‘Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?’ I turn to Emir. ‘Ready to show him the meaning of respect?’
Emir rubs his hands with glee before rummaging in his pockets. He plonks a solid gold tennis bracelet on the table with a clunk. It has bits of baklava stuck to its incredible blue sapphires. ‘Let’s make this interesting, shall we?’
19
Half an hour later, we are laughing our heads off as Emir and I take it in turns to confuse Jackson with every move of our chess pieces. Emir has promised to return the bracelet to its rightful owner (his mother) and leave his kleptomaniac ways behind him (lured by the promise of more chess lessons).
‘Do you want another drink?’ Jackson asks, getting up to help himself from the bar when we hear footsteps stomping up the guest spiral staircase and some muffled giggling. Jackson cranes his neck around the bar to catch Astrid and Shaun looking very dishevelled and rosy-cheeked. He darts me a look.
Welcome to my world.
‘Where have you been?’ he barks at them, frightening them half to death. ‘You’re supposed to be supervising the guests at Akmars.’
‘We are! I mean, we were.’ Shaun clears his throat. ‘I mean, we came back to do an emergency… erm, an emergency… erm…’
Blowjob?
Jackson strides over to them. Any fool can see what they’ve been up to. Astrid jumps in to save her lover. ‘We’ve been emergency stocktaking.’
I can see Shaun mentally groan.
‘Stocktaking what?’
Astrid’s eyes widen as she struggles to think on her feet (perhaps due to having spent such a considerable time on her knees).
‘Well?’ Jackson says firmly. ‘Where is it?’
‘Where’s what?’ asks Shaun.
‘The stocktake. Where is it? Where’s the list? The catalogue? The inventory? The itemised record of thestockyou weretaking?’ He sounds like he’s losing patience with them.
‘Oh… well, it’s all up here,’ Astrid says, pointing to her head as she tries to flirt her way out of the situation by twirling a strand of caramel-coloured hair round her finger and batting her lashes at him.
‘You’ve carried out anemergencyinventory and you’ve stored it in your brain? Because I think you’ll find theactualprotocols for verifying and recording stock are clear as day in the LoveIt Holidays Representatives’ manual. The one that you received during training and are legally obliged to carry out.’
This is not going their way and luckily for them, Jackson doesn’t seem in the mood for their bullshit and appears to want to get matters over and done with. I’m finding his aptitude for managing wayward employees very attractive. I am simply riveted. Even Emir has frozen, his hand hovering over the squares on the board as we witness Jackson being all sexy (solely in my opinion) and commanding.
‘She meant we were cleaning,’ Shaun says. ‘Cleaning the… erm, cupboards.’ He flicks me a look. ‘The games cupboard. So that Maddie has all the games for young…’ He points to Emir. ‘Young whatshisface there.’
It’s all very lame. Even I could have come up with a better lie than that.
‘How very thoughtful,’ Jackson says, folding his arms across his manly chest. ‘I suggest you both stop skiving, get yourselves over to Akmars, and do your jobs. You’re not here to have fun. You’re here to make sure other people do, so get the fuck on with it,’ he orders before swiftly turning around. ‘Sorry, Emir, please forget you heard that language.’
Shaun and Astrid scurry away as Jackson opens a bottle of the expensive red wine, pours two glasses, puts them down next to the chessboard, pulls out his chair and plonks himself down. The irony is not lost on either of us as he grins cheekily, whispering loudly behind his hand, ‘Let’s hope they do as they are told and don’t come back to find me skiving and having fun.’
This causes Emir to collapse in peals of laughter. ‘I want to be the boss when I grow up. It looks fun.’ Somehow, I think he will be.
The rest of the evening goes really well. Without being asked, the chefs bring us up a delicious mezze platter of sizzling tasty koftas, salads and breads, a huge pot of homemade hummus drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with paprika, rolls of stuffed vine leaves, skewers of spiced chicken and lots of little pots of dipping sauces.
‘This is so good,’ Jackson says after ten minutes of silence while we dig in. ‘I don’t think I’ll be in a hurry to reprimand the chefs. Shall we let them off? What do you say, Emir?’
‘Yes. I need them for their baklava. It is the best in the world.’ And no sooner are the words out of his mouth than a tray of sticky, sweet-smelling carefully assembled baklava is placed in front of us along with a traditional Turkish teapot containing hot apple tea and three little teacups. After Jackson gifts the chefs a bottle of raki from behind the bar and orders them to take the rest of the evening off, we all tuck in.
‘Are you two married?’ Emir asks us.
I snort in a nostril of air. ‘Whatever’ –chuckle, snort– ‘gave you’ –louder snort, hiccup– ‘that impression?’
By the time the rambling and snorting fizzles out, both Emir and Jackson are frowning. I dab my mouth and talk in a normal tone. ‘Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me there. So, no, Emir. In answer to your question, we’re not married.’
