The Executive Floor

by Belinda Wright

  ‘You had to work on a macro problem and it wasn’t exciting?’ Patsy repeated. ‘You were in Granger Carmont’s office. Alone. Alone with him. And you tell me it wasn’t very exciting!’

  ‘Patsy, we were working on Excel. It’s not as if we were, you know … having sex,’ Chantelle said, unable to stop the image of Granger moving into her appearing in her mind. She fought to withhold her smile.

  ‘So, tell me the other details then. What’s he like up close? What’s his office like?’ Patsy pulled her chair around to Chantelle’s desk.

  ‘The office is impressive. Glass walls, huge window. And a comfortable leather sofa,’ Chantelle told her.

  ‘What about Granger? What was it like being in the same room with him? Did you find him sexy?’

  Chantelle thought back; an image of Granger standing in front of her unzipping his trousers appeared in her mind. She blinked it away, only for it to be replaced by one of him shirt half open, his muscular body exposed. ‘I didn’t really notice,’ she muttered to Patsy.

  ‘You didn’t notice? Chantelle? What a waste! What about those dreamy blue eyes? Did you notice those, at least?’

  Chantelle remembered Granger’s face above hers, his eyes locked onto hers as waves of pleasure flashed through him and he came inside her. ‘I guess he does have nice eyes,’ she admitted.

  Patsy shook her head. ‘You’re unbelievable, Chantelle! You’re in the office of one of the most eligible bachelors and you don’t even notice him – too focused on spreadsheets. Perhaps you would be a good match for him! From what I hear, despite his hotness he’s a complete workaholic.’

  ‘Really?’ Chantelle said, trying to sound uninterested. So maybe it was right, maybe he didn’t spend all his time womanising. She stared at her screen without seeing anything; her head was spinning. She had to get a grip or she would never make it through the rest of the day. She breathed deeply, replaying the events in her mind.

  They’d had sex for a second time and he had invited her to dinner. And … she’d almost forgotten, their sex consuming her mind, he had asked her to stay at his apartment. Did he mean it? That would be amazing if he did. It would be great to have some space and somewhere to stay while she searched for a job and a new place to live.

  The feeling of his lips against hers came back to her mind and she shivered, sitting straight up in her chair and focusing on the screen again.

  What would Granger get out of the arrangement? He didn’t need a dog-sitter. Surely, he could pay any number of people to do that for him. So why was he offering her his apartment? She needed to be smart. She couldn’t let herself be used and she didn’t want to get hurt. Staying at his place might just be playing with fire. Warning bells were sounding in her head. It was too much.

  She had agreed to dinner with him, but she couldn’t take up him up on the offer of apartment sitting. She had enjoyed sleeping with him and wanted to see him again, to sleep with him again, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that a fling would be the most she could hope for. Staying at his place was just a step too far, and she would be the one who lost out in the end, she was sure of it.

  An email flashed up on her screen. CARMONT, GRANGER. Her heart fluttered to her mouth.

  G/ What time do you want to leave today?

  Chantelle felt her cheeks burn. She glanced across to make sure Patsy wasn’t watching. Her colleague would have a heart attack if she knew Chantelle had just received an email from Granger Carmont and was about to write back to him.

  She read his email again. He wanted to leave with her. To drive her home with him for dinner, at his place. Her fingers trembled on the keyboard, and her pulse sped up. She couldn’t wait to see him again. She forced her breathing to slow and glanced at Patsy again. Then she typed back.

  C/ I can leave whenever you want.

  G/ 7 p.m.?

  Seven o’clock was perfect. Patsy would be gone by then, so she wouldn’t have to explain why she wasn’t taking the bus.

  C/ OK, great.

  But as it drew nearer to seven, Patsy showed no signs of leaving. Chantelle began getting nervous. At 6.55, when Chantelle turned off her computer, Patsy was still at her desk. Chantelle glanced at her screen. She was still working on a report.

  ‘I’m going to head off,’ Chantelle said, hoping her tone didn’t sound unnatural. Her colleague looked up. ‘Hang on, I’ll walk with you. I’ve had enough for today.’

