Magic at Work: a Love or Magic novel

by Sotia Lazu

  When Xandra let out a moan, he caught her lips in a rough kiss and slid another finger inside her. “Say it.”

  The man was sex on legs. Lexi couldn’t stay still. She needed to touch herself. Close her eyes and imagine Rex sliding his fingers in an out of her. She needed some privacy, and she needed it now. She made sure to minimize the browser window, restore the Word document with the finished translation, and lock her computer, before heading to the ladies room.

  She noticed Richard looking at her. His gaze was soft for the first time—an expression so unlike him, she had a hard time recognizing it. Was it concern? Nah. He opened his mouth to say something, but she held out a hand. “Not a word.” With a shrug and a shake of his head, he turned back to his PC. As she passed by, he made a show of putting on his headphones.

  In the ladies room, Lexi was torn between splashing some cold water on her face and locking herself in a stall, to take the edge off. Her brain took over the decision-making process, and she went with the first option. Whether she liked it or not, this was her place of work. She drizzled some water on the nape of her neck, trying to shock her body out of its excited state. It might have worked, but the moment she was back at her desk, she went right back to reading and didn’t stop until it was time to go home.

  Despite loving the way she’d passed the day, she felt horrible for not working. She’d ask for something more to do tomorrow. She got ready to leave, but not before copying the next three chapters of Exotic Beast into a Word file and saving it on a USB drive to take with her.

  She was surprised and a whole lot more than a little pissed off when she opened the file at home and found it blank.

  “What the fuck is up with this thing?”

  Her empty bedroom offered no reply. She had to stop visiting the site. It was spooky how it only appeared on her work computer, and Lexi always made a point of staying away from spooky stuff—hormonally-induced attraction to assholes included.

  She had no idea where that last thought came from.

  Chapter Three

  When Lexi all but ran to the ladies room, looking flushed and upset, Ric couldn’t help thinking it was his fault. He saw her look at him with those big green eyes, and he made out the accusation in them.

  He hadn’t expected her to take it that hard. She shouldn’t care what he thought—and he hadn’t said what she thought he did, anyway. He wanted to ask if she was all right, and even considered apologizing, but the way she cut him off made him want to hide under his desk. Instead, he put on his headphones and pumped up the volume to “I Wanna Be Sedated,” while returning his focus to his latest project.

  He didn’t spare her a glance the rest of the day, and was sure she equally ignored him.

  When he passed by her desk at five and wished her a good afternoon, she was too entranced by her translation to reply. Or she liked pretending he didn’t even exist. He didn’t care either way. He didn’t care if she hated his guts.

  He wasn’t there for her to like, after all.

  The thought seemed too sulky for his liking, but he brushed it off and tried to occupy his mind with work thoughts on the way to his apartment. It was a short drive, and thinking about computer systems and the glitch he found in their newest software purchase should have kept his mind busy, but worry over whether he’d overdone it with Lexi kept sneaking in.

  He tried to convince himself that wasn’t what drove him straight to the bottle of scotch in his kitchen.

  He sank into his favorite armchair—worn out to fit the lines of his body—and downed a hefty gulp of the amber liquid, relishing the burn down his throat. He hadn’t craved a drink first thing after coming home in a long time. He hadn’t needed one since that day almost two years ago, when Pedelty rang his doorbell and saved him from his miserable excuse for a life.

  Back then, Ric called himself Rex, and was a borderline alcoholic who made a living selling his services to people and companies looking for information they couldn’t obtain through legal means. His broken heart led him from one bad decision to the next, and he wasn’t seeking a way out because he didn’t feel he deserved one.

  Until Edmund straightened him up.

  There was nothing worse than waking up with a hangover because some sick bastard decided nine o’clock on a Sunday morning was a good time to be ringing your doorbell with vehemence.

  Rex dragged his feet to the front door and threw it open. Without looking at his visitor, he walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer—the best medicine for hangover. He popped the bottle open on the countertop and drank a couple of sips, before turning around.

