Temporary Position

by Parrish, Scarlett

  “We’ll see if—”

  “We’ll see isn’t good enough.”

  “We can maybe get someone out—”

  “Nuh-uh. I’m hearing ‘maybe’ and not liking it.”

  The man on the other end of the line groaned. “We’ll have someone out to you at nine tomorrow morning.”

  “You’d better,” I growled. “Or else I’ll add to the ‘out of order’ sign with ‘PS. Brooks, Inc sucks cheesy donkey dick’. Good day to you, sir.” I slammed the phone down, grimacing. “’Good day to you?’ What the fuck was I thinking?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Sebastian neared me, placed his palm on my shoulder, and I let it rest there, feeling comforted rather than mocked by its presence. “The ‘cheesy donkey dick’ was a nice touch.”

  “Ugh. This is why you should never let me anywhere near a phone.”

  “Hey.” Tyler held up both his hands in mock surrender. “You got the job done, didn’t you?”

  “So you don’t mind my lack of convention, then?”

  “I’ll let you know by nine o’ clock tomorrow morning.”

  I noticed a shift, something changing at my side, the absence of the weight of Sebastian’s hand on my shoulder. He’d lifted it away and, in so doing, made me more conscious of its absence than I’d been uncomfortable with its presence.

  “And you did take command of things so there was no arguing with you,” Sebastian pointed out.

  He wasn’t wrong there. I’d marched into Tyler’s office like I owned the place, past familiarity lending me the feeling that I had the right to do so, and said, “I’ll phone the fuckers, then.” The misspelt sign the day before had riled me, even though that was down to Susan in the Home Department rather than any ‘incompetent fuckwad’—my words—at Brooks, Inc. Finding out the machine hadn’t been fixed had finished me off. I’d given them until the end of the day, then surrendered to the urge to make that call.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?”

  I glanced sideways at him—he wore an expression of such innocence it had to be fake. Like the time on the shop floor when I’d insisted he speak in English, just before he’d hit me with the confession, ‘We both wanted you’.

  Of course he’d been talking about the job, but he’d made it sound so much more…

  Well, just more.

  I told myself time and again he’d just been talking about the job but there had been several times since when he and I and Tyler had ended up in the same room, in the same vicinity, and there seemed no obvious reason for things to be that way. Still we were drawn together and the playfulness continued. Not exactly flirting, but the undercurrent was there.

  “Well, I must be fucking gorgeous, then, because I’ve been angry a lot already.” I slumped into the chair across from Tyler again, threw my pen onto the desk.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “At least that ignorant dicksplash is dealt with.” I glared at the phone as if Mr Brooks would be able to hear me. “You know you—Wait, what?” I frowned up at Sebastian. He’d said ‘you are’, not ‘you were’, so when my anger-fogged mind connected his words to ‘gorgeous’ rather than ‘angry’ due to his use of the present tense, I doubted my own reasoning. Surely if he’d been referring to the latter he would have said ‘you were’, but… I shrugged. “Never mind. Look, it’s gone five now, so it’s time for me to get off. Home, I mean. Get off home.”

  “Can one of us give you a lift?”

  I eyed Tyler for a few seconds before answering. “I have my car.” Another long pause. “Which is just as well, because how could I possibly choose between you both?”

  He cleared his throat and sat back. “Quite. A drink, then?”

  “When I’m driving?”

  “You can have one, can’t you?” Sebastian stood at my side, towering over me now, and when I looked up at him he smirked. His body language—arms wrapped around himself—suggested defensiveness but the smirk was anything but reserved. He didn’t need to speak English or Swedish to communicate the words, ‘dare you’.

  I ran the tip of my thumb along my lower lip, not having a clue what would be the next words I’d say. It was all very well pointing out that we’d be work colleagues for the next few months, but we already knew that, and it didn’t stop the chemistry.

  And it was only a drink. No harm could come of that. Right?

