I raise my glass to her, and she does the same, waiting expectantly for my usual toast.
“Fuck ‘em,” I say.
“Here, here,” she replies, like always. “Fuck ‘em all dead.”
We curl up on the sofa with junk food and wine and watch reruns of The Office. What we talked about must be playing on her mind though, because a while later she says, “So, was it as bad as you thought it would be? You know, putting yourself out there and it not working out?”
“No,” I smile. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
It was worse. Much, much worse.
Chapter 31
Demon
Fuckme,thisguy’sboring.
He’s droning on and on about security protocols. I’m trying to stay focused, I swear I am, but when he launches into an endless monologue about home alarm systems, I feel my eyes glaze over. Every time I blink, it feels like my eyelids are weighted.
This guy is literally putting me to sleep.
I glance over at Tracey Romero, BeckIT’s head of recruitment, I shoot her a look that says, ‘wrap this the fuck up.’ There’s no way he’s getting the job. I’d rather be stabbed repeatedly than have him in my life on an on-going basis.
“…industry best practice dictates that we use a tailor-made system for a person of your profile. Furthermore, the installation of said system is paramou…”
There’s a soft, urgent hiss from outside my office. I look up in the direction the sound came from. The door is closed, but I definitely heard something untoward. I hear something else. Another sound and then the quick, no-nonsenseclip-clapof high heels on tile. It sounds like there’s some sort of scuffle happening outside my office. My suspicion is quickly confirmed when the hiss from before turns loud and surprisingly sharp.
“Absolutelynot!” It’s my PA, Alyssa. Ordinarily, she’s an abject professional. A perfect cross between Career Barbie and Stepford Wife. In fact, she usually keeps her voice low in my presence, talking to me soothing tones typically reserved for wild horses, or feral cats. It’s surprising to hear her sounding like this. Someone must have pissed her off badly. “I saidno! Don’t even think about it. You maynotgo in there.” She’s moving again. Her heels are hitting the floor to the tempo of rapid machine gun fire. “Mr. Beckett is in a meeting. He maynotbe disturbed.”
There’s a low rumble. A deep male voice. My breath catches. It’s quiet so I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I know trouble when I hear it. My throat goes dry. I get to my feet and look over at whatever-his-name-is. You never know, he might get the job yet. Nothing’s better at convincing HR of a candidate’s ability than a practical demonstration of skill.
The door bursts open and Alyssa comes bolting through it. Her neck and cheeks are bright red. Her hair and make-up are immaculate, but her eyes are wild with rage. Aside from the odd little grunt, she’s silent as she gallantly tries to manhandle a great big block of a man out of my office. She doesn’t succeed. In fairness, she never stood a chance.
Tracey jumps to her feet as he lumbers towards me. Alyssa starts yelling for security.
“Do something!” hisses Tracey, to whatever-his-name-is. Whatever-his-name-is, doesn’t move a muscle.
Can’t say I blame him.
The sight of Joseph St John has rendered me immobile too. My limbs turn to liquid. My heart starts to pound. No, not to pound. It starts to beat. I start to beat. I beat the way I only beat for him. With my whole body. My whole heart.
He’s here.
He’s wearing beige dockers, an exquisitely well-fitted white shirt, and his good navy blazer. His face is clean shaven, and it looks like he's had a fresh fade in the last day or two. The hair at his crown is a little more spiked up than usual, and if I’m not mistaken, he has some product in it. The great big idiot has a huge, sheepish grin plastered all over his face. He’s standing in front of me, holding out an obnoxiously big bunch of flowers. Peonies, barbed thistles, and pale pink roses.
My favorites.
Tracey and Alyssa both quiet down at roughly the same time, when they realize I know this man. Whatever-his-name-is clambers to his feet and says, “Now look here, young ma…”
Saint gives him a look that stops him mid-sentence.
“Everyone leave us,” I say. “We need a moment.”
“Apologies for the inconvenience,” says Saint. His words are gracious and mannered, but there’s no trace of regret in his tone.
When the door to my office clicks shut, the silence around us suddenly feels loud. Loud and all too real.
“What are you doing here?”
