yet.’

      ‘Well, do so. You should have everything else you need on file. Also, contact Catherine and tell her we need an employee communication plan. I’ll get in touch with Tom Dermont.’

      ‘Do you want me—?’

      ‘I can handle him,’ she said curtly.

      ‘Of course.’

      She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist and walked back to her office. With a sigh, she walked around her desk. She didn’t enjoy acting the heavy-handed boss, but she knew his sort, and wasn’t naïve enough to believe another way existed. She’d had to be tough to reach this level in the firm and she’d have to be tougher still if she made it to partner. Though it didn’t come naturally to her, a certain amount of ruthlessness was essential.

      A message waited on the desk. She picked up the slip of yellow paper as she slid into her chair. Melanie Crowe, the in-house PR officer employed by Dermont Chemicals. Couldn’t be good news. She’d better deal with Melanie’s problem first before tackling Tom.

      Melanie was out of her depth in this type of crisis, and Della felt sorry for her. Tom had tried to cut costs by hiring a green graduate rather than an older, experienced practitioner.

      If Tom had any real business sense, he’d put his money into developing a less confrontational relationship with the local residents and preparing emergency plans for incidents such as yesterday’s fire. They’d still need to bring in consultants for the legwork and logistical management, but at least they wouldn’t have journalists filling their stories with hearsay and uninformed comments.

      It wasn’t in her interests to suggest this, though. The firm made a tidy sum from Dermont’s contract, and as he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—work with anyone but her it put her in a strong position with the senior partners.

      ‘Melanie, you called.’

      ‘Oh, Della. Thank goodness.’ Melanie answered sounding breathless, and it was only eight-thirty in the morning. ‘It’s escalating,’ she said.

      ‘I thought the fire brigade had it under control.’

      ‘They did, but then it reached one of the chemical storage tanks and there was an explosion. Oh, hell, two firefighters are in hospital.’

      ‘Badly hurt?’

      ‘Stable. Thing is, toxic fumes are leaking. The police are evacuating the locals.’

      Della swore under her breath. This was the last thing they needed—more ammunition for the residents’ protest group. If they could convince the state government the chemical plant should be reclassified as heavy industrial, Dermont’s would be forced to move operations to the outer suburbs, well away from residential areas. Such a move would cost Dermont’s a fortune, and could even mean the end of their operations if Tom Dermont decided to pull the plug and cut his losses.

      ‘Thanks