I can't do this. I can't lie to James.
It broke my heart to see him looking lost as he talked about his uncertainty, the confidence I would see in him at school then sadly lacking. He needs a mentor. Victoria had been invaluable to me when I started, helping me avoid getting into precarious and dangerous situations, from dodgy partners to equipment safety.
But I can’t be that for James; it would complicate
everything too much. Feeling his deep soulful brown eyes on me, every part of me, made me every inch of me burn up. My skin prickled in anticipation of how it would be to have his hands touching me, being close to me, hearing his voice rumble as he kisses my neck. Imagining him on his knees in that suit at my feet, surrendering to me and my desires, made me fight to catch my breath.
Confusion swirls in my mind as I undress and remove my make up. I’ll see him on Monday morning, and I know
Yes, Miss
I should come clean to him, but I don't want him to feel betrayed with me keeping my identity hidden from him while he was opening up to me. He'd never have said all that if he had known it was me. I feel so shitty doing that to him. I should have just gotten up and walked away when he approached, or just been blunt and told him to fuck off. But I couldn’t do that to him. He doesn’t deserve that.
During the night, I toss and turn, the soft cotton sheets feeling rough against me, like my guilt is on the very surface of my skin. Thoughts of James tied up, at my mercy, mingled with thoughts of his face when I told him it was me he was talking to. Fears of how our professional relationship and our blossoming friendship would be impacted hung over me as I fought sleeplessness.
I huff and roll over in bed, pulling the sheets up to my chin. Way to go, Isabelle. Fuck up your new career in the first few weeks. After a further hour of willing myself to sleep whilst my brain runs through every scenario possible, including ones that would or could never happen, I finally came to the decision in the early hours that the best way to deal with this is to forget it ever happened, act like I don’t know anything, and stay professional. This thing can't go any further, could it? It could ruin everything I’ve worked hard for.
I finally awake from a restless slumber mid-morning, and what’s left of the weekend passes in a blur of errands,
Alexandra Ravensbrook
thankfully taking my attention away from James and our meeting at the club.
It’s a beautiful September Sunday afternoon, and I’m sitting in my garden. I’m deep in concentration reading a steamy hockey romance book, cosying up on my garden seat and enjoying the sunshine. The neighbour's cat is curled up on my lap but is startled awake by the sudden ringing of my phone. I put my Kindle down and pick it up.
Looking at the screen, bile rises in my throat.
It’s James.
Oh shit, he's worked out it was me last night. This is not going to be good. What am I going to say?
“Hi, James,” I croak out, freaking out now that I’m going to have some serious explaining to do. The raspy dryness of my throat makes me sound like I’m about to expire.
“Isabelle.” He sounds surprised. “Are you okay? Do you have a sore throat?”
I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves and trying to resume some sense of normality. “No, sorry, I just need to clear my throat. Is everything okay?” I ask, crossing my fingers and hoping this isn’t going to fall down around me.
Yes, Miss
“Sorry to bother you on the weekend. I just need to ask if you’re okay to come in a little earlier tomorrow morning for a meeting.”
Shit. Shit. Shit!
“Have I done something wrong?” I hold my breath, images flooding my mind of me trying to explain to future potential employers how I managed to screw up my first job in two weeks.
James laughs. “Oh, God, no! Isabelle, of course not! Sorry if I gave that impression. We just need to sort the paperwork for the upcoming theatre trip, and we won't have time during the day.”
I sink back into my chair, every muscle in my body relaxing from being wound so tightly. “Of course,” I laugh. “Just text me where and when and I'll bring coffee!”
We hang up the call, and I vow to myself I will never pull a stunt like that again. The stress isn't worth it, even if my teenage schoolgirl fantasies about James are now a potential reality. I settle back in my garden seat and plant a kiss on the cat’s head and dive back into my hockey team romance.
The next morning, I walk to the school library. I’ve intentionally tried to look as different as I had on Saturday night. My hair is up in a tight bun, my glasses on, I’ve done
Alexandra Ravensbrook
barely-there makeup, and a shirt-and-trouser combination disguises my curves. I finish with some trainers. Which in itself, is a great idea because I’ve had to run from the car park to the library since, once again, I’m late.
One thing I’m proud of, though, is that the coffee I carry never gets spilled. I push the library door open with my bum and back myself into the room, smelling something delicious. James is scrolling on his phone, waiting for me.
