Page 16 of Broken Beyond Repair

Sydney’s heart sank, lower than she’d like to admit. “What?”

She hadn’t planned for this. She did really need the job now if she was going to get Gertie back in shape. Not to mention she was intrigued by Beatrice Russell — she liked a challenge.

“Sorry, bad joke,” James confessed. “She’s all yours.”

“James, for fuck’s sake.” Sydney clutched her chest with her hand.

“So, Gertie, huh? Nothing at all then to do with how hot Miss Russell is?”

That was undeniable, Sydney thought as she recalled the images on Rosie’s phone screen. Beatrice Russell was steaming.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” he continued. “Anyway, I pay your wages, and you live out of a van when you’re not living in a client’s mansion. You can’t seriously be rummaging around in your piggy bank to fix Gertie, can you? Not that I’m trying to persuade you against it; you’ve made a verbal contract, and I’ll sue your arse if you go back on it.”

“I keep enough to feed Gertie and myself, a small pot of savings, and then I send the rest to mum.”

His voice lost its exuberance. “Yes, of course.”

“If I use my savings, there’s no road trip, and if I don’t fix her — well, I doubt Gertie and I will be enjoying any road trip, let alone being able to make it to another job.”

“Are you still at the harbour?” James asked knowingly.

“Staying over,” she replied.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Not like that,” she said, putting the kibosh on his randy attitude. “Didn’t you get the memo that I’m a lesbian?” She turned to look for Sam, only to spot him through the workshop window changing his dirty T-shirt. His ripped torso and bulging pecks made her suck in a breath. “And Sam is all man.”

CHAPTER5

Beatrice scooted back from the ensuite on her butt, dragging her lead weight of a broken leg across the floor of the hotel suite. She held a level of animosity towards it — it was seriously letting the side down. She was now going to spend the next six weeks dragging its incompetence around.

Why the casting nurse had used a blindingly pink fibreglass bandage was beyond Beatrice’s understanding. She’d been too distracted with her phone when the woman had begun winding the atrocity around her leg.

Her phone vibrated on the bedside table; she scooted faster towards it before it could ring off.

“Hello?” she answered, out of breath from the effort.

“How are we?” Alison’s welcome voice came back as Beatrice put it on speaker so she could clamber onto the bed.

“We are miserable. I feel like I’ve been clamped in irons. A physiotherapist has been in to tell me the rest of me is going to waste away in the meantime. She even had the audacity to remove my wheelchair to force me to use these bloody crutches, which are going to drive me mad if they don’t kill me first.” Beatrice groaned and leaned back against the headboard. “I just want to be home, Ali.”

“The production company — who reiterate again how sorry they are — have only extended their apologies as far as a first-class commercial flight. I assumed you wouldn’t want to charter yourself. I saw the last settlement offer you made to Peter.”

“Is this where you mention the prenup again?” Beatrice deadpanned.

Alison chuckled. “I’ve rubbed your face in that one enough.”

“Book a charter and send them the bill, I’m not flying commercial with this leg. You can remind them I could remain in this lavish suite they’re paying for; that should do the trick. I know how much they charge a night for this room, and frankly it’s overpriced.”

“It’ll be Burbank, not LAX, as it’s such short notice.”

“That’s fine; it’s closer. Try and get something expensive and make sure it has a lift.”

“I’ll see what I can rustle up. In other news, we have a new PA.”

“A competent one?” Beatrice asked, mindful not to get her hopes up.

“She comes highly recommended by her agency.”