by L.H. Cosway
Oh, God, somebody gag my verbal diarrhoea, please.
I stared at King. King stared at me. His expression was indecipherable until he shook his head and let out a gentle laugh. Then he surprised the shit out of me when he closed the door, stepped inside, and dropped down beside me. He threw his arms up and rested his head in his hands, kicking his legs out.
“It is quite swanky in here,” he allowed.
A beat of silence elapsed before I had to ask, “Am I fired?”
King’s eyes slid to mine as he let out a long sigh. I thought he might be enjoying making me sweat before he finally answered, “Luckily for you, I’m in a decidedly good mood today, so no, you’re not fired. I’d appreciate it, though, if you let me know the next time you feel like eating lunch in my bathroom. I could have been in here taking a shower.” He grinned at me before putting on a face of mock horror. “Or, God forbid, having a number two.”
He whispered the words “number two,” and I burst out laughing. I swear, it was the last thing I’d expected him to say. He was pretty funny when he wanted to be.
I swiped my fingers over my heart. “Okay, cross my heart, I’ll give you notice the next time. Number twos are not something I want to witness.”
He waggled his brow and leaned in a fraction closer, bumping my shoulder with his. “Ah, but you wouldn’t be adverse to a shower?”
His question took me by surprise, and I was doubly surprised by the faintly heated look he gave me. My surprise, combined with my frazzlement, caused me to blurt out a whopper of a lie. “Oh, well, being a lesbian and all, seeing you in the buff wouldn’t really bother me.”
Why, why, why, Alexis? Why did you say that?
King eyed me shrewdly, his expression incredulous. “You’re gay…seriously?”
I pursed my lips together and swallowed. Now that the lie was out, there was no taking it back. Then I’d have to come up with a reason for lying, and that would mean telling him the way he looked at me made me have some very unprofessional thoughts about him. And yeah, no way was I doing that. No way.
“Yep. Gay as a…spring day on the first of May.”
Jesus. I had no idea where that weirdness had just spewed from. He studied my features, and I didn’t know what he was going to say next. Then he gave me a playful grin before asking brazenly, “Always or mostly?”
The cheeky little…I stared at him head on and continued lying. “Always.”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh, well, at least this means we’re ticking a box in the old equal opportunities survey.” I could tell by his tone that he was joking. But still, I needed to change the subject. Perhaps he’d forget about the lie. After all, he was a busy man and surely took in a lot of new information on a daily basis. Perhaps the “Alexis being a lesbian” info would get lost amid the masses.
“You have a picture of Elaine King in your office,” I said. “Any relation?”
His expression grew clouded, his demeanour more serious now as he answered soberly, “Yes, she’s my mother.”
“Wow. That’s some talented gene pool you come from. Do you play piano, too?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yes, actually. Mum began teaching me as a boy. Of course, I play purely for recreation. Mum is the star.”
“She’s very beautiful,” I added.
“Yes,” King agreed, frowning. “She is. It’s a pity the world doesn’t get to see it anymore.”
I wanted to ask him why that was, but I didn’t want to pry. Besides, I’d succeeded in changing the subject, and that was good enough for me. I wrapped up the last of my sandwich, got up from the couch, and gave him a friendly smile. “Well, Cambridge, I’d better get back to work. No rest for the wicked.”
He narrowed his gaze playfully, and I was relieved to see the humour return to his features. I didn’t like him sad and serious. “Let’s leave Cambridge out of it. It’s Mr King to you, Oliver at a push.”
“How do you feel about Cambo?”
One eyebrow shot up as he joked, “Cambo as in Cambodia?”
“Nah, Cambo as in, I came all over your boobs.”
What I’d said was probably pushing the limits of boss/employee appropriate chitchat, but he’d been overstepping the boundaries just as much as I had during our short time in the bathroom. Therefore, I wasn’t as worried about his reaction as I might have been.
I’ll give him credit — King didn’t miss a beat as he laughed loudly and shook his head. “Oh, my God, you really are a lesbian.”
Three
The rest of my first week went by, and I didn’t see much of King. The man was one busy banker. However, on Wednesday, the day after our bathroom chat, I arrived back from my morning break to find a Post-It note stuck to my keyboard. It was from my boss. He had really messy handwriting, but I managed to make it out nonetheless. It read:
Alexis,
I have lunch meetings all this week, so my swanky bathroom is free and at your disposal should you wish to avail of it. Just clean up the crumbs when you’re done.
Mr King
I was positively gleeful that he was giving me permission to use his bathroom as my own personal dining area and took full advantage of the offer. Besides, it was nice to have a little sanctuary away from my co-workers. I was fond of Eleanor, and Gillian was nice enough, despite her habit of flirting with any and every man who came into the office. But still, I cherished my hour in King’s bathroom. It was my thinking time to eat and relax without the constant need to be conversational.
I had a swing in my step as I walked home from the tube station Friday evening. Karla and I were going to our ska night, and I couldn’t wait to get dolled up and hit the town. After a week stuck in the office, I was more than ready to let my hair down. Maybe I’d even meet a man. Since my breakup with Stu was only a couple of months in my rearview mirror, I hadn’t really given much thought to dipping my toes back in the dating pool. But now that I had this new job, I also had a newfound boost of confidence. Yeah, I could definitely pull tonight if I put my mind to it.