  An older man stood on his doorway, wiping his glasses. His cardigan and corduroys screamed wrong part of town.

  Rex scratched at his crotch. Sleeping in his jeans wasn’t the best idea. He should remember that next time he passed out. He chuckled at his inner joke and approached the man, who made no move to come inside. “You sure you got the right apartment, mate?” Rex asked.

  “Are you Richard Ackart?” the man asked in a cultured British voice.

  Rex had heard that voice before, although he couldn’t place it. “What if I am? Do I owe you money? If I do, good luck getting it.” He shielded the entrance to his apartment with his body.

  “So, are you Richard or not?” The man sounded impatient.

  “Was. A long time ago. Now I’m Rex.” He ran the fingers of one hand through his gelled hair, tussling the curls loose. Trying to look cool and menacing, despite the Heavy Metal concert in his head, he hooked the thumb of his other hand through one of his belt loops and squared his shoulders.

  The man shoved the door in, hitting Rex’s ribs and nose at once. A cracking sound let Rex know his nose was busted, seconds before the pain kicked in. Hell, it wasn’t the first time that happened. He tasted his own blood before he saw it drip to the floor. He cupped his nose, pressed, and pulled to set it straight. He gave no thought to protecting his body from another assault—his mind was too fuzzy for that—so he did nothing when the man grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and shoved him backward, following him inside.

  “I’m a friend from the past”—the man kicked the door shut—“and I’m here to make sure you’re Richard again long enough to go visit your mother in the hospital.”

  Rex didn’t realize he’d passed out again until he woke in his bathtub. He was fully clothed, and the man splashed cold water on his face.

  “Mum… What happened to her? Who are you?” Rex tried to get out of the two inches of water pooling in the tub, lost his footing, and slipped back inside.

  The man held him in place with a hand on his shoulder. “I told you, I’m a friend. I used to know you when you were a boy.” He shook his head when Rex made to rush out of the tub again. “Sit back down. We have to stop the bleeding. Pinch your nose and tilt your head back.” He narrowed his eyes. “Whatever made you want to pierce an eyebrow, for heaven’s sake? No matter. Our flight isn’t until tomorrow morning. Enough time for you to clean up, and for the both us to have a nice, long chat.”

  It was the glint in his eye and the tone of his voice, not the cold water, that made Rex shiver. He’d done something the man didn’t appreciate, and Rex was sure he didn’t want to remain on his bad side. “Just tell me if she’s all right.” He sighed with relief when the man said she would be.

  An hour later, Rex was too sober. A pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt had replaced the skin-tight black jeans he favored these days. Nose no longer bleeding and eyebrow stud removed, he sat and watched the man who’d screwed up his morning, as well as his nose, make tea.

  “You’d think a fellow Brit would have better taste in tea,” the man said.

  Rex—no, he was Ric again now, properly scolded and worried about his mother—was hit by a sense of the surreal, when he found himself answering in the same conversational tone. “I wasn’t able to find anything better in the local supermarket. I should have kept looking.”

  Tea served, Ric looked into the man’s grey-blu
e eyes and asked, “Now will you please tell me what’s wrong with my mother?”

  “After you tell me what happened to change Richard of the Brush to Rex the Alcoholic Punk.”

  His tone wasn’t mocking. It was concerned. The phrase triggered an old memory, and the pieces clicked in place. The man’s hair was grey now, he wore glasses, and his attire was different. Still, Richard wanted to smack his forehead. He should have recognized him. “Edmund?” he asked in a whisper. His face felt hot with embarrassment. Edmund shouldn’t see him like this.

  Edmund Pedelty bought Ric his first crayon set. He was the one person who’d never treated him as a child, always as an equal. Ric remembered how hard he cried when he and his family left for England, and Edmund stayed behind. He felt alone in the world in his new home.

  It wasn’t that Ric’s parents weren’t understanding or supportive, but he never felt he could talk to them about his hopes and dreams, about science and the stars and the girl who sat in front of him in class, whose pigtails he wanted to pull, because she wouldn’t give him the time of day.

