Beware of the Boss. Leah Ashton

Mostly satisfied with her accomplishments.

      Absently she flicked through the sporting pages, full of photos of winners on podiums.

      ‘Wish it was you?’

      She hadn’t realised Bob had approached her table again, and she glanced up in surprise. ‘Of course not,’ Lanie replied—snapped, really. Immediately she wished she could swallow the words. ‘I’m retired,’ she clarified, more calmly.

      He nodded and drifted politely away again—but Lanie didn’t miss the questions, and maybe concern, in his eyes.

      She stood and left a handful of coins on the table, trying to ignore how her eyes had started to tingle and squint.

      It was the sea breeze.

      She slung her bag onto her shoulder and took big, brisk strides to exit the café and get home as quickly as possible.

      She’d walked past three huge mansions, heading towards the street where her mother’s small neat cottage was, when something caught her eye.

      The glint of sun off a sweaty, perfectly muscled chest.

      That man.

      He jogged along the footpath on the opposite side of the road. His dog was now on a lead, intermittently gazing up at his owner in adoration.

      Lanie felt herself tense, for no reason she could fathom.

      She’d slowed her walk, but now she deliberately sped up—back to the pace she’d been before.

      She didn’t care about that guy. Didn’t care if he was rude. Didn’t care what he thought of her.

      Didn’t care what Bob thought.

      Didn’t care what her sister thought. Didn’t care what anyone thought.

      She held her head high and walked briskly past. With purpose.

      But out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help but watch the man.

      And notice that he paid her absolutely no attention at all.

      It was as if she were invisible.

      * * *

      The knock on Lanie’s front door later that night was not unexpected.

      She headed down her narrow hallway, her slippers thudding against the hundred-year-old floorboards.

      She flung the door open, and—as expected—behind the fly screen stood Teagan. Her long black hair was swept off her face and semi contained in a messy bun on the top of her head, and her eyes sparkled behind red-framed glasses.

      Her oldest friend held up a plastic grocery bag. ‘I have four types of cheese, olives, sundried tomatoes, and something I believe is called quince. The guy at the deli told me it was awesome, but I remain sceptical.’

      Teagan bounded up the hall, as comfortable in this house as her own. As kids they’d split their time between their family’s homes, although Teagan’s family had long upgraded and moved on, while Lanie’s mum had quite happily stayed put in the house she’d grown up in.

      Lanie watched as Teagan pottered around the kitchen, locating a large wooden board and helping herself to cutlery.

      She didn’t bother asking why her friend was here as it was so obvious. Equally obvious was the fact that Teagan had ignored her when she’d politely declined her offer to hang out with her tonight.

      ‘It’s just another race, Teags,’ she’d told her. ‘I’ll be fine.’

      Apparently she’d convinced Teagan about as well as she’d convinced herself.

      Soon they’d settled on the rug in front of the TV, red wine in hand, cheese platter set out in front of them.

      ‘You do know the final isn’t until, like, two a.m.?’ Lanie asked, her legs sprawled out in front of her.

      ‘That’s what coffee is for,’ Teagan said between sips of wine. ‘Besides, this current job I could do in my sleep. Hardly anyone calls Reception. In fact I’m starting to think they don’t have any customers at all. You know...’ Teagan paused, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘I reckon it’s possible that it’s all an elaborate front for something dodgy. I’ve always thought that my boss has shifty eyes...’

      Lanie laughed out loud as Teagan outlined a typically outlandish theory. More than once Lanie had suspected that Teagan’s preference for temping over a more permanent job was purely to get new material—whether they caught up for coffee, dinner or a drink, it was guaranteed that her friend would have a new story to tell.

      As they ate—and polished off the bottle of wine—Lanie flicked from channel to channel of the sports coverage—heats of rowing, horses leaping over huge fences across country, cyclists whizzing around a velodrome.

      ‘So, have you made a decision?’ Teagan said a while later, her tone much more careful than before.

      Lanie shifted uncomfortably. ‘Has my mother been in touch?’

      Teagan pulled a face. ‘God, no. And it isn’t like your mum’s not capable of nagging you directly.’

      Lanie’s lips quirked unevenly.

      Teagan drew her legs up so she sat cross-legged. ‘I was just wondering.’ She paused. ‘Worrying, maybe,’ she added softly.

      Lanie found herself biting the inside of her lip. When it happened twice in one day—first Bob, and now her best friend—that look really couldn’t be misinterpreted.

      They felt sorry for her.

      Her whole focus had been aimed in one direction for so long. But now the pool wasn’t calling her to training each morning. Her coach wasn’t yelling at her. Her times weren’t creeping down—or up. She didn’t have another meet to aim for.

      She had no goals.

      Even though she wasn’t the slightest bit hungry she reached for the cheese platter, busying herself with slicing bread and cheese and then taking her time to chew and swallow, not looking at Teagan

      She mentally pulled herself into shape.

      ‘I’ve decided not to go back to my old job,’ she said, finally answering the question. ‘It’s time for a change. Managing the swim school is too much the same thing I’ve been doing for ever.’ She attempted a carefree laugh. ‘Although I can’t imagine a job where my office doesn’t smell of chlorine!’

      Teagan, ever the good friend, smiled back, but she wasn’t about to let her off the hook. ‘So, the new plan is...?’

      On the TV a rider toppled off his horse when the big grey animal slid to a stop before a hulking log fence. Lanie watched as he immediately jumped to his feet. She could see what he was telling everyone with his body language—I’m fine!—but the commentator was explaining in a clipped British accent that this meant he was disqualified. His dream was over.

      The man patted his horse’s neck, then leant forward until his silk-covered helmet rested against the horse’s cheek.

      Lanie knew exactly how he felt.

      ‘I don’t know—maybe I’ll finish my business degree,’ she said with a shrug. Three-quarters finished years ago, she’d abandoned it leading up to the national titles, intending to defer only for a semester or two. But then she’d made the Australian team, and everything had changed.

      ‘Still living here?’ Teagan’s wrinkled nose conveyed exactly what she thought of that idea.

      Lanie didn’t know. She’d moved back in months earlier, after the selection trials. At the time it had seemed sensible—she’d taken extended leave from her job, needed a break from swimming entirely, and without an income she couldn’t afford the rent on her little one-bedder in Scarborough without putting a huge dent into the savings she had earmarked for a house deposit. Her mum and sister had been focused on Sienna—not