The Casanova (The Miles High Club)

by T L Swan

  Holy fucking fuck.

  Chapter 8

  I push the food around my plate with my fork.

  “I said, don’t you like it?” Rebecca says as if repeating herself.

  “Huh?” I look up in a daze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” I quickly shovel a mouthful in. “Of course I like it. This is my favorite.”

  Daniel watches me. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “Because you’ve hardly said two words since you got home.”

  “Tired, I guess.” I shrug, not wanting to tell them the news that Elliot Miles licked my thigh in the sauna and wants sex with no strings and I’m not allowed to see anyone else and he has a big dick and this whole month is turning into a fucking disaster.

  “Have you heard from Elliot?” Rebecca asks.

  I shake my head. “No,” I lie. I’m embarrassed about his indecent proposal. I don’t want to have to explain the situation because, quite frankly, I don’t understand it myself.

  “What about your online crush, Edgar?” Daniel asks.

  “No.” I chew my food. “I haven’t spoken to him either.”

  I’m lying up a storm here tonight.

  Why wouldn’t I? When Edgar told me that it wasn’t a grand love affair and that it was just a horizontal crush—boy, he wasn’t lying. It’s not even a steamy affair . . . it’s a business transaction of seminal fluid.

  “He’s an ass,” Daniel replies. “This is why you’re down.”

  “I’m not down,” I huff. “Elliot Miles is nothing to me.”

  Okay, maybe a little down.

  When Elliot told me he wanted me, for a moment there it was exciting and new and a way to get myself out of this rut. Hell, putting ice down his pants was the highlight of my year. But now that I know that he sees me as a walking vagina . . . his crush has lost its shine.

  And what’s worse, I’m actually considering it. I know it’s stupid, I know that he’s going to turn out to be an asshole and that I’m probably going to get fired, or hurt.

  Worse still, both.

  I remember back to the sauna, with him on his knees between my legs, and I get a flutter in my stomach, but he’s just so . . .

  He makes me feel something, and even if it’s bad, it’s still a feeling.

  I now realize I’ve been numb for years and that if I want to come back to being myself, maybe Elliot is a good stepping stone to get there.

  I continue to eat in silence as Daniel and Beck talk about some new Pilates app they have downloaded.

  My mind wanders off on a tangent again . . . I like Edgar. He’s sweet and intelligent and swoony but then I remember who he really is.

  I don’t need a complication like Elliot Miles in my life. Far from it, I’m not a young girl blinded by lust with doe-in-the-headlight eyes. I don’t need my boss going down on me in the work sauna to feel alive.

  I know better.

  But . . . my boss going down on me in the work sauna . . . even that statement turns me on.

  I’ve got fucking issues.

  I’m finally just getting my shit together . . . I’ll be going backwards by falling into bed with someone as gorgeous and dominant as him.

  It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

  “You like him, don’t you?” Rebecca says as she directs the conversation back to me.

  “Who?” I act dumb.

  They both roll their eyes. “Elliot Miles.”

  “I don’t know him, and why are you two going on about this all night?”

  “Sorry.” Rebecca widens her eyes.

  We continue eating.

  “You’ve got your work Christmas party tomorrow night, haven’t you?” Beck asks to change the subject.

  “Just drinks in the office. What have you guys got on?”

  “I’m sleeping at Brett’s,” Rebecca answers.

  “I’m going home to see my folks for a few days,” Daniel says. “My mum is a bit down.”

  “Is she okay?” I ask.

  “She had cancer this year and it’s taken its toll. I’m going home to help her wrap and prepare for Christmas Day. My father is useless.”

  I smile as I put my hand over Daniel’s on the table. “You’re a good man, you know that?”

  “Well, there’s only me this year—my sister’s deployed and won’t be home until February.”

  “She’s in the navy, right?” I ask.

  He nods proudly. “She’s a badass. Could totally kick my butt.”

  We chuckle.

  “You’re having Christmas Day lunch here for your brother and sister, right?”

  I nod. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

  “Not so much now?” Daniel asks.

  “Ugh, I haven’t even thought about what I’m cooking. It’s all just too hard.”

  “Well, I’m only going away for two days and then I’ll come back and help you prepare the food. I don’t leave to go home until Christmas Eve, and we could have most of it done before I go.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” I smile.

  “Babe, what else am I going to do? Being at home for more than two days drives me crazy and tomorrow is my last day at work. We can work out a few recipes over good wine.”

  I smile, grateful for my new friend, and turn my attention to Rebecca. “What are you doing for Christmas Day again Beck?”

