Thank God, Beryllia had suggested brunch. I needed to get out of my apartment almost as much as I needed to get out of my own head.

Bradley had sent me up in the elevator first, leaving me a bit curious about how he’d manage Owen. Would he be able to stagger?

The café we’d agreed on was a few blocks east, on Darling Harbour. A fresh breeze blew in from the sea. It cleared away the remnants of last night’s excess. Pippa and I sat down with fresh juices, while Beryllia went straight for the coffee. Colin didn’t make it.

“He sent me a message, so at least he’s alive.” Pippa giggled.

“Hangovers are supposed to get worse after forty,” Beryllia explained, “not that I’d know.”

Pippa and I clinked our juices like champagne and I sighed. It was nice to have people to hang out with.

“Sooo…” Beryllia put her cup down with a clink and leaned forward.

“Tell us about the boss.” Phillips went straight for the kill.

I coughed on my juice, my heart speeding up.

“Oh, we live in the same… area.”

“And share a chauffeur?”

“Cos’ I’m from out of town. It’s part of my relocation allowance.”

There was a pause, then both women erupted into screeches of laughter. Very unladylike.

“Oh, my, god, Braith!” Pippa was the first to regain the power of speech.

“Relocation what? I moved here from Perth, and all I got was a cab-charge from the airport!” Beryllia roared.

“Uh, I guess it was a special situation?” Heads had turned in our direction as their mirth reached mortifying proportions.

Finally, Beryllia calmed down with a last hiccup. “Oh, honey.”

***

Amid the small flock of suits gathered on Monday morning in front of Tenecore’s regular elevator bank, I took a deep breath.

Thoughts fluttered through my mind in no discernible pattern. Pippa, giggling as she pointed out that no-one else on the sixteenth floor ever dared use the ‘express’ elevator. The look on Owen’s face when he’d discovered my fear of heights. The smell of whiskey mingled with cedar-wood cologne. His warm hand on the back of my head, keeping me close.

I blinked as the crowd surged forward, and the awkward dance of elevator courtesy began. Finally, we’d all squeezed in with no injuries but to our collective dignity. Someone hit the button for the sixteenth floor. They were vaguely recognisable, obviously from some different department. A couple of people made small talk and I shook my head.

How had I not noticed this before? Normal office workers didn’t take the private express lift, normal employees didn’t get invited to fancy dinners and treated to bespoke suiting. Just what the hell was I here for?

Research, it turned out. Lots and lots of research.

A pile of manila folders had appeared on my desk since Friday, crowned with crisp white note card.

‘Please familiarise yourself with the following, - Owen’

He hadn’t even needed to sign it, the flourishing script that could only flow from a fountain pen (or quill? Who knew?) was seared into my memory from the day he’d signed my contract. I peered nervously at the stack. Most of the labels mentioned Thunderbolt Springs.

Oh well, that’s what I was here for. Local knowledge, and all that. I sat down and began to leaf through the topmost folder.

Confirmed site, black crystal opal. Bed level depth, fifteen metres. Lens range 2.4 metres. Conglomerate matrix.

Uh, what the hell? I flicked the pages a few times, finally finding a map that showed a bunch of claims, just south of the town. Archibald, K, was listed as the owner of most of them.

Archibald, K.

Old Archie? The fella that propped up the bar most nights in Thunderbolt Springs’ only watering hole, the ironically named Sherwood Forest Hotel? He’d seemed about nine hundred years old when I was young, but since he’d inherited his opal claims from his father that didn’t bear up to scrutiny. Must be five hundred, at the oldest.

Nah, in all seriousness, Archie was something of an elder statesman in the Springs, by virtue of his grand inheritance. It hadn’t made him rich, or even prevented him from being poor. But still he slogged it out underground chasing the dream. A real digger.

My computer dinged cheerfully, startling me out of my reverie. I liked the sound, so I hadn’t muted it like everyone else did. It made a little moment bright, like someone wanting to have a chat.

Except it wasn’t just someone, it was Owen.

I clicked it open and my heartbeat didn’t slow down at all. A meeting. On Friday, in the boardroom.

My eyes fell on the pile of folders still sitting on my desk. Oh, crap.

***

Gregory walked me to the boardroom like I was heading to the gallows. No, stop it. It was just a meeting. With the CEO. Who made my face tingle when I thought about him.