  * * * *

  “If that fuckwit doesn’t show up tomorrow, I’ll—”

  “Hey, hey.” Tyler held up a hand, admonishing—and silencing—me with one simple gesture. “No talking shop. Besides, you’re there to make the place look attractive—”

  “Doing an excellent job so far,” Sebastian put in.

  “Stop. It.” I managed to speak through gritted teeth but I wasn’t trying to suppress anger or irritation. More like struggling to hide a smile. The drink in front of me was simple fruit juice—they had a beer each—so it wasn’t alcohol that loosened my inhibitions. It was simply being away from the work environment.

  I wondered if they’d chosen this corner seat in this out-of-the-way pub on purpose. Not that I’d put up much of a protest when Tyler had guided me to the booth with leather-covered seating on three sides of a perfect square. The high seat back lent us some kind of privacy, which reassured me without telling me why we’d even need such a thing.

  “Vad du än vill.” Sebastian winked. “And I mean that most sincerely.”

  “I’ve told you before about that.”

  “I merely said, ‘whatever you desire’.” He tipped his bottle at me in a lazy salute and took a sip, his gaze never wavering from my face.

  “Anyway.” Tyler broke back into the conversation. “As I was saying—you’re there to make four-five-three look attractive, not to fret over little things that are being dealt with.” He laid his hand on top of mine, ostensibly in reassurance but, as with every move he made, there was something flirtatious in it. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.

  Then he moved his thumb back and forth. Just once each way. And, like Sebastian’s moments before, Tyler’s gaze never moved from my face. It wavered slightly, dipping to my mouth before meeting my eyes again, and just that near-imperceptible movement had me licking my lips. I had a half-empty glass before me, so wasn’t dehydrated, but the way Tyler’s eyes flicked in one nanosecond, down-up, had me feeling scrutinised and…something else.

  “If…” I cleared my throat. “If we’re not going to talk shop, what are we going to talk about?”

  “The staff dinner,” Sebastian commented.

  Just as I’d taken another sip of orange juice. I stopped myself choking, set the glass down again and glared at him. And the lifting-away of Tyler’s hand drew my notice more than its gentle weight had. As if not being touched by either of them was harder to deal with than this. Whatever was going on.

  “What about it?” I blurted out. “Fuck, I’m gonna regret asking that.”

  “Or rather, after the staff dinner.”

  “Sebbe…” Tyler uttered the nickname in a warning tone and the sound sent a shiver up my spine.

  “Låt mig sköta snacket.”

  “I would, if you remembered to use English.”

  “Wait, what?” I looked from Tyler to Sebastian and back again. “You understood him?”

  Tyler shrugged. “We’ve been friends for a long time. You tend to pick up a few phrases here and there.”

  “Must be handy when you’re trying to prevent someone else working out what you’re talking about.”

  “Sorry. Honestly.” Now it was Sebastian’s turn to lay his hand on mine. The only thing that shocked me was the fact I didn’t flinch. Like his skin belonged in contact with mine. Exactly the same feeling I’d had with Tyler.

  Exactly the same feeling I’d had on the night I’d kissed them both.

  “I honestly don’t mean anything by it. It’s just habit. I’m used to hanging out with people who automatically translate these
little phrases. It’s nothing.”

  “Then you won’t mind telling me what you said, will you?” I hid my nervous smile behind the glass, using what was left of the juice to moisten my still-dry mouth.

  “I told Tyler to let me do the talking.” Sebastian swallowed, looking away from me as if nervous of my reaction.

  “Hence his reminder for you to use English?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Which does leave me wondering what ‘talking’ you were referring to.” I placed the glass on the table, gently so they didn’t think I was angry, which I definitely wasn’t. Curious? Oh yes. ‘Let me do the talking’ sound like the words of a man with…um… I used my fingernails to drag at a chipped piece of wood on the tabletop. Enough to give myself a splinter if I flinched at the wrong moment. “An agenda.” He might have thought the way I looked at him then was deliberately coy—head cocked, not meeting his gaze—but it was shyness that posed me that way, not contrivance.