I ate a quick dinner that Karla threw together for us, then hopped in the shower. Fresh and clean and wrapped in a towel, I stood by my closet and took inventory of my clothes, trying to decide what to wear. My wardrobe was a bit of a mishmash of styles; I liked to wear eye-catching patterns. In the end, I chose a pair of slinky leopard-print leggings, a black halter top that cupped my tits nicely, a chunky gold necklace, big hoop earrings, and a pair of stripy green and black wedge heels.
Shut up, I looked fabulous.
Standing by my full-length mirror, I began straightening my wavy hair and took in my appearance. The mismatched patterns were purposeful. Besides, you had to dress funky for a ska night. It was expected.
“Great outfit,” said Karla as she came into my room. “And those pants make your arse look fantastic.”
“Why, thanks,” I said, grinning and switching off the hair straightener. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Karla wore a tight red pencil skirt and a stripy black and white top. She had the pale skin, red hair, and blue eyes of someone with a definite hint of Irish in their lineage. I, on the other hand, inherited my looks from my already mentioned crazy Greek mother (crazy in the best way) and had dark brown hair, almost black eyes, and an olive complexion. I also had an ample chest and a definite arse going on.
After I applied a bit of makeup, we shared a quick glass of wine before heading out. The Silver Bullet was totes hipster and always putting on random themed nights. At twenty-seven, and Karla being twenty-eight, we were probably a little old to be coming here. But whatever. The day I stopped going dancing would be the day they put me in my grave.
The ska night was in full swing when we walked in to the upbeat saxophone stylings of “One Step Beyond” by Madness. I didn’t even bother going to the bar first to get a drink. Instead, I grabbed Karla’s hand and led her to the dance floor, where we proceeded
to bop and jump up and down like a pair of overenthusiastic toddlers.
I was lost in ska heaven when I felt a pair of arms go around my waist. Turning, I found my friend Bradley grinning down at me, wearing a wife-beater vest and a pair of canary-yellow jeans. Bradley was my brother from another mother who loved the cock. And yeah, camp as a row of tents. He’d gone to school with both Karla and me, and now worked as a pretty successful fashion photographer.
“Lexie! I haven’t seen you in ages,” he shouted in my ear. “What have you been up to?”
Fluttering my eyelashes, I replied jokingly, “Oh, you know, the usual. Leo Di Caprio offered to whisk me away for a dirty weekend and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He let out a yip of laughter and took my hand in his, leading me towards the bar. Karla followed, and Bradley turned to give her a quick hug and a kiss hello. He called to the barman, ordering a round of shots before turning back to me.
“I’m glad I bumped into you,” he said. “I’ve actually been meaning to give you a call, because I have a proposition.”
I grinned and knocked back the shot; it burned good as it went down. I liked Bradley’s propositions. They were almost always guaranteed to have “fun” stamped all over them.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yesss,” he said. I could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that he was more than a little tipsy. “I’ve just started working for Baha. You ever heard of them?”
“Can’t say that I have,” I replied as Karla’s elbow knocked against mine while she drank her shot.
“Wellll, they’re a really popular fashion label, and I’m going to be working with them on an upcoming shoot for their plus-size range. They’re looking for some new faces, and I immediately thought of you.”
I sputtered a laugh. “Me? What, like, you want me to model?”
Bradley whacked me playfully on the arm. “No, I want you to make the tea. Of course, I want you to model. You’ll be perfect.”
I pretended to play it cool and joked, “Oh, well, I’d say yes and all, but if I showed up, they’d probably tell me to take my Kate Moss–lookin’ self back from whence I came.”
“Ha! Good one,” Bradley deadpanned. “Are you up for it or what?”
“Eh, yes, I’m up for it. When, where, and can I keep the clothes after? But, more importantly, how much will I be getting paid?”
He gave me a little scowl. “You’ll be very handsomely compensated, we’ll see about the clothes, and I’ll call you when I know more details.”
“Coolio,” I said, and turned to try and catch the barman’s attention. I needed a drink to celebrate. It really was turning out to be my lucky week. I had new job offers coming out the wazoo. Before I knew it, I’d downed a rum and Coke, and Bradley was dragging me and Karla back to the dance floor. At one point, a brunette wearing a skintight shirt sidled up to Bradley and began what can only be described as booty popping at him. He continued dancing and arched a brow as she turned to face him, shimmying her boobs.
“Oh, you are so barking up the wrong tree, love,” he sighed, and grinned.
I didn’t think she heard, because she was now rutting against him. I snickered my laughter and grabbed a hold of Karla’s hands, swaying her to the music. I was a happy, sweaty, dancing mess when I felt my phone begin to vibrate inside my bag. Stepping outside for a moment, because the music was too loud for a phone call, I glanced down at the screen and recognised King’s number. Eleanor had me programme all the required numbers into my phone on Monday, and similarly, she’d passed my number on to King if he ever needed me.
I was curious, and yes, too tipsy to be answering a call from my boss, when I hit “accept.” “Yo.”
