‘The rumour mill. She didn’t end up in hospital, unless you count a weekend at a luxury spa, courtesy of her parents, as some sort of mental health treatment. It seems an afternoon spent cutting all the right arms off my shirts and the left legs off my pants was something that needed a weekend of celery juice, yoga, and massage to recover from.’
‘But you got the sack!’
‘You can’t be sacked for coming to a disagreement over the meaning of a casual shag. I wasn’t fired, and I wasn’t asked to leave. I left. I got a better offer at E11even. It really is as simple as that.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I reply, narrowing my gaze. ‘Because your reputation proceeds you. I don’t know about casual shagging, but you aresoa serial shagger.’
‘You make that sound like it’s a bad thing. It also seems to me you’ve spent some time thinking about it. Let me know if you want to do something other than think. I might make an exception to my nonfraternization rule for you.’
‘Sorry, I gave up serial shaggers as part of my New Year’s resolution.’ The retort sounds more like something Vee would say, but he seems to find it funny. Which wasn’t my aim, but who does he think he is? Well, I’m about to take him down a peg or two. ‘Besides, you can’t afford another mistake like last time.’
‘Are you offering to lose your head over me, Heather?’
My answer is a disparaging rush of air as I resolutely ignore the flare in his gaze, and the way it echoes the wild possessiveness of dream Archer and his desire for me.
‘So I’m not interested in being tied down?’ He makes a flippant gesture with his hand, which somehow reminds me of a shrug. ‘It doesn’t make me a bad man. Especially for the night.’
I’m pretty sure Vee would agree with his sentiment, but it doesn’t make it right. Not for me.
‘I’ll pass, thanks.’ It’s fair to see he doesn’t look devastated, which needles me. ‘I’m not really interested in joining your court of cast-offs.’
‘Look,’ he answers, straightening, ‘it’s not as though it’s a case of me against them.’
Note how he doesn’t include me in this scenario;it’s not a case of me against you, Heather. Me against you, pressed up against the wall, my lips on your neck, making jelly of your legs.My eyes widen with shock, the image of exactly this like the thrust of two fingers between my legs. My body clenches emptily, my cheeks burning and probably red. I force myself to sit straighter, only it feels like the opposite of what I want to do.
‘There are plenty of women who are only interested in a casual thing,’ he continues, unaware. ‘You make it sound like I’m some moustache-twirling villain, luring chaste maidens by nefarious means and tying them to train tracks. I mean, there might be a little light bondage but never without their consent.’
I blink once, twice, and rather heavily, my mind stuck on the candid nature of his words. Bondage. A little light bondage. Who brings that up in passing conversation? Who is that comfortable in their own sexuality? In their own skin? And why has it sent all the blood in my body to my cheeks?
But he did it. He admitted to being a bit of a man slut. It’s one thing to hear it whispered about him, but quite another to get it from the horse’s mouth. I’m pleased when it appears he hasn’t noticed my silence, the moments it has taken to process, to calm myself, as he carries on.
‘I’m straightforward. I’m up front about not wanting to get involved and honest with the women I sleep with in advance.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ I answer snidely because I really don’t get it. How can anyone want to get intimate with someone they don’t know? ‘Only, I’m sure lots of them say the right thing beforehand, dazzled by the Archer Powell effect, yet hoping against hope that they’ll be the special one to capture your heart.’
‘I think you’re doing your sex a disservice, babe. Do yourself a favour, don’t take on any feminist media gigs.’
‘Don’t call me that and don’t presume you know anything about me.’
‘But presume is all we do. It’s all we can do at work. Because cultivating an air of mystery only means people become curious. You wouldn’t believe the things people say about you trying to guess your angle.’
‘I also wouldn’t care. They can say what they like and think what they like because unlike you, I prefer to keep my life private.’
‘I don’t have a sign above my desk,’ he says with a low chuckle.
‘Maybe not, but I’ve seen you fluttering those luxurious lashes at your fan girls to get them to do your bidding.’ I raise my hand, my fingers wiggling ridiculously.
‘And now you’re complimenting my eyelashes. Thanks.’
‘You’re playing with fire.’
‘I can stand the heat.’
‘Not if you want to keep your job. I’m talking about Thursday of course.’
‘Not this again.’ His gaze slides away as though I’m boring him.
‘Yes, this again, because you’re not as clever as you think.’
