"I'll see you later, after I've spoken to Claire about this potential new client."
"You sure you're not off to check up on the marketing lady?"
"Fuck off."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Chapter Four
Vanessa
The wine wasn't quite going to cut it tonight so I opted for the bottle of pre-made margarita and promised myself I'd just have one. Which turned out to be an easy promise to keep, as the bottle was pretty much empty as there was less than half a glass left.
"Evening!" My overly cheerful flatmate banged the door closed and sighed happily. I knew that noise; I recognized it and its meaning like a dog knew the sound of cheese wrappers.
"I don't need an explanation. I know where you've been and who you've been doing. What I want to know is why there's less than a mouthful of Margarita left and what you're going to do about it?" I wasn't just frustrated at the lack of my alcohol of choice: Jackson Callaghan's naked torso was plastered all over my retinas and I had no idea what to do about it, other than accosting him in his office gym and demand he took me in the shower.
"Well, someone's not playing with her vibrator today." Sophie smiled knowingly and opened the fridge, pulling out another bottle of the pre-mixed margarita, this one full. "It's a school night, so just one for you. Drink that is. Not orgasm." She topped my glass up until it was full and returned the bottle to the back of the fridge.
"I've met someone who's attractive. Hot too," I confessed, staring at the drink.
"Finally. You're considering dusting off your lady parts. Do you want the number of my waxologist?" She sat down on a bar stool and smiled over at me like only someone who has just been freshly fucked can. Sophie was one of my oldest friends. She now ran a growing chain of beauty salons in central London and really didn't need the rent I'd given her since I left Richard the dick. She was currently seeing her personal trainer, who was around ten years younger than her and she appreciated the fact he was only interested in one thing.
"I've kept on top of that," I told her. "And it doesn't matter anyway as he's never going to get to inspect how the grass isn't growing."
"He's not the bloody client, is he?" She lost some of the freshly fucked look.
I said nothing.
"Van! Do you think you find him attractive because he's safe? You know, because you can't actually do anything about it given your 'no having sex with a client policy'?"
"No. I find him attractive because he's tall, has arms to die for and I want to trace my tongue over every one of his tattoos multiple times. And he's intelligent and he has long hair that he puts up in one of those man bun things when he's working out..."
"You've seen him working out? When?"
"This morning. Early. I've been using the gym in the office. He had no top on and sweet mother Mary... we're going out for dinner tomorrow but it's just as my client and..." I picked up the nearby pair of over gloves and half growled, half screamed into them. "He's going to help me with getting away from Richard too. I've got to send him some information over but he's offered to work on it from a legal perspective."
"Which you should've started on months ago," Sophie said. "In all seriousness, you shouldn't even dream of sleeping with him until you've cleaned Richard out of every speck of ownership. Or he's paid you off well enough so you can start your own firm. If Mr. Bicep has managed to get you to start proceedings, then he really is your penis in shining armor. Here's your mail," she passed me two envelopes. One was a letter from my gran, who, despite being able to work a computer and send emails just fine, liked to send me postcards of famous Derbyshire beauty spots. She refused to send them without an envelope just in case they were censored. The other was a statement from the bank. I opened it without thinking, listening to Sophie's brief outline of the training she'd had before she hit the gym with her latest boy-toy.
I didn't hear the conclusion.
"The complete..." I stared at the piece of paper in my hand, words escaping my clutches.
"Vanessa?"
"Richard... he's..."
"What's he done, honey. Try to breathe. It's good for you." She held my shoulders and shook them slightly.
"He's transferred four grand from our office account to his personal..." I went straight to my phone and logged into my digital banking app. I hadn't paid attention to one particular office account as it was what we called the slush fund, containing about ten thousand pounds should we need it in an emergency if something dire occurred to the business. Nothing came out of the account, which Richard knew. I immediately moved four thousand into my personal account and then concentrated on breathing. The rest of the accounts were currently where they should've been.
"I think you need to call him," Sophie said, looking irate. She'd never liked Richard. I had a sneaking suspicion that at some point, before I got together with him, she may have sampled some of his goods. I'd never asked. I really didn't want to know.
"Richard. I'm going to call him in the morning. Not now, he'll probably let the floozy answer just to piss me off."
"No, not Richard."
"Then who?"