King’s voice came down the line. “Alexis? Is that you?”
I grinned and leaned against the wall of the building. “The one and only. What can I do for you, boss?”
He cleared his throat, and there was a beat of silence, as though he was considering whether to continue the conversation. Finally, he went on, “I apologise for disturbing you outside of office hours, but I need someone to go collect some folders from Monty, and both Eleanor and Gillian are busy.”
“Monty as in Burns?” Yep, definitely tipsy.
I heard the smile in his voice when he responded. “No, Monty as in Montgomery Charles. He works for me at the bank. He’s drawn up some certificates, and I need the originals. Are you free to collect them for me?”
I sighed internally, knowing my night of fun was at its end. “Not exactly, but since you’ve allowed me to requisition your office bathroom this week, I suppose I do owe you one.”
“Great,” said King before rattling off where I had to go, alongside his home address, and told me he’d leave a key with the doorman. He also told me to keep my travel receipts for reimbursement. I went back inside, told Karla there was a work thing, and swiftly flagged down a taxi. Monty turned out to be a twenty-something guy with a big smile and a distinct eagerness to impress. He was adamant that I deliver the papers directly to Mr King, no detours. It was probably the way I was dressed that had him concerned, like I was some crazy leopard print–adorned lady pretending to be Oliver King’s assistant.
The taxi was idling by the side of the road, waiting for me, when I returned and we continued on to King’s place. It turned out his apartment was located close to the Thames, in a building that screamed money.
The doorman was expecting me and handed me a key card as I looked around the stylish modern interior. There were about ten floors, and King’s apartment was at the top. Choosing to take the lift, since I had enough stairs to contend with in my own building, I hit the button for his floor.
I was fully sober as I walked down the long corridor to his apartment and let myself in. At first the place seemed quiet, but then I heard the music. Someone was playing a piano.
As I stepped around a tall column and entered the spacious lounge, I saw him. His back was to me as he sat in front of a black baby grand, his fingers skimming the keys as he played something classical. The tune was soft and hard at the same time, so intricate and beautiful. I knew I’d heard it before, maybe in a film, but I couldn’t pinpoint where.
It made my pores grow tight and my lungs feel a little bereft of air.
There was something that was just so unexpected about seeing him like this, and it hit me square in the feelers. In the office I’d seen him professional, efficient, confident, and in control. But right then he was vulnerable, artistic, and totally absorbed in the music. And he was good, crazy good, so good I didn’t understand why he was a banker when he could be playing music like this for a living.
The song became passionate, and his fingers pounded the keys right before my phone went off with a text. I had no clue who it was from, but I stood still as King immediately stopped playing and twisted around to face me. He seemed taken off guard, surprised to see me there even though he knew I was coming over. It was clear that he’d been completely lost in the music.
A moment of heavy, unexplainable tension fell between us.
Then he did a slow perusal of my body, and I swear he was holding back a grin. All in an instant, the tension was gone, and he wore a humorous expression.
“Oh, go on, say it. You know you want to,” I sighed.
King let out a breath like he’d been holding it, and his voice was full of amusement. “What on earth are you wearing?”
“Hey, what I wear outside the office is my own prerogative.” I scowled at him playfully. “But if you must know, I was out clubbing with some friends when I got your call, hence my fan-bloody-tastic attire.”
He pursed his lips in an effort to stay his grin. “Well, in that case, I apologise for interrupting your night. Please, come and sit down. Do you have the receipt for your taxi and the certificates from Monty?”
“Yes and yes,” I replied, walking to his couch, setting the folders on the coffee table, and taking a seat. “By the way, you play beautifully. Your mum taught you well.” My wor
ds were restrained. What I really wanted to do was gush about how amazing he was, how the music had given me feelings I’d never had before, how it had made me see him in a completely different light. And I really liked that light.
King seemed to grow self-conscious as he ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, well, it’s just a hobby.” He paused and eyed my bag. “The receipt?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said, and began rummaging for it while he waited.
As I handed it to him, I did a quick scan of his place. The Steinway sat by the window looking out onto the river, and I noticed piles and piles of paperwork stacked neatly all over the living room floor. He must have been working tonight. A bottle of red wine sat open on the coffee table, a half-finished glass beside it. There was an expensive-looking chessboard on the table, and I wondered if he played or if it was only there for show.
I remained seated as King disappeared into another room before returning with his wallet. Retrieving a few notes, he handed them to me. I took them and shoved them in my bag.
“Again, thank you for doing this on such short notice. I do try not to disturb my employees outside of the office.”
“It’s not a problem,” I replied, and our eyes met. We both stared at each other for a moment, and my skin began to feel warm. King took in a deep breath. He didn’t seem to want me to leave yet, so I nodded towards the coffee table. “Nice chessboard. Do you play?”
He glanced at the board before he brought his eyes back to mine. They were handsome eyes, intense, and so glacial blue they could almost startle you at times. I wondered if my sweatiness was from my earlier dancing or from King’s unnerving attention.
“I do. Do you?”
“Yep. My dad taught me. We’d spend hours playing when I was growing up.”
