by Ellen March
“Er, no love. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to go, either, when you see them dripping with their diamonds and designer clothes. And that’s just the men!” Laughing out loud, Marilyn slapped her hand down on the breakfast bar.
Sally jumped nervously and knocked over her mug, then watched in dismay as the contents pooled on the surface. Including the illusive mushy remains of her biscuit. “Sorry, I’ll wipe it up.” Rising, she crossed to the sink.
“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll sort it out,” said Marilyn. Despite her size, she got to the cloth before Sally. “You go on and catch up with Paul before he upsets one of the workmen with his flirting.” She shooed her through the open kitchen door.
“He wouldn’t, would he?” Sally turned to stare at her in disbelief.
Marilyn nodded her head. “He’s almost as bad as Roman, except Roman doesn’t have to try.”
Sally decided to go in search of earplugs in readiness for the coming evening.
* * *
The day flew by, and from the safety of the greenhouse she watched the giant marquee rise up into the sky. The countless vans and copious amounts of food were matched only by the array of champagne and an equally ridiculous amount of wine and beer.
It was late afternoon when Sally rang Norma.
“So what have you found out so far?” she asked, getting straight to the point, as usual.
“Well, not a lot, really, except there’s a big party tonight.” She debated whether she should mention his stamina in the bedroom, but decided against it. She felt too uncomfortable talking about his ‘shagathons,’ as Paul enviously referred to them.
“Good, that’s wonderful news. I want to know who’s there, what happens, any gossip you can gather and tell me about. And I’ll be the judge of whether it’s useful or not.” Norma was determined to get what she could. Anything about Roman was news, even down to what he ate, and she wanted it all.
“Well, I’m not invited.” Sally stood and paced around the room with the mobile, stopping at the window to look down at the scene below. It was a hive of activity. People flurried to and fro, the whole spectre evolving into a show. And she watched fascinated, at the intense rush of movement.
“You don’t have to be. Just make sure you’re there. Circulate, carry a plate, serve drinks,” screeched Norma. “I don’t care what you do, but you will call me tomorrow with something, do you hear me?”
Sally winced and held the phone away from her ear. “Yes, Norma,” she answered to a dead line.
* * *
The tiny fairy lights twinkled in the dusk. An assortment of expensive cars complete with chauffeurs was parked at the front of the house. Sounds of revelry and laughter drifted on the breeze. Taking a deep breath, Sally cautiously made her way down the stairs.
The house was empty whilst people mulled around the lawn outside. Some were seated, others standing, all in rapt conversation. She glanced around for any sign of Roman when suddenly she spotted him talking to a strikingly beautiful brunette, staring adoringly up into his face. Even from this distance she could see he wore a mask of indifference. Whichever female was going to catch his eye tonight, it wasn’t to be her, and Sally wished sadly that she was pretty enough to grab his attention.
Maybe then she’d find out if she was a ‘howler,’ as Paul so succinctly put it.
Her gaze slid over his perfectly cut suit and crisp white shirt. He really did look good enough to eat. Sally attempted to work out why God made some men so handsome; then she blamed him for her own looks. Had she really been so bad in her previous life that she had to be punished in this one?
* * *
Roman rolled his eyes at the brunette, wishing she’d shut the hell up. Or at least have the ability to say something intelligent or even controversial. Anything, so long as she wasn’t constantly agreeing with him and fawning over him.
For once in his life he was utterly bored with the superficial women who surrounded him, wanting something more than mere receptacles to ease the needs of his body. Glancing up, he spotted Sally watching him from outside the house. The large black glasses she hid behind made her look like an owl, but there was something about her.
Something that made him uneasy. He couldn’t explain it.
And it worried at him.
He turned his head briefly, and when he checked back she had vanished. He hoped she’d have the sense to stay indoors. After a few drinks the parties usually got pretty wild, with the women losing their inhibitions and the men invariably losing their manners.