  Chantelle froze. Patsy started putting her things into her bag and shutting down her computer.

  ‘No, I really need to hurry,’ Chantelle muttered.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m ready.’ Patsy smiled, causing a pang of guilt in Chantelle’s stomach for lying to her friend.

  ‘Patsy, I’m not going to the bus stop tonight,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You’re not taking the bus? How are you getting home then?’ Patsy frowned; her face was pale with tiredness.

  ‘I’m going to town. I’m getting a lift.’

  Patsy eyed her. ‘You’re getting a lift into town? Who with?’

  Chantelle felt her face redden. ‘I can’t say.’ She watched her colleague’s confusion turn to disappointment and instantly felt bad.

  ‘Sorry, Pats.’

  ‘Chantelle Moulier! Why won’t you tell me? You’ve met a man, haven’t you? Who is it?’

  ‘Patsy, sorry, I will tell you, I promise, just not yet.’ She looked at her watch. It was already gone seven. She grabbed her computer and her bag. ‘I will tell you as soon as I can,’ she muttered, and hurried out of the office feeling terrible. How could she say that she was going home with Granger Carmont? The last thing she needed was people at work talking about her. Then she felt bad for thinking that her colleague would gossip about her. Of course, she could trust Patsy not to tell anyone. She would tell her tomorrow.

  Granger glanced at his watch. It was 7.05. Where was she? He hated to be kept waiting, especially when he could have stayed in the office working. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Chantelle’s face came to his mind – her rose lips, pale skin framed by long dark hair, her curvy body. His pulse sped up, melting his irritation. Chantelle was someone he was willing to wait for.

  He whipped his fingers along the dashboard checking for dust. He was losing it, surely? Not only had he broken his rule and started an affair with a company employee, but he had just had sex in the office. In his office. He almost wished he didn’t have the trip to the States ahead of him, so he could focus on getting Chantelle out of his system. It wasn’t normal, the way she had got under his skin so quickly, and he sure hoped it would pass with time. He couldn’t afford the distraction or work would suffer.

  Movement next to the lift in the corner of the garage caught his eye. He watched the lift door slide open and Chantelle hurried out. She was still putting on her coat, giving him a glimpse of the silk blouse that hugged her shapely chest and her narrow hip-hugging skirt. She pulled her coat closed and fastened the belt tight around her waist. She looked every inch the glamorous businesswoman, he thought with a smile. He jumped out of the car and headed around to the passenger side to hold the door for her, taking her computer bag from her and dropping it into the boot.

  ‘Desolé! I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting,’ she said as he slid the Porsche out of the parking space and up out of the car park.

  ‘I got stuck talking to a colleague – I couldn’t get away.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell them that Mr Carmont was waiting for you? I’m sure that would have hurried them up.’ Granger grinned.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Chantelle said. ‘I don’t want to start any rumours.’

  ‘No? Why not? Sometimes the odd rumour is a good thing.’

  Chantelle stared at him, her mouth open. ‘No, it is not. I don’t want people talking about me.’

  Granger turned to her and grinned. Her scowl melted. ‘You’
re joking.’

  He laughed. ‘Of course, I’m joking! I hate rumours and gossip. Especially in my company.’ He eased the car out of the junction and turned towards Summerville. Chantelle clasped her hands together in her lap wondering what to say. Granger glanced at her as he drove. ‘How was your day?’ he asked.

  ‘I guess you could call it eventful,’ Chantelle said, with a smile.

  Granger grinned. ‘Any particular event stand out?’

  ‘Yes, one definitely does,’ Chantelle said, and looked at him. ‘And you? How was your day?

  ‘Ah, mine was a standard day. Arrived early, signed some contracts, met with a few people, made love to a beautiful employee in my office. Pretty much a routine day for me.’

  ‘Hey,’ Chantelle gave him a playful tap, ‘you said it was the first time.’

  He braked as they arrived at his apartment building. ‘Yes, it was the first time. And yes, my day was very eventful. Pretty spectacular, if I’m honest. Maybe we should do it again?’ He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but smile back. ‘But don’t make a habit of keeping me waiting – makes me feel like I’m losing my authority.’ His brow creased. ‘It’s not good for my ego!’

