The Executive Floor

by Belinda Wright

  ‘Guess I don’t get a goodbye kiss?’ He looked at her hopefully and she sucked in a shocked breath.

  ‘OK, didn’t think so, I was just checking.’ He laughed.

  Chantelle took her bag and hurried to the lift to head up to the analyst floor. Patsy barely looked at her when she arrived at her desk and Chantelle gratefully settled down and turned on her computer. She hoped that her colleague had forgotten what she’d told her the evening before. She glanced at Patsy, who was focused on her screen.

  Chantelle breathed a silent sigh of relief and opened her emails. Before she started working through them she quickly clicked open the job board. She had to make progress with her applications today. Her CV was ready. She scanned the advertisements and began writing letters.

  At lunchtime Patsy turned to her. ‘OK, Miss Moulier, spill!’ Chantelle felt her cheeks burn. She bit her lip, searching for an explanation, but her mind was blank. She couldn’t lie to her friend anymore. A smile crept over her face. She was dying to talk to someone.

  ‘Let’s go to the kitchen,’ Chantelle whispered, glancing around the office to make sure no one was listening. She followed Patsy to the kitchen and looked away as her colleague’s eyes probed her.

  ‘Who is it?’ Patsy questioned. ‘Who’s the mystery man?’ Her eyes were slightly rimmed with red from staring at the screen all morning. Her curly hair was scraped back in a bun. Chantelle ran a hand through her own loose hair and let out a breath.

  ‘It started the other day when I was working late in the office.’ Chantelle swallowed, wondering how to say it. ‘I didn’t want to go home because I was having trouble with Neil again.’

  ‘Eurrgh.’ Patsy rolled her eyes. ‘That guy. Why don’t you just move out?’

  ‘I know, I know. I will as soon as I can. But I can’t rent another place now, not until I have a permanent job. As soon as I find something I will move immediately.’ Patsy pursed her lips. Chantelle put her hand on her arm. ‘Anyway, I was the only analyst left on the floor. Everyone else had gone home. Then Granger…’ She smiled and corrected herself. ‘Mr Carmont came onto the analyst floor. It was late, the lights were out, just a few desk lights left on. He came through the door looking for someone to support him with his Excel file. It was scary, I was the only one left here. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to speak to him but, well, I was the only one here. And he needed help with Excel.’

  Patsy’s eyes widened. ‘You helped him?’

  Chantelle shrugged. ‘What else could I do? I had to help him. He asked me to.’

  ‘Wow! And you were alone with him? Here? In his office?’

  Chantelle nodded, her eyes sparkling. ‘I went to his office. Sorted out his macros problem. Then when he was leaving later that evening I was still here. He offered to buy me dinner,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You went to dinner with Granger Carmont?’ Patsy hissed, a look of disbelief on her face. Chantelle struggled to hide her smile, and nodded.

  ‘Yes. And we were talking, and I explained why I was working late, you know avoiding Neil, so he asked me to flat-sit for him while he’s away in the US next week.’

  ‘Flat-sit for Granger Carmont?’ Patsy frowned. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re going to flat-sit for Mr Carmont while he’s in the US? No, you’re not!’ She shook her head.

  Chantelle nodded. ‘I am! He asked me. To look after his dog.’

  ‘But what about Cynthia? His girlfriend? Can’t she do it? Doesn’t she mind you staying there?’ Patsy’s eyes were still wide with disbelief.

  Chantelle shook her head. ‘They’ve split up.’

  ‘Oh!’ Patsy frowned. ‘Yeah, that’s right, I read something about that the other day. She’s seeing some guy called …’

  ‘He says they were never really dating anyway.’

  ‘You lucky devil – I can’t believe that. You’ll be staying at his place!’

  Chantelle nodded. She didn’t mention the fact that she had already stayed there, or about what had happened in his office yesterday, or that she’d woken up in his sexy arms this morning. She kept all that to herself.

  ‘But Patsy, please, you can’t tell anyone. I really don’t want this getting around at work. I’m just doing him a favour, that’s all, and it helps me out because it means I don’t have to go home each night to be spied on in the shower by Neil.’