* * *
Sally wandered through the crowds, trying to eavesdrop on conversations, yet nothing jumped out at her. Most of the people were happily bragging about themselves or their wealth—nothing that interested her. She took care not to bump into Roman and was always watchful of where he was. She was determined not to get caught out.
After over an hour of trying to pick up snippets of information, she decided to give up. She couldn’t cope with the number of people, who were getting louder and louder, and she backed carefully out of the marquee. She stood outside breathing in the cool air, not realizing that Roman stood on the other side.
Sipping from a large glass of wine, he watched a big man lumber towards him and grinned. “Nice to see you again, Jeff,” he said as he slapped his back in an affectionate gesture.
“Quite a party.” The large man laughed, taking a mouthful from his pint. “That’s one thing I can say about you, Roman, you don’t stint on these shindigs.” He studied his pint thoughtfully. “Remember the parties we had in uni?”
“Don’t remind me, but those were the good old days.” Roman broke into a wry grin. “Wine, women, and song.”
“You’re sex mad, you know that?” Jeff chuckled, knowing from his own experience that the stories he’d heard about Roman were true.
“Yep,” laughed Roman. “Nothing wrong with that.” He checked out another striking woman and debated her potential.
“Heard you’ve got a new secretary. What’s she like?”
“A disaster. She can’t do anything except maybe type,” Roman said, taking another mouthful of wine. His gaze continuously scoured the crowd.
“What, you’ve not come onto her?” he asked his friend in amazement.
“Are you for real?” cried Roman. “Trust me, you haven’t seen Sally. Only a blind man would want to have sex with her.” The fact she remained on his mind consistently ate into him. She wasn’t his type, and she wasn’t what he wanted. And yet Roman knew he was lying to himself. And so he lashed out, trying to confirm that no one would want her, least of all him.
“That bad, eh?” His friend sympathetically nudged his arm, then glanced around as the loud crash sounded from outside. “What the hell was that?”
Knowing the answer instinctively, Roman swore long and hard beneath his breath.
* * *
Sally had put a hand up to her mouth as she listened to them speak about her. It was true, she thought, you never heard anything good about yourself if you eavesdropped. Biting down on her knuckles in an effort to stop the loud sob, she took off.
She cannoned into a waiter carrying a tray of empty glasses, not caring when they crashed to the floor, and raced to the sanctuary of the house. The tears she’d kept at bay streamed down her face.
Paul was bent over, raiding the fridge, when she burst through the door. He took one look at her pale face and asked, “What the heck has happened to you?” Kicking the door shut, he went to her and put his hands on her shaking shoulders.
Unable to speak, Sally sobbed against his chest. “H-he was horrible about m-me,” she stuttered, stumbling over her words. The dam truly burst and the tears erupted. “He said only a blind man would want me!” The words tumbled out amid the sobs as she tried to catch her breath.
Paul knew straight away who she was talking about. “I could kill Roman at times,” he swore, suddenly furious. He could only imagine the pain she was enduring, the hurt and humiliation, and for what? “
Don’t pay any attention to him, Sal, honest. He’s not worth it.”
Still sniffing, she raised her head, took off her glasses, and rubbed at her reddened eyes. “But why? To tell that man I’m too ugly to even have sex with?” Her voice caught in a hitch. “Just because he’s right, it doesn’t make what he said okay, does it?” Her large green eyes bored into him, begging him to help her understand.
“No Sal, it doesn’t,” he said sadly, his voice low and intense. He was now determined more than ever to show Roman what he was missing.
Chapter Nine
The party continued into the early hours of the morning, as Sally lay on top of her bed in the dark, awake. She hadn’t even undressed, simply kicked off her trainers and listened to them thump to the floor. Her mind was awash with the words Roman had spoken, and she recited them over and over. They knocked her already low confidence even further down and snapped any threads of self-esteem she’d managed to hang on to about herself.