  Chantelle laughed. ‘I will make it up to you. I’ll cook dinner tonight,’ she said, as he parked in his underground car park.

  Granger looked at her. ‘A lady who can cook?’

  Chantelle smiled. ‘I love cooking.’ She followed Granger into his apartment and looked around. Seeing it for the second time it was every bit as breathtaking, more so even. As before, she was drawn to the huge window and the view of Summerville. She was staring at it when Granger came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. Chantelle’s body responded to his warmth, but she felt nervous in spite of herself. She forced herself to breathe evenly. ‘I could look out here for hours,’ she said.

  ‘I do. It really helps me to relax. It was one of the main reasons I took the apartment. The view is so fascinating.’

  She felt something brush against her leg and looked down. Rocky was gazing up at her. ‘Salut,’ she whispered, pleased to see the old dog. She bent down to scratch his head. ‘He’s so sweet.’

  ‘Because he’s hungry!’ Granger frowned. ‘He’s probably in shock to see me home so early. I’d better get him something.’ He went into the kitchen. Chantelle slipped off her coat and followed him.

  ‘Show me where everything is, and I can prepare dinner.’

  He pointed to the fridge. She peered inside. There was a pint of milk, some butter and a couple of bottles of white wine. ‘Ah,’ she murmured and opened the cupboards. All were pretty much empty. ‘But you don’t even have any pans? Or plates?’ she asked, confused.

  Granger looked up from where he was bending down pouring biscuits into the dog bowl. ‘Oh yeah, that’s right. Cynthia took some of that stuff and I haven’t got around to replacing it.’

  ‘Cynthia took your plates and pans?’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t even ask.’ Chantelle was confused. Granger ran a hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t have much in the first place but, at some point, she thought it was a good idea to replace all my kitchen stuff with hers. I was busy with work and I guess I was only kind of half listening and agreed. Anyway, my stuff is long gone, and she came back the other day when I was at work and took all the new stuff. Teaches me not to pay attention when a lady speaks. That reminds me, I should ask her for my key back.’ He looked at the empty cupboard. ‘I guess it’s going to be pretty tough to cook without anything. Perhaps we should revert to the original plan of getting a takeaway.’ He went to a drawer and pulled out a pile of leaflets. ‘At least I’ve got wine,’ he said, taking out a chilled bottle of Sauvignon from the fridge. ‘I’d love to hear what you think about this one.’

  He opened the cupboards looking for glasses but came up short. ‘Hmmm, I’ve only got glass tumblers, this is pretty embarrassing. I’m showing myself up now, aren’t I?’ He ran his hand through his hair, thinking. ‘I know.’ He disappeared, returning moments later with a presentation box of cut-glass wine goblets. They were engraved with ‘GRANGER CARMON – 2001’.

  ‘I was given these as a prize for the best project at university. I don’t think they’re supposed to be used, more for decoration purposes, but desperate times and all that.’ He poured the wine into the glasses and handed one to her. He held up his glass. ‘To a new start,’ he murmured, looking into her eyes. Chantelle felt goosebumps appear on her skin. They touched their glasses together making a chiming sound.

  Chantelle breathed deeply as she held the glass to her nose, then sipped the wine. ‘Hmmm, it’s good.’

  ‘It is, huh? That’s what I thought. It wasn’t too expensive either. I bought a few cases of it when I visited a customer in France last month.’ Granger smiled, looking so proud of himself that Chantelle had to laugh.

  ‘Good choice!’ she confirmed.

  ‘Come with me.’ He took her hand, guided her to the living room and positioned her on the sofa in front of the window. He picked up a remote control and turned on some music. He dimmed the lights and lit a candle on the side table.

  ‘I’m going to take the old boy out for a quick bathroom break and order dinner for us. You sit here and relax. I’ll be back in five minutes,’ Granger said, taking up the lead and whistling to Rocky.