  “Maybe that’s exactly right.” He winked and sat back, resting his head on the high, cushioned seat back. “Maybe I do have an agenda.”

  “I knew it,” I muttered under my breath, and I glanced at Tyler to see what he made of the situation. It seemed contrived now. No, the word ‘contrived’ made them seem more devious than I believed they were. There was no malice in either man, but perhaps they’d planned to sit this way, one on either side of me, so I couldn’t stand and walk out without making physical contact with either of them.

  Sebastian tapped the table with his forefinger and this simple action reminded me of the numerous times I’d lightly tapped ‘send’ on my mobile, or ‘enter’ on my laptop keyboard, thinking twice, three times, more, about sending a particular message. “Actually.” He sat forward then, crossing his arms on the table and making our huddle even more conspiratorial. “You’re right. But perhaps it would be better to call it a…a…” He struggled for a moment, looked across at Tyler and raised his palm. The gesture said in words plainer than English or Swedish, ‘Over to you. Help me out, here’.

  Clearing his throat, Tyler mirrored his stance. I couldn’t help noticing—not for the first time—they both had their shirtsleeves rolled up. Again. God, my blood pressure wouldn’t be able to take this for much longer.

  “I’d say…” Tyler began, and he inclined his head, met my gaze directly. “I’d say it’s more of a…proposition.”

  Chapter Six

  “You can leave at any time, you know.”

  I stood in the middle of the narrow hallway, hands clasped behind my back. Looking over my shoulder, I watched Tyler click the door shut behind me and flick the lock into place. “I know.” I spoke quietly but assertively. I knew I could leave. I wasn’t scared of Tyler. Of either of them. Nervous, yes, but scared, no.

  Ever since the ‘quick drink’ in a local pub during my first week had turned into a very, very long chat, this had been brewing. This evening.

  “Okay, we’re in a pub,” Tyler had said. “But we’re all driving, which is a good thing. It means we’ll stick to one beer, then soft drinks. We’ll all have a clear head.”

  “Not that anything will happen tonight,” Sebastian put in.

  “You have to know what you’re doing. Or not.”

  “Which would apply to everyone.”

  “And we only feel able to have this conversation because of…you know.” Tyler rolled his shoulders.

  “What happened before.”

  “And you need time to think.”

  The bottom line was, that conversation had been an extended laying-it-on-the-table followed by establishing a get-out-of-gaol-free card for one Ms J Ludlow. The staff dinner. We’d kissed. We’d liked each other. Still liked each other. We could either pretend otherwise, or do something about it. Crossing that line, getting everything out in the open, was uncomfortable, yes, but only at first. And definitely less agonising than doing nothing about it and suffering through months of escalating sexual tension. It would have been like trying to do our jobs in a pressure cooker.

  And afterwards? I knew there would be an aftermath to deal with but by the end of that conversation I’d cared less about having to deal with it. I reasoned with myself that I’d have two more months to put up with any fallout, assuming we couldn’t all be adults about it, then I’d be back to two-eight-nine and they’d be out of my hair. I couldn’t see anyone mentioning the words ‘sexual harassment case’, simply because it went both ways.

  Well, all three ways.

  If the three of us had been new to each other, this whole situation would have been a lawsuit waiting to happen, but that kiss outside the cheap hotel—no, those kisses—had established something, laid the groundwork. It hadn’t been a one-off flirtation between three people. It had been a prologue.

  Tyler motioned in the direction I’d been headed. “Please. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Just juice, thanks. Anything soft.”

  “It’ll be the only thing that—”

  “Stop it, Sebastian.”

  He loitered, arms wrapped around himself, by the doorway to which Tyler had pointed. “She complains when I speak in Swedish, she complains when I speak in English. Can’t I do anything right?”

  “Wise choice.” Tyler briefly touched the small of my back and I jumped, failing to keep the reaction to myself. “Better if we keep a clear head. I don’t like drinking too much alcohol in these situations.”