  Patsy made a gesture of zipping her mouth shut. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell a soul. He must like you, though, to trust you with his place.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It’s just a business arrangement.’

  ‘But still, you’ll be in his house! You’ll get to see all his stuff. Oh wow, I wish it was me. Hey, maybe I can stop by?’

  Chantelle frowned. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’m only looking after his dog. I don’t think I’m allowed to have people over.’ Patsy looked disappointed and Chantelle put her hand on her arm. ‘Sorry, Pats. I just don’t think it would be fair.’

  ‘No, I guess not.’ Patsy crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You’re so lucky. Why couldn’t it have been me working late that night?’

  ‘Because you’re not searching for a job and stuck in limbo not knowing whether you will be staying in the country or moving home.’

  ‘I guess not.’

  They made their way back to their desks and sat down. Chantelle fought to keep the smile off her face as she worked for the rest of the day. Every now and then an image of Granger would flash into her mind, giving her warm special feeling.

  That afternoon Granger came to the analyst floor. Chantelle’s eyes flicked up from her screen – it was as if she sensed his presence. Across the room, he met her gaze and a flicker of a smile passed over his face as he walked to the senior analyst’s desk.

  ‘He’s so attractive,’ Patsy moaned, also looking up and watching him. ‘Look at that smile, that body. I’d give anything to be the one looking after his place. I’d make sure I looked after him, too!’

  ‘Hmmm, I guess,’ Chantelle muttered, unable to meet her friend’s eyes. She hated lying, but there was no way she could tell Patsy all the truth. That she had actually slept with Granger – more than once. She trembled, thinking about her secret, and that special smile forced its way on to her face again.

  Somehow, she made it through the rest of the day. She went back to her house after work and packed her things for the week. She went into the kitchen and wrote a note to Neil on the back of an envelope, telling him she would be gone for several days and not to worry about her. Then she stood by the front door waiting for Granger. She checked her watch. It was six twenty-five. He was picking her up at six thirty. She paced looking around the living room. There were two mismatched sofas, one dark brown, worn at the arms. The other was a dirty beige colour. This house had been let to students in the past and you could tell. It was very different from Granger’s living room with his designer chair, those leather sofas. She looked down at the dark red carpet. It was trodden down and stained. She breathed deeply, remembering the feeling of the deep cream rugs under her bare feet at Granger’s. She jumped when the doorbell rang. She grabbed her bag and opened the door.

  ‘Salut!’ She smiled at Granger standing on the doorstep. His smooth hair was ruffled, his tie was crooked and there was a smile on his face.

  ‘Ready?’ He glanced behind her. Chantelle picked up her bag, stepped out of the house, and pulled the door closed behind her.

  ‘He’s not in,’ she said as Granger took the bag out of her hand and carried it to the boot of his car.

  ‘Good for him,’ Granger answered.

  They got into the car and Granger revved the engine; the loud rumble sounded, and they glided on to the road. He put his hand out and squeezed her knee. ‘It’s so good to have you next to me. I like it.’

  ‘Yes, this is nice.’

 
‘I’m hungry,’ he muttered. ‘What do you want to eat? I’ll order whatever you want.’

  ‘Order?’ Chantelle frowned. ‘You don’t need to order. I’ll cook.’

  ‘But I don’t have any stuff.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll work it out. If you drop me at the supermarket, I’ll get some things.’

  ‘I didn’t invite you over to cook for me. I’m the host, I should be entertaining you.’

  She shook her head. ‘I want to. We haven’t eaten home cooking for a few days. I miss it.’

  ‘I haven’t eaten home cooking for longer than that!’ Granger laughed.

  ‘What do you normally eat?’ she asked.

  ‘I normally eat out. Or order in. I’m not much of a cook.’

  ‘Even better! Then I’m definitely cooking.’

  ‘OK, there’s a Sainsburys up the road. We can go there.’

  ‘You can drop me, I’ll walk back. You don’t have to come in,’ Chantelle said.