He really did hate her, she thought with sadness. She wanted nothing more than to leave, to run away and lick her wounds, but she knew she couldn’t. Her job depended on it.
The flat she lived in was drab and tiny, but it was home. And she desperately needed the money to pay the rent or she’d be out on her ass without even a ‘sorry.’ She decided that from tomorrow on she was going to write down every little gritty thing she could find out about him, even taking photos of the house.
While it was fresh in her mind, she texted Norma asking for money to buy a camera; the phone she had was too basic to include one. She didn’t have the luxury of spare cash, and arranged to meet her in the next few days. At last a plan of action was in place, and she didn’t even regret spying on him any longer. He deserved that and more.
From now on she was determined to stay at arm’s length from him. The hurtful words he’d spoken seared into her soul. Each time she had to look at his handsome face she’d resurrect them, absorbing them. Now she knew what sort of man he really was.
Eventually Sally drifted off into a restless sleep, only stirring at the loud slam of Roman’s door. She didn’t even bother checking the time. The sun filtered over the horizon. It was early dawn.
* * *
Paul and Marilyn were seated in the kitchen, as usual, when she walked in. it would have been hard to miss the sympathetic glances they sent her. She gave them a brief nod, glad of the glasses that hid her swollen eyes, and rummaged for a cup.
“Bloody hell!” shouted Paul in shock.
“What?” Sally jumped, dropping the cup she held. She groaned as the splinters of china scattered across the tiled floor.
“You’ve let your hair down.” Paul’s open admiration was obvious as he stared at her long locks. A river of gold hung loosely down her back, tied at the nape of her neck.
“So?” She wondered what all the fuss was about. Pulling the pan and brush out, she carefully swept up the sharp pieces of glass.
“So, it makes one hell of a difference. Now if you were to remove your glasses .…” He stood in front of her and took them off. “Well, maybe not,” One look at her red and swollen eyes, and he placed them back on her nose.
“I don’t know why you don’t leave it down permanently,” agreed Marilyn. For such a simple action, it made a huge difference.
Sally turned and peered from one to the other, wondering if they were playing some sort of game, then shrugged her shoulders. Did it matter? She was simply here to do a job, nothing else.
“And if it means anything, I’m sorry about what happened,” said Marilyn as she pulled her into a motherly hug and patted Sally’s back. “Paul told me.”
Sally gave a shaky smile. The treacherous tide of tears surged again. It had been a long time since anyone had shown her affection, and she reacted to it like a drowning man would to a life raft.
“Come on, have a bite to eat. You’ll feel better then,” said Marilyn, fussing around her and itching for the moment she saw Roman. She’d give him a piece of her mind all right. She’d been with him too long not to voice her opinion.
At that same time, the nemesis of her thoughts walked into the kitchen, bare-chested and barefoot, wearing a pair of snug fitting jeans.
“Morning.” He pulled the fridge open then yelped when he trod on something sharp. Lifting his foot, he pulled out a splinter of china. He glared at Sally as he dropped it into the bin. “Another accident?”
Nodding her head, she refused to look at him. She felt sick to the stomach knowing what he thought of her. “I’ll see you outside,” she muttered to Paul and quickly made her escape.
“What’s up with her?” Roman asked, stretching and flexing his muscles before rubbing the back of his neck.
“What do you think?” Paul hissed, for once in his life disliking his friend. Without so much as a backwards glance at Roman, he followed Sally out.
“You owe that girl an apology,” snapped the usually amiable Marilyn, her hands on her round hips as she glared at him. “What you said about her to your friend was disgusting. How would you like it?”
Roman ran a hand through his hair in agitation, realizing where both Paul and Marilyn’s loyalty lay. “I didn’t set out to deliberately hurt her.”
“Oh, so if you had, you’d have done a better job, is that it?” Furious with him, she slammed the cupboard door shut. Her actions were abrupt and jerky.