I took a deeper than usual breath. “So, we’re taking a work trip next week?”

Gregory nodded, his eyes crinkling like he was enjoying a joke. “Well, just for a day. We’ll take the private jet.”

“We? Like, the whole team?” I asked hopefully. Pippa and Beryllia’s laughter rang in my memory. 

‘Private jet’ sounded suspiciously like some more special treatment. They hadn’t brought it up since the café, and I’d hoped it was forgotten.

“Just the executive team. And you.” My bubble burst. I could almost hear the ribbing I was going to get from my team-mates.

“Oh.”

I wished I hadn’t mentioned this meeting to Gregory, but two days (and nights) of bullying my brain into reading technical reports had turned me to anxious mush. Now, he insisted on marching me to my doom.

“You’ll be fine,” his eyes flicked over the folder in my tightly clutched hands, “he’s not a demanding boss.”

I squinted sideways at him, taken aback by this bald-faced lie. 

“Not to you, anyway.” Gregory rubbed the side of his nose.

“What makes you say that?” My spidey senses tingled. Special treatment.

“Because you’re new. And everyone likes you.”

We stopped at the boardroom door. If I’d been wearing a tie, I’d have straightened it.

“Come in.”

There was no Bradley today, just Owen, sitting on one side of the long table. He stood up as I came in, and Gregory pulled out the chair opposite him for me. I put my folder neatly on the table and swallowed.

“Tea?” Owen offered. 

There was a small tea set at his elbow, complete with two petite, handle-less cups. He poured out the pale tea in a shining stream and handed me a cup.

“Thanks.” I took a sniff. I’d never had green tea before, except for fancy matcha smoothies.

“To cleanse the palate.”

Out of nowhere, two women swooped towards the table, small dishes in hand. One stood next to me and hovered over my folder. I pulled it into my lap and she set down the dishes without so much as a clink. Opposite me, her colleague was doing the same for Owen.

I hadn’t realised it was a lunch meeting.

The women disappeared and Owen slid one of my plates closer to me. “Kingfish. It’s quite sweet.”

“Uh, thanks.” I picked up my chopsticks and sent a silent prayer towards the shrine in the window of my favourite sushi restaurant. Please don’t let me drop the fish.

It was sweet, firm but yielding. I wiggled my now empty chopsticks, not sure what to do with them.

Owen set his own back down on the little porcelain rest. I did the same and our eyes met over the sashimi.

“How did you find the information I sent you?” He took another sip of tea. It took all my willpower not to do the same, out of sheer cluelessness.

“It was… comprehensive.” I borrowed a word from Colin. He always sounded like he knew what was going on.

Owen smiled. I almost expected a smirk as he caught out my little conceit. But he looked genuinely pleased.

“Gregory will have told you about the expedition.”

“Yes, he did. I don’t know Archie- uh, Mr Archibald personally, but he’s known around town.” As a cranky old geezer, I added silently.

“His tenements are promising.”

“You’re really looking for opal?” The question escaped my mouth as he took another bite of raw fish.

He raised his eyebrows, and I bit my lip. I didn’t know all the rules, but not questioning the boss’ statements was probably up there around number one.

“Yes, we are. But you may have read,” he paused and laid a sliver of ginger on my plate, “that we’re looking into their experimental properties. Not for jewellery.”

I felt the weight of my folder lying useless in my lap. There had been some words in the research materials like ‘hygroscopic’ and ‘refractive index’, but I’d kind of ignored them in favour of the easy stuff.

“Oh, right.”

Lunch took a half an hour, with the waitresses periodically appearing with more dainty plates of fish. Owen spoke lightly about Thunderbolt Springs, with its rich lens of opal that lay beneath the dusty rocks. He mentioned black opal, that most intriguing of stones, with it’s bellyful of rainbow fire. Damn, but he knew more about this stuff than I did, and I’d spent the last two years flogging them to tourists.

 Somewhere along the line I realised I was full. A small bowl of miso soup appeared in front of me and I took a satisfied sip, finally freed from the perils of chopsticks.

“Thank you for coming today.” Owen walked to the door of the conference room, but to my surprise, simply held out the door for me.

“Thank you for having me.” My response slipped out automatically, but as I made my way down the hallway, I realised I meant it.