  ‘No way. If you’re going to cook for us, then I’m coming to the shops with you to carry the bags.’ He slid the Porsche into an empty parking bay. They climbed out and headed to the shop. Chantelle picked up a basket. Granger blinked at the bright lights inside the supermarket. ‘It’s been a while since I actually went food shopping,’ he said, following her down the aisle, looking around. ‘Is it always this busy?’

  ‘Everyone has the same idea, I guess, picking up something for dinner. It’s Friday night,’ Chantelle said, selecting some butter.

  ‘What you are going to cook?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a surprise!’

  He laughed. ‘I like surprises, I guess. Shall I take that?’ He took the basket out of her hand as she continued to lead him around the shop and load things into it. They went to the till and he paid as Chantelle piled the shopping into bags.

  They drove back to his apartment, unpacked the boot and headed to the lift.

  ‘We’ve got a lot of stuff here.’ Granger looked at the bags.

  Chantelle frowned. ‘Maybe I over-shopped a little.’

  ‘As long as you don’t spend all night in the kitchen, I don’t mind.’

  He unlocked the door and opened the apartment. ‘It’s good you’re cooking, actually, because I still have a bit of work to do. Unless you need me to help you in the kitchen?’ He put the bags on the floor and slipped his arms around her waist. ‘I could be your assistant? Your sous chef …’

  She turned her face to meet his smile and he kissed her. ‘I think I can manage.’ She laughed. Feeling something push against her ankle she reached down to stroke Rocky.

  ‘If you’re sure. I do have a ton of work to do for tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? Saturday?’

  He laughed. ‘Ah, that’s something I should let you know. I work a six-day week.’

  ‘Really? Impressive.’

  Granger took a deep breath. ‘But when I’m back, I’m going to work on that. It’s one of my resolutions. Better work–life balance. The thing is, work always was my life, so it was kind of perfectly balanced.’ He shrugged his shoulders and Chantelle had to laugh at the way he described it.

  ‘But seriously, I could have stayed at mine tonight,’ she said, following him into the kitchen. ‘If you need to work?’

  He stopped and turned to her. ‘I want you here. Even if I’m working.’ He stroked her cheek and looked into her eyes. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I can put a movie on for you after dinner? Or Netflix? Or you can go and swim, whatever you want.’

  ‘Granger, I don’t mind you working. I just don’t want to be in your way,’ she said.

  He grinned. ‘You won’t be in my way. But I have to say, seeing you here, in my kitchen, looking so beautiful …’ He ran his hand through her hair, holding a strand then letting it slide out of his fingers. He put his arms on her shoulders and edged her backwards until she bumped up against the kitchen cabinet. ‘Working is actually the last thing on my mind right now.’ Chantelle met his eyes, a warmth radiating through her body. He was so close, so real, his eyes fixed on her, his hair dishevelled in a sexy way. He smelled of aftershave and mint. Her heart beat faster, loud in her ears. He lowered his mouth and kissed her. She tilted her head up to meet him. In one movement he lifted her so that she was sitting on the kitchen surface. He moved his body between her parted legs, his warm hands either side of her thighs. She took his head in her hands, cupping his face gently and touching his hair. She could feel his fingers sliding up her skirt, searching for the waistband of her knickers. When he found it she felt him tugging and slipping them down. He lifted her slightly so her underwear slid off. There was a burning heat between her legs; she shivered in anticipation. Her body was longing for his touch.

  A loud whine interrupted them. Their mouths broke apart and they both turned to look at the kitchen door. Rocky whined again; it was a high-pitched, painful sound.

  ‘Rock,’ Granger moaned and rolled his eyes. Rocky whined a third time and Granger glanced back at Chantelle. She could see the desire burning in his eyes. He ran a finger down her cheek, then dragged his thumb across her lips. He looked back at Rocky. ‘Can’t you cross your legs, boy? I’m kind of in the middle of something here …’

  The dog let out a loud short bark. Granger sighed. ‘OK, OK, I’m coming.’ He moved away from Chantelle and adjusted his clothes. Chantelle quickly pulled up her knickers and slid off the kitchen surface. Granger looked at her, disappointment visible on his face. ‘I was going to say don’t move a muscle. But …’ He gave a defeated shrug.