  He was eight the last time he saw Edmund, though they kept in touch a few times a year until Ric went to college. Now he wanted to hug the man and tell him how much he’d missed him, but held back. He’d let everyone down.

  He let out a sigh of relief when Edmund stood and grabbed him in a bear hug. “Son, what happened to you? What is this?”

  How do you tell someone dear to you how you royally fucked up your life, and then ran away from those who loved you, to avoid facing the aftereffects of your fuck-up?

  Easy. You start at the beginning.

  “I was weak.” Ric pulled back from the hug.

  Edmund retook his seat with a frown on his face. “You were never weak. You were a sensitive, good lad.”

  “Yeah, well, good lads don’t get to have a lot of fun, now. Do they?” Ric used the rough brogue he’d adopted during his third year in college as part of his effort to be a badass for Bridget.

  To become Rex for her.

  Edmund’s frown turned into a scowl, but Ric didn’t revert to his real, upper-class accent. “I fell in love. Had to make her interested in me. She was a punk chick, and I went punk for her.” He kept his tone even, as if he weren’t describing the love that shattered his heart into a million pieces and screwed up his future. “I became a bad boy, though I still went to my classes. I hoped to make a good life for the two of us after I finished my studies. Was going to ask her to marry me.” He let out a pained chuckle. “Didn’t know she had a badder boy on the side. Didn’t find out until graduation. She showed up with him at the party afterward, the both of them stoned. Never touched the stuff myself. Alcohol is my poison.”

  He took a sip of his tea, and felt ridiculous after his last sentence. “Got home late that night. Three sheets to the wind. Dad started shouting at me for waking them and for being in that state. He said one word too many, and I punched him.” He hid his face in his palms. “I punched my dad, Edmund. Couldn’t face him after that. Took the first plane here. Been doing odd jobs since.”

  “Odd jobs?”

  Ric forced himself to meet Edmund’s gaze. “Yeah. Kept up the bad-boy routine. Did some bouncing at night clubs. Then met a guy looking for a hacker. I was always good with computers, so that was it.”

  Edmund tapped his chin. “I may have a plan to make right of this mess of a life you have here.”

  “I don’t care about that. I told you what you wanted to know. Now, how’s my mother? What’s wrong?”

  “She and your father have been looking for you since you disappeared.” His voice held no accusation, and Ric was grateful for that. “They only thought to contact me a few months ago. I called in some favors to locate you, but you’re a hard man to get a hold of.”

  “She’s been in a hospital for months?” Ric jumped out of his seat.

  “No, boy. Sit down.” Pedelty waited for him to do as he was told. “It’s been six years since they last heard from you. Her health had been… deteriorating. You know she never had a strong constitution. She suffered a heart attack five days ago. The doctors said it was a close call, but she will be fine as long as she has the will to get better. I called today to say I found you, and she’s expecting you tomorrow. You are what she wants to live for.”

  Ric nodded, but his panic was rising. “But I’m a mess. Can’t let her down again. I can’t!”

  “You won’t.”

  At the certainty in Edmund’s voice, something fluttered in Ric’s chest. Hope. “I have to get a clean change of clothes,” he mumbled.

  “Better throw away your entire wardrobe. I can lend you a suit for tomorrow, but you’ll need more than that if you’re going to work for me.” Edmund grinned when Ric gave him a startled look. “We have no dress code, but your current stylistic choices are a tad over the line. With your… experience, you’ll fit right in the IT department. Of course you’ll have to cut down on the slang.”

  “Mate?” Ric didn’t know if he should thank the man or grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him. He’d done nothing to deserve such an opportunity.

  “You can’t call me that at the office; I’ll be your boss. But you can call me Edmund.”

  Edmund did more than straighten him up—he offered him a way out, a job, and the chance to reconcile with his parents. A chance to become a new man.