“No, it’s not …. You know what I mean.” His own temper began to rise. Always on a short fuse, it simmered beneath the surface. Except this time it was directed at himself.
“You broke that girl’s heart.” She swung round to face him. “But you wouldn’t understand that. You haven’t got one!” She turned her back on him dismissively.
Roman paused, staring at her cold shoulder, and knew he would have to apologise. He felt like every kind of bastard on earth, but somehow he’d make it up to Sally. Because he knew damn well he’d come out with that crass remark because he was scared. Of her, of what she made him feel. He needed to reinforce the fact he was Roman Daniels, playboy millionaire, who didn’t fall for a braced, plain-faced employee. Did he? He was determined to get hold of Paul and find out what made her tick, because those two appeared to be as thick as thieves.
By lunchtime all remnants of the party had disappeared. It was as if it had never happened. Everything reverted back to the way it had been.
Except some things would never be the same again.
Roman spent the remainder of the day away from the house on business. He could have gotten out of it but felt more comfortable out of range of the distinctly frigid atmosphere lingering there. He tried to think of what he could do to show how sorry he was for his crass remarks.
It was late in the evening by the time he eventually returned and walked in on Sally and Paul in the lounge, watching television. He slumped in the nearby vacant chair, pulling irritably at his tie. He hated wearing one and wished he could conduct his meetings while dressed casually, in T-shirt and jeans.
One glance at him and Sally was on her feet in an instant. “See you tomorrow, Paul. Think I’ll have an early one.” Making the pretence of a yawn, she didn’t bother to acknowledge Roman. She left them sitting in the frosty atmosphere.
“So, come on, spit it out!” ordered Roman, rising and pouring himself a whisky. He knocked it back. The heat of the liquor trickled down his throat and burned deep in his chest.
“Why?” Paul asked, staring directly at him. “I just don’t understand why you wanted to hurt her. What’s she done to you?”
“For Christ’s sake, did you think I wanted her to overhear me?” he shouted in frustration as he poured yet another drink. “And as to what she’s done, I can write a bloody list!”
“That’s not the point. Why slate her to someone who doesn’t even know her? What were you trying to prove, Roman?”
“I don’t need to prove anything, and she shouldn’t have been eavesdropping,” he said, trying to justify his remarks to himself as well.
“By the sounds of it, you should have shagged her!” snapped Roman. “Is that why you’re so upset, you’ve actually decided to try a female? And I use that term loosely!”
“If you weren’t so big I’d hit you for that,” retorted Paul. He finished his wine and slammed his glass down. “For your information, I don’t fancy her, but I think you do. And that’s the problem, isn’t it, Roman? You’re in denial and hurting her is only a part of it!”
“Don’t be so stupid. Why the hell would I want a beef burger when I can have steak?”
“You’re an arrogant bastard, Roman. If you took the time to talk to her and actually listen to what she’s gone through, well, I think you’d feel even more ashamed than you do now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He paced around the room, taking angry sips from his glass.
“Do you know why she’s got so little self-esteem? It started when she was abandoned by her mother. That’s why she’s got the surname, ‘Friday.’ It was the day she was found,” Paul hissed. “The homes she was fetched up in just reinforced the idea that she was unwanted and ugly. And that’s how she grew up, believing that, thinking no one would love her.” He crossed to the bar and poured another drink. “Proud of yourself?” Paul saluted him with his glass.
Listening to Paul’s words, Roman slumped down into the leather armchair and shook his head. “No, no I’m not.” He finished his drink. “But I will make it up to her, somehow.”
“What are you going to do?” pressed Paul, glad that he was feeling guilty.
“Don’t know. Suppose I’ll apologise first, but what can I do to make her realize I didn’t mean it?” He looked up at Paul, needing his advice.
“Try teaching her to ride. She loves horses,” Paul suggested. “Don’t know if it will help, but at least that will get you two together and give you a chance to sort it out.”