  “I’ll be refereeing fights with my dysfunctional family.” She sighs.

  We smile as she continues.

  “You know, you would think that when your parents get divorced the shit show stops. But no . . . they get new fuckwit partners and you get to have a double shit show with whipped cream and extra topping.”

  We all chuckle.

  Daniel raises his glass and we both touch it with ours. “To Christmas, the ultimate shit show.”

  “To Christmas.”

  It’s just gone 11 a.m. and I sit down at my desk with a cup of coffee. My email pings.

  Elliot Miles.

  Hello Kathryn,

  I’d like a meeting with the ITM team please.

  All of you in my office in thirty minutes.

  Elliot.

  “Shoot.” I get up and walk into the office next to mine. “Bob, did you just get the email from Elliot?”

  Bob looks up from his computer. “I haven’t checked, hang on.” He opens his email and scrunches up his nose. “Yep.” His eyes come back to me. “You think it’s about the internet crash last week?”

  “Of course it is.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not in the mood for this today.”

  Bob exhales heavily and then Joel pops his head around the doorjamb. “Did you two get the email?”

  “Yep.”

  We all stare at each other for a moment. When you get a private email invitation to Elliot Miles’s office, it isn’t for a tea party and cake.

  You are about to get in deep shit.

  “If he starts on me today, I’m telling him to stick it,” Bob snaps.

  “Stick what, exactly,” Joel teases.

  “His stupid fucking job up his stupid fucking ass,” Bob replies.

  “Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” Joel replies. “You know the drill, just let Kate do the talking.”

  Bob nods in agreement.

  Wimps.

  Great . . . just what I need.

  Half an hour later we arrive at the top floor. “Hello.” Courtney smiles. “Just go in, he’s expecting you.”

  Bob, Joel, and I exchange glances.

  “Great.” I fake a smile, we walk through, and I drop my shoulders and steel myself for his onslaught.

  Elliot Miles is a lot of things; weak is not one of those.

  Bob knocks on the door. “Come in,” the deep voice calls.

  “Fuck this,” Joel whispers.

  I smile—it’s actually hilarious how scared the boys are of him.

  We walk in to find Elliot sitting behind his desk. He sits back and raises his chin to the sky and I ins
tantly know that stance.

  He’s not mad, he’s raging fucking angry.

  “You wanted to see us,” I ask.

  He points to the conference table with his pen. “Let’s sit over there.”

  I exhale.

  I hate that fucking table.

  He stands and undoes his suit jacket with one hand—he’s wearing a navy suit and a fitted crisp white shirt—takes his jacket off and throws it over the back of his chair, his tight behind on display. As he stands I can see the muscles flex in his shoulder as he pulls his chair out.

  Great, just what I need to see—suit porn.

  His dark hair is hanging over his forehead and his eyes are a brilliant blue. It would really help my cause if he got a little uglier.

  “I want to talk to you about the internet outage last week.” He slaps the printed report on the table in front of us. I’m instantly pulled out of my daydream.

  Focus.

  “I thought you might,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Explain it to me,” he says.

  I open my mouth to speak.

  “Not you. Joel,” he interrupts.

  Joel and Bob exchange nervous glances.

  “Well, we had to upload a new system into our admin site and to do this we needed to add a new WAP code.”

  Elliot picks up his pen and holds it in his hand as he listens.

  “What we didn’t realize was, that when we added the new WAP code it was going to completely override the system for the entire building.”

  “Why didn’t you realize that?” Elliot stares at him blankly.

  Joel shrugs.

  “Isn’t it what I pay you for? An IT expert to stop an impending disaster before it comes to fruition.”

  Joel goes to open his mouth and then shuts it again; his eyes flick to me for reassurance and I give him a stifled smile.

  “Don’t look at Kathryn, look at me. Who specifically out of you three uploaded the system?”

  “I approved it,” I reply.

  “That’s not what I asked,” Elliot replies sharply. “Who uploaded this system?”

  Fuck’s sake.

  “I did,” Bob whispers.

  Elliot sits back in his chair, and glares at Bob. “Tell me . . . Bob.” He sneers. “How many Miles Media employees are in this building?”

  Bob swallows the lump in his throat. “Around two thousand, sir.”

  “Two thousand, one hundred and seventy-one,” Elliot barks. “And what do you estimate the hourly wages are for that many people, Bob?”

  Bob begins to perspire.

  “Mr. Miles, with all due respect . . .” I say.

  “Do. Not. Interrupt. Me. Kathryn,” he bellows.

  We all wither in our seats.