  “Then you have done this before?” I watched him step into the kitchen and, knowing I’d get nothing more than a flirtatious smirk from Tyler, turned to Sebastian. “Well?”

  “Let’s go into the front room.” He held the door open for me and I walked ahead. My spine rippled as I stepped across the threshold, not because I felt this is where it starts—I’d reach that point long since. No, the electricity zipping up and down my back was simply because Sebastian followed close behind.

  “Nice place he’s got here.”

  “I’m sure he’d be very pleased to know you approve.”

  “Not your typical bachelor pad, is it?”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Well…” I swept a hand in front of me, as if I were displaying the room to him. “Chrome. Black leather. Video games consoles.”

  “How very 1980s.”

  I wandered over to the entertainment unit—flat screen television of course; it looked as though it had a built-in DVD player too—and knelt by the CD tower. “He’s got interesting taste in music.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  “Yeah, but you would have told me in Swedish if I’d asked.”

  “Hey.” Sebastian lowered himself into one of the armchairs. “There’s not an Abba, Roxette or Ace of Base CD among them.”

  “Point taken.” I cocked my head so I could read the edges of the CD casings. “Hot Spunk Tsunami, though?”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Nothing. I just didn’t think Tyler would be into a band like that.”

  “Like what?” The man himself appeared in the doorway carrying a glass of orange juice in one hand, the fingers of the other hooked around two beer bottles. “Here. Everyone likes orange juice, right?”

  “Thanks.” I saluted him with the glass before taking a sip. “Hot Spunk Tsunami.”

  “Ah, them. Yeah, I’ve been to a few of their concerts too. Had my photo taken with the lead singer.”

  I couldn’t imagine what the smartly-dressed, buttoned-up Tyler Johnson would look like standing next to the front man of a rock band, but of course, he wouldn’t wear a work suit to a gig. Still, it was…incongruous, to say the least.

  “What?” Even with his beer bottle touching his lips, Tyler’s smirk was still visible. Sebastian sat back, nursing his drink, looking on.

  “Nothing. I just find it hard to imagine you at a rock concert, that’s all.”

  “Actually…” He gulped back a mouthful of beer and I watched his Adam’s apple bob. I wondered
what it would taste like. After all, that was what I’d come here for this evening, right? “I’ve been to three.”

  I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. “Tyler Johnson, I’ve just realised I have no idea what you get up to at weekends when you’re not working.”

  “Oh, I think you know.”

  I didn’t think we were talking about music anymore.

  * * * *

  “You definitely can say no, you do realise that, right?” Sebastian whispered against my neck. He stood behind me, hands on my hips, holding me against him. “In any language.”

  “Yes, I know.” I bit my lip and smirked at Tyler, who then cradled my face with both hands. “I don’t want to, though.”

  Better to be over-cautious than foolhardy and they’d both given me an out, both reassured me that I could call a halt to this at any time. Very gentlemanly of them, considering the ungentlemanly and unladylike things we were about to do. They’d told me they’d done this before. Not explicitly, but they’d told me. A sideways glance, a smile, a nod, a shrug all conspired to confess their previous sins. The fact no long-term relationship or…or…understanding had grown from any of these dalliances made me think nothing would come of this one either, and really, what were the chances? My position in their store was temporary and my place in either of their beds probably would be, too, but that suited me just fine. What woman, no matter what her most romantic dreams, would say no to a threesome with two gorgeous men if she was all but certain the aftermath would be handled with dignity?

  And as far as I was concerned, the fact we’d all looked ahead to that time meant we all knew it was just a bit of fun. We acknowledged it was nothing permanent, and nodding at its inevitable end meant we could start rehearsing it now. We could practice maturity, reasonableness and unselfishness ahead of time.

  And, Jesus Christ, was Sebastian good at being unselfish.

  “Kick off your shoes,” he murmured against my neck, even as he slid his hand under my fitted top. A plain thing, short-sleeved, with a scoop-neck. I’d thought to show off my cleavage. And red. Its colour fitted the occasion.