“That’s fucking fantastic.”
“But I have to interview Lachlan, not you.”
He pauses. “Lach? Why? What’s wrong with me?”
“Because you’re not newsworthy.”
“And my cousin is?”
“Well yeah. I mean, have you seen him?”
“Have you seen me?”
“I have Bram. Sorry. You’re not my type.”
He snorts in disbelief. “Anyone with a cock is your type.”
“Hey!” I yell into the phone. Candace jumps and a pen clatters on her desk. “I’m telling you how it is. Now give me Lachlan’s number or there won’t be any kind of story on your apartment at all.”
“Okay, okay, fine,” he says quickly. “Calm your tits.”
“You calm your tits,” I retort. He gives it to me, and I write it down. It’s international, obviously.
“Can I just text him, since it’s long distance?” I ask.
“Sure,” says Bram. “But I think you’ll get more out of him if you talk in person. He’s not very talkative on the phone.”
“You don’t say.”
“Aye,” he says. “But listen, whatever you guys end up talking about, don’t ask Lachlan anything too personal, okay?”
I straighten up, my interest piqued. “Why?”
He sighs, loud and exaggerated. “Just don’t, Kayla. I know you. You’re all up in everyone’s faces and privates lives, and we all think it’s cute, but he’s not like that. If you be yourself, you’ll just scare him. He’s a private person. He’s got…well, just be professional. If you dig too deep, he’ll probably snap at you and you won’t get anything.”
“Snap at me?” I repeat. “Is he a dog?”
Or a beast?
“Eh,” Bram says. “He’s just guarded, and he has no time for bullshit. So keep the focus on what’s important.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Which is…”
Those lips. Those hands. Those eyes. But I say, “The housing situation.”
“Correct. Hey, did I ever say thank you for doing this?”
“No. You didn’t.”
Then I hang up on him before he gets a chance to say anything. He deserves it for that dig about how I shouldn’t be myself around Lachlan, as if my personality is some sort of plague.
Before I lose my nerve again, I enter the long ass number into my iPhone and text him. Well, actually I stare at the screen for a few minutes, then I type a few different sentences and erase them, and then I stare some more. Everything that Bram said about him makes me even more anxious than I was before. I mean, I can handle people. Believe me. I’m not afraid. But I’m out of my element here. I’m not a journalist, despite what I learned in school, and suddenly I feel a whole load of pressure on my shoulders.
Finally I text him: Hey, it’s Kayla, Nicola’s friend. I met you at the bar last night. Bram wanted my weekly magazine to do a story on the housing situation and my editor thought it would be a good idea if I interview you. Is that okay?
And then I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait.
Hours pass.
“Expecting a call?” Candace asks a little too brightly.
It’s about 4:30 p.m. now and I just looked at my phone for the one millionth time. I’ve also rechecked the phone number I wrote down. I’ve barely done anything today except wait for that damn response. I’m not very good at multi-tasking.
With my face propped up by my hand and my shoulders slumped, I can’t even bother giving Candace a look.
The phone beeps.
“Nope, not at all,” I say, grabbing the phone like it’s precious and I’m Gollum.
A response from Lachlan: All right.
The fuck? Just all right?
I quickly text back: Okay, great, thank you. When would you like to meet? Where?
I press send and pray it doesn’t take another six hours for him to respond.
It doesn’t. You know the city better than I do. I’m free anytime.
Okay, so we’re making progress here.