Page 4 of Exchange of Heart

I didn’t spew.

Instead, I fainted.

CHAPTER TWO

Corey

Ah, Mondays. The reality check I didn’t ask for.

My chair spun in circles by my office window as I tapped a pencil against the notebook in my lap. Cars zoomed back and forth across The Sydney Harbour Bridge like tiny ants, unaware they could have their dreams crushed any moment. Mine were crushed eleven years ago when I graduated high school and set foot into this hellhole. I rolled my chair back to my desk where my laptop sat with a photo from sixteen years ago of me and my best friend, Paddy. My traditional chocolate birthday cake in front of me, a strawberry cheesecake in front of him, thirteen candles in each as two friends made a birthday wish. If only I could go back in time; I’ve finally got a wish worth making.

‘In here.’ Paddy, now my assistant, led a young guy in a fluorescent yellow vest to my office. ‘You’ve got a delivery, Corey.’

The young guy placed a fruit basket on my desk then held an iPad in front of me. ‘Corey Flemmington?’

‘That’s me.’ I frowned at the package.

‘Can I grab a signature?’ he asked.

I scribbled on the screen and he hurried out of the building for his next delivery.

A moment later a bald head with eyes as dark as a black hole appeared in my doorway, ready to suck the joy from my office. ‘Dammit, Corey. Elliot expected your call this morning. He needs the finalised policy before he signs on the dotted line.’

I twisted my arm to check my watch. Barely ten in the morning. Much too early for a sixty-year-old working from his yacht to be worried about a phone call to update his insurance policy.

‘It’s not even—’

‘Just do it.’ His eyes shot to the basket on my desk. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘A gift, I guess.’ I shrugged.

‘From a client?’ he asked.

‘No. No card,’ Paddy answered for me.

He winced under my glare as a low growl rumbled in my father’s throat.

‘Give the girls your personal address if you want love baskets.’ He stormed off.

I sighed. Of course that would be his first assumption. ‘He’s such a fucking delight.’

‘You’re lucky, you know?’ Paddy picked some lint from his navy pants.

‘It’s amazing how luck and misery can roll into such a tight ball, I can’t tell which thread belongs where.’ My head dropped to my desk.

Paddy’s hand gripped my shoulder in a reassuring squeeze before he took a seat in front of my desk. ‘Forget your father. Once you make the call to Elliot, he’ll find a new problem to focus on. Probably your hair – because what is going on there today?’

I lifted my head and patted the curly mess. I’d spent most of the morning considering calling in sick, wishing I could replace the words ‘I’m sick’ with ‘I quit’ and finally look forward to waking each morning without dread clawing my stomach. The family photograph next to my phone made me reconsider when I saw my three brothers’ happy faces, one with their arms wrapped around his wife’s and daughter’s shoulders. I’d rushed out the door to avoid my father’s wrath if I was late, only to manage to disappoint him just now, instead. It’s inevitable, really.

‘Rushed morning,’ I said.

‘Drinks at mine tonight?’ Paddy pushed his glasses up his nose.

My shoulders softened at the simple mention of his place, where I could let my guard down with only him to see my flaws and weaknesses. Not to mention, there’s no better way to remind myself of my inner spoiled brat than by spending time in his shoebox apartment. Last weekend it went black during our movie due to an unpaid electricity bill. Too many strokes of bad luck mixed with too much pride to accept my money meant this job was a life jacket for him. Not that I’d ever let him think I’d hired him from some sort of saviour complex. He accepted me before he understood anything about grownups and money, and sometimes I pretend we’re still just two kids without soul-destroying jobs when I’m at his.

‘Can’t, I’ve got class.’

I shuddered at the realisation I’d be facing Nora for the first time since our run-in at the hotdog stand three days ago. No doubt she’d been brewing a plan to hand out cupcakes with poison baked into mine. Her scowl’s been embedded in my mind since the day she found out I worked as a finance manager. She’d huffed and told me I’d only landed the role while still studying because I was a man. I’d laughed, not because she was wrong, but because of how close to the mark she was. My amusement only infuriated her further, and I’d been overcome with the need to prove myself because she wasn’t wrong that I’d landed the role because I was a man, it’s just that I was a certain man – a certain son – and I’d been trained for years to sit in this office.