‘I’ll get left alone, too.’
‘You’ve really given this some thought.’
‘I’ve had to,’ she almost grates out as she straightens her coat and skirt, the low-lying winter sun making a halo behind her head. She looks so fucking innocent, standing there in her blue duffle coat with the yellow toggles and her matching cutesy shoes.
‘You could wear that getup for Halloween.’
‘Pardon?’ She looks up, her golden halo suddenly turning fiery red.
‘All you’re missing is a pair of fuck-me thigh-high boots, red of course, and you’d be a sexy Paddington Bear.’
‘You’d sexualise a beloved childhood hero?’ Her naturally husky tone is filled with disgust, but that’s what I’d aimed for.
‘Sexualise and defile.’ I close my eyes, tipping my head to the sun’s weak rays as I sit in contemplation for a beat. As I do, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a peep. I open my eyes and tilt my head to her.
‘And if I say no?’
‘Then I expect Allison will back up what I have to say when I go and tell Lambeth what I saw myself.’
‘Then you’d better get used to being sexualised and defiled because it looks like we’re going to a wedding.’
* * *
Contrary to popular opinion, I didn’t drive a woman to the brink at my last place of work. Was she part of the reason I left? Yes, because it turns out you can’t have a civil relationship with someone who can’t let go of the feeling you’ve wronged them somehow. Even when my ex got back from her weekend of pampering, she was still like Maleficent on steroids. So when I was offered this job, I took the lesson I’d learned and moved on with the understanding I wouldn’t get involved with anyone at work again. It had cost me too much in terms of my wardrobe, if nothing else.
Far better I stick to those I could fuck before fucking off without the concern of work-related repercussions. Tinder is a beautiful invention. The creators deserve to win the Nobel Prize for Peace as far as I’m concerned, not that I’ll be needing their services this weekend.
Following our funtête-à-tête,we’d exchanged numbers. You know, so she could call me with helpful suggestions in the coming days, almost like women were an alien species to me.
Yeah, right.
There were calls and texts. Suggestions and reminders. Sometimes snark. But there was always fun to be had. Kind of like when she’d called me yesterday. . .
‘So, on Saturday,’ she’d begun, ‘I know we’re supposed to be together, but I’d appreciate it if you could please keep your eyes above my neckline and your hands to yourself.’
‘That’s not going to be a problem. Blackmail doesn’t come with benefits,babe.’
Did I mean it? Nah.
She thinks this is a done deal, and that she’s in charge. That I’ll do as I’m told. But she’s wrong. Very wrong. Because there will be touching, and there will be inappropriate comments . . . because you reap what you sow.
Someone ought to have taught her that.
‘Please stop calling mebabe.’ She’d aimed for calm, but I could tell her words were delivered through gritted teeth. ‘I know you can behave like the gentleman your mother raised you to be.’
Clearly, she doesn’t know my mother. I’m what you might call a self-made man. I might not yet be at the pinnacle of my career, but what I have, I’ve made through my own sheer bloody-mindedness and with a dogged determination to succeed. I am who I am and I’m where I am despite the hand I was dealt at birth.
‘And under no circumstances is anyone to know about our deal.’
‘The fact that you’re blackmailing me, you mean?’
‘Let’s just stick to our backstory,’ she’d said, hurrying on.
This was my cue to recite our tiny story bible. Our relationship is new, and we’ve kept it under wraps for the sake of privacy. We want to keep it professional at work.
Yawn.
‘Yes, that all sounds great. We’ll go to the ceremony, eat, maybe dance once, and be out of the ballroom by eight sharp.’