  She laughed. ‘I’ve got to get on with dinner anyway, or it will be too late.’

  ‘Sure.’ Granger headed to the door, where Rocky was already sitting waiting. ‘C’mon on then, you,’ she heard him say to the dog as they went out. ‘I know, I know, I wasn’t being fair, but you’ve seen her …’ The front door closed.

  Chantelle laughed and unpacked the shopping. She slipped out of her high heels and kicked them to the side of the room, and looked around for an apron before giving up, realising there wasn’t one. She turned on the oven and found a lone bowl in one of the cupboards and set about making the pastry. She didn’t need to weigh the ingredients. She could do it by sight, having grown up making pastry with her mum and then, after her parents died, with her aunt. She rubbed together the butter and flour and created the round ball of pastry that she popped into the fridge. There wasn’t much time to chill it, but every minute was worth it, she decided. She took out the disposable round aluminium tray she had just bought from Sainsburys and buttered it before getting the pastry out of the fridge again. She flattened it with her hands as best she could, placed it into the dish and put it in the oven to bake.

  She started preparing the quiche filling, feeling excited to be cooking for Granger. Had he really only been eating out and getting takeaways? She looked around the kitchen and decided it was true. Cynthia may have taken some of his stuff, but he probably didn’t have much kitchen equipment in the first place. She smiled. Her quiche wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be good and better than takeaway. There was something special about home cooking, knowing what ingredients had been used and knowing that things had been prepared well. She didn’t cook much at her shared house; the kitchen was too dirty, and it wasn’t the sort of place where she liked to spend much time.

  Chantelle rinsed out the one bowl then whisked eggs in it. She had managed to get the quiche into the oven by the time she heard the door bang and Granger and Rocky got back. She quickly slipped her heels back on and put her head around door.

  Granger’s cheeks were pink from the fresh air. ‘Sorry we were so long. I made the old boy do a double circuit of the park to ensure he really got his money’s worth out of that walk he was so bloody desperate to have.’ Granger slipped off his jacket. ‘And I needed time to cool off!’ Rocky headed for the chair, climbed up and then flopped
down. Granger gave Chantelle a look. ‘I think he hates me now.’ She looked at the dog, his face resting on his paws, his eyes already closed, and she laughed.

  ‘You gotta love him, though,’ Granger said. ‘Look at his little face.’ Chantelle laughed harder. Granger walked into the kitchen and sniffed. ‘Something smells great.’

  ‘It’s almost ready. I’m just going to make a salad, then we can eat. And you can get on with your work.’

  ‘What can I do to help? Set the table?’

  ‘Great,’ Chantelle said. Granger rummaged in the cupboards and drawers and managed to come up with two mismatched plates and some cutlery. He opened a bottle of wine and set it on the side to breathe. Chantelle prepared the salad while he put on some music and turned on his computer.

  ‘How long till we eat?’ Granger asked, coming back to the kitchen and slipping an arm around her waist.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ she answered, and peered into the oven.

  ‘Do you mind if I take a quick shower?’

  ‘No! Go on, and when you come back it will be ready.’

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ Granger said, already pulling off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. Chantelle watched him climbing the stairs, undressing, surprising herself with the desire she felt. She imagined touching him later that night in bed and her body heated further, then her cheeks burned with embarrassment at her own thoughts. She glanced at Rocky, but the dog’s eyes were closed.

  Chantelle hummed to the music as she finished the salad, placed it on the table and took the quiche out of the oven to cool. Then she lit a candle and dimmed the lights. She sat down at the table and waited.

  Soon Granger came down the stairs. He had changed into a white T-shirt that clung to his biceps and skimmed his stomach. He had pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans. He feet were bare, and his wet hair was combed off his face.

  ‘Voila!’ She indicated the table.