Page 11 of Resist

“I … I don’t know,” he answered.

“Just pick a number.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” a few of them answered simultaneously.

“But Cori didn’t.”

“Just pick a number, limp dick.”

“Fine! Forty.”

My breath hitched, but then an impressed smile crept across my face. The boy next door was intuitive.

Visions of Lucas on stage dressed as a sexy bookworm or scientist danced across my mind. Open shirt. Chunky-rimmed glasses. Long, stiff, pointer rod.

“Perfect,” I murmured to myself before tapping my iPad screen, logging in, and opening my notes before typing ‘sexy nerd’ on his tab.

“Last chance, Cori. You in or not?” Brad asked.

I thought this the opportune moment to grace them with my presence, so I stood up and leaned against the bamboo screen. “Save your money, Corinne.”

Six stunned pairs of eyes found mine, but no one spoke. So I reached forward, picked up Josh’s uneaten chocolate croissant from his plate and bit into it, mumbling, “See you all at the Moreton room at ten. Don’t be late.”

I smiled the kind of smile only a satisfied, eavesdropping boss could do, then I turned on my heels and walked away.

After heading back to myhotel room, I kicked off my heels, opened the door to my balcony, and stepped out into the mild autumn warmth. A sense of calm flowed through my body before I lowered myself onto a well-weathered, plastic deck chair and dialled Jason’s number, the Brisbane River glistening in the sunlight twenty-three stories below as I waited for him to answer.

“Hey, Mum, how’s the stripper show going?”

I laughed. “Very funny, Jason. And it’s not a ‘stripper show’. It’s amale revue.”

He scoffed. “Same thing.”

Shaking my head with a smile, I leaned back and stretched my legs to rest on the accompanying chair. “The show is fine. I have a lot of work to do but it’s fine. How about you … how’s Uni?”

He ignored my questions. “You sound tired, Mum. Are you sleeping?”

I yawned. “Yes, for the most part.”

“Muuuuum…”

“Okay, okay. Some nights are better than others, but most are fine.”

“Do you need to speak to Dr Cross?”

I sighed; his concern warmed my heart. “No, sweetheart. It’s not that bad. I think that once I’ve settled in here and have a good grasp of the work ahead of me, I’ll sleep much better.”

Jason paused before speaking again. “Okay. But if you feel—”

“Yes, I know. I’ll call her.”

“Good.” My son’s tone of voice lacked faith in my promise. “So … what are these stripper guys like? Are they beefcakes? Gym junkies? Protein snorting, steroid munchers?”

“Protein snorting, steroid munchers? Wow! Since when did you become so stereotypical?”

“I’m not. I just don’t like the idea ofmymother working so close to guys like that.”