  Ric swirled what was left in the bottle. He’d had… what? About half a bottle? He’d better stop. Edmund went above and beyond to help him out with his life, and Ric wouldn’t screw it up. He wasn’t going to disappoint the man now, after being an exceptional employee for this long, by showing up at work with a hangover because some silly bint thought he didn’t like her.

  He realized he still had his shoes on, and kicked them off. One tackled the loaded ashtray to the floor. Ric groaned and picked it up. He should vacuum. God, he hated the idea. Sometimes he missed being a bad boy. Missed talking like Rex. Not giving a damn about consequences. Doing what he wanted.

  Funny thing was Rex gave a damn about consequences after all, or he wouldn’t have rushed to England, to see his sick mother. He wouldn’t have cleaned up his act. Wouldn’t have disappeared in the shadows and let nerdy Richard resurface.

  He got up and fetched the vacuum. After cleaning, he’d make dinner. He always cooked for himself these days. It was normal and nice, and he needed some normal and nice in his life, to remind him he had a life now—even if it consisted of little more than work, the gym, and the occasional outing with Pedelty for a couple of beers at the sole place nearby that vaguely resembled a pub.

  Part of him knew he kept his life empty on purpose. He still didn’t forgive himself for how he acted when Bridget left him, even though his father had.

  Thinking of Bridget somehow led to thoughts of a perky and pesky blonde. She was everything he wasn’t—bubbly, with no baggage, and unburdened by a sense of responsibility. He shook his head and started preparing his dinner. Lexi was free to do as she pleased, as long as she didn’t let Ed down. This was the only reason Ric ever spared her a thought. The only reason she was on his mind, with those annoying smiles she gave to everyone but him, and her infuriating temper even when she was wrong.

  He didn’t care that she didn’t know she was wrong. She bloody well should know. She should have cared to ask. He took out his frustration on his meal, wolfing it down without registering its flavor.

  That night, lying in a bed that was too big for just him and wishing for some company, he pushed all thoughts of Lexi out of his mind and had a wank with his eyes closed.

  He didn’t realize the exact moment her face crept into his fantasy, blond tresses whipping his chest, green eyes blazing with passion. He came thinking of how she’d look riding him. His eyes flew open as strings of his cum landed on his stomach and fingers. He’d never come that hard before. Not by himself. Knowing her face had caused it shocked him.

  He grabbed a fistful of tissues from his nightstand and wip
ed himself clean. That would never happen again. He just didn’t see her that way. Sure, he found her pretty, when he first saw her picture on Pedelty’s desk—and she was stunning in person—but that was all.

  He told himself the same thing over and over the following morning… after he jerked off in the shower, thinking of her.

  He was screwed.

  He got dressed, grabbed his laptop, and stormed out. Sliding inside his car, he took a deep breath. It would be okay. His thoughts were private. Nobody had to know.

  Besides, Lexi already thought he was a jerk, and that was when he wasn’t trying to be one. There was nothing there on her side, which would make it easier for him to forget his fantasies.

  Right.

  ****

  It was finally Friday, hours away from the weekend, and Lexi wanted to join her co-workers’ happy buzz but couldn’t. Exotic Beast kept her occupied. She wanted to stay late and read more. If she went home, she’d have to study the paperwork she kept putting off. She couldn’t think about that when Xandra was getting what seemed to be the oral of the century in the novel.

  Lexi didn’t notice Richard was talking to her, until he stepped next to her and cupped her shoulder harshly.

  She could have jumped right out of her skin, but had the presence of mind to press the Windows key and D and minimize everything on her desktop before turning to him. “What?” What did he want now? He had no business in her department, and he definitely had no right to sneak up on her. Hadn’t the man heard of personal space?

  And was she upset at him, or at almost being caught reading smut at work?

  She was going to hell.

  As if he read her thoughts, he took a step back and sat on the corner of her desk, still at an angle that would allow him to see her screen. She wanted to close the site’s window, but that might seem conspicuous, and she’d rather die than have him of all people find out what she did in her spare time at work. Or that she had spare time.