  ‘Why don’t I come with you?’ Chantelle said, standing up. ‘I’ve been in the office all day too. I would like to breathe some fresh air. Then Rocky can have a longer walk. He’s been in all day too.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Granger said. ‘What do you say, Rock?’ He looked down, but the dog was already trotting in the direction of the door, his stumpy tail wagging. Granger looked at Chantelle and raised an eyebrow. ‘Guess that’s a yes?’

  Chantelle laughed and pulled on her coat and followed them to the door.

  Outside they crossed the road and walked in the direction of the park. Granger held the lead, but it wasn’t attached to Rocky’s collar. The dog hurried happily forward a few paces ahead of them. Chantelle put her hands deep into her pockets and shivered. ‘It’s getting cold,’ she said.

  ‘Yep,’ Granger agreed, kicking a pile of leaves. ‘Autumn is well and truly here.’

  ‘I love this time of year,’ Chantelle said, looking around the base of the tree they were passing for a stick. She selected a short one the length of her forearm and picked it up. ‘It’s exciting, the shorter days, the build-up to Christmas. All the celebrations.’

  ‘Is Halloween a big thing in France?’ Granger asked.

  Chantelle shook her head. ‘Not that much. It’s getting bigger I think but it’s more an American thing. It is not something we ever celebrated in my village. My aunt often makes soupe de citrouille – pumpkin soup – but we don’t cut faces into them or anything. We have a repas d’automne, that’s my favourite.’

  ‘Repas d’automne?’ Granger repeated, trying to mimic her French accent.

  ‘An autumn meal. Aunt Caro decorates the table with golden leaves and berries and we eat good food and drink good wine.’

  ‘Of course,’ Granger said. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything else.’

  Chantelle threw the stick and Rocky scampered away after it. They stopped walking to watch as the dog located the stick in the dark grass.

  ‘How about you? I guess this time of year is quite different in Morocco?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Granger nodded, his eyes on Rocky.

  ‘Do you have lots of family events?’ she asked.

  ‘Not so many. I don’t get back there often, too much work, you know.’ He grinned. Rocky arrived back with the stick. Granger pulled it out of his mouth and threw it again.

  ‘Do you see you family often?’ Chantelle asked.

  Granger shook his head. ‘My father is busy, he’s in court a lot.’

 
‘Court?’

  ‘Hmm, he’s a solicitor. C’mon Rock,’ Granger called to the dog, who had become distracted sniffing around the flower beds. They continued walking along the path, where old-fashioned lamp posts lit the way.

  ‘A solicitor?’ Chantelle said. ‘I thought you said he was an accountant?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, he’s an accountant at a solicitors’ firm,’ he said, and jogged after Rocky. The dog offered up the stick that was in his mouth. Granger went to take it, but the dog refused to let go, shaking his head in a game of tug of war. Granger laughed, pulling at the stick. The dog growled playfully.

  ‘OK, you win. You keep it.’ Granger held up his hands in defeat. Rocky’s eyes widened in disappointment and he nudged Granger’s leg with his muzzle.

  ‘Hey! Watch the trousers, they’re designer,’ Granger told the dog, then in mock exasperation bent down and took hold of the stick to play again. Chantelle couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘Ha! I won,’ Granger exclaimed, standing up and waving up the stick. He threw it again and Rocky headed off after it. Granger put out his arm and pulled Chantelle closer to him, resting his arm around her waist as they walked.

  ‘It must have been hard losing your parents,’ Granger said, his arm tightening around her waist.

  ‘It was.’ Chantelle sighed.

  ‘I can tell you don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to make you sad.’

  ‘It’s not that. I do want to talk about them. There was a period, when I was about thirteen, I started having panic attacks because I was so scared I would forget them. I was eleven when they died and memories fade. I thought I would wake up one day and not remember the sweet songs my mum used to sing to me to help me sleep. Or the way my dad used to bounce me on his knee and pretend I was riding a pony.’ A tear escaped from her eye. ‘I love talking about them. It helps keep their memory alive, in here.’ She touched her chest and Granger stopped, held out his arms and pulled her to him, encasing her in the warmth and strength of his embrace.