  “The hourly wages for this building alone are seventy-four thousand, nine hundred pounds.”

  We all sit still. Fuck . . . get me out of here.

  “Let’s multiply that by the three hours that I didn’t have any goddamn internet,” he growls.

  Bob drops his head.

  “That’s two hundred and twenty-four thousand and seven hundred pounds your incompetence has cost me.”

  I exhale. Oh hell.

  “Would you like me to deduct that from your salary?” He looks at the three of us.

  We stay silent.

  “Answer me!” he bellows.

  “No sir,” we all reply.

  He stands and leans on the desk with both hands as he glares at us. “And yet, you have deducted it from mine,” he growls. “Tell me why I shouldn’t terminate your contracts on the spot.”

  He’s such an asshole.

  I sit back, angered. “That’s fine with me, terminate my contract.”

  Elliot narrows his eyes, his temper seconds away from an impending explosion. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Run away from your incompetence instead of facing the music. I don’t know why I would expect better.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Do not roll your eyes at me,” he yells, making us all jump.

  The door opens. Christopher pokes his head in and looks between us and fakes a smile. “Elliot, can I see you for a moment, please?”

  “I’m busy,” he snaps.

  “Now.” He widens his eyes.

  Elliot marches from the room and the door clicks closed behind him. Bob and Joel slump in their seats.

  “Don’t you dare resign,” Joel whispers.

  “I agree,” Bob says.

  “Screw this,” I whisper back. “I’m sick of his shit, he’s a fucking asshole. I’m out of here.”

  “Calm down, he’s been like this for years. Why is it suddenly bothering you now?” Joel whispers.

  Because I didn’t want to sleep with him then.

  “I don’t know why he’s going on and on,” Bob whispers. “He makes two hundred thousand pounds every ten minutes.”

  The door reopens and Elliot walks in, takes his seat, his composure completely restored.

  Christopher Xanax Miles: he’s the only one who can calm Elliot and his temper.

  I’ve seen it many times.

  Elliot picks up his pen and sits back as he looks between us. “This is not to happen again, do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” the three of us reply.

  “I’m disappointed. When I pay for the best, I expect the best.” He exhales heavily as he looks between us and tosses his pen onto the desk as if giving up. “You may return to your offices.”

  We all stand.

  “Kathryn, you stay back. I need to see you as regards to the prospectus you sent through.”

  My anger bubbles and I sit back down, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something snarky like Fuck you and fuck right off.

  The door closes behind Joel and Bob and his eyes come to me.

  We stare at each other for a moment until I can’t stand it anymore and I raise my eyebrow.

  “What do you want to discuss about the prospectus?”

  He gets up and comes around the desk and leans his behind on the back of it. He crosses his legs in front of him at the ankle and grips the desk behind him with two hands.

  “Don’t threaten me, I don’t like it,” he says calmly.

  “It wasn’t a threat.”

  “I keep my professional and private lives separate, I thought you could too.”

  “I do.” I straighten my back. “I mean, I am.”

  His eyes hold mine. “That’s a lie. You’ve never threatened to leave before. In fact, you have stayed to spite me. Suddenly today, you want to resign?”

  “Nobody gets to speak to me like that, whether I’m sleeping with them or not.”

  “We haven’t slept together . . . yet.” He accentuates the yet. “Although, I’m rectifying that situation very soon.”

  You wish.

  I stay silent, unsure what to say that won’t sound melodramatic. He’s right, I’ve never contemplated leaving before today; maybe I can’t separate the two.

  “I leave for New York in the morning,” he says.

  I nod.

  His eyes hold mine and then he raises an impatient eyebrow. “And?”

  “And what?” I reply.

  “Am I going to see you tonight?”

  “I’m going to be at the Christmas party like everyone else in the building.” I shrug casually. “So, I guess that means yes.”

  He narrows his eyes. “What’s with the attitude?”

  I stand. “You know, for an intelligent man, you’re pretty stupid. If you think you roasting me and my work colleagues over an honest mistake is a turn-on, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  He puts his jacket back on and his hands in the pockets. “I’m a professional, Kathryn. I wouldn’t be who I am if I wasn’t. Incompetents won’t be tolerated, I don’t care what my relationship with them is.”

  I squirm and look out of the window to evade his glare.

  “Do you want preferential treatment—is that what you’re saying?�
��

  “No, of course not,” I snap.

  “Then look at it from my angle, do you want to be treated the same at work or don’t you?”

  I clench my jaw . . . fucker has got me.

  “I can separate the two,” he continues. “The Kathryn I work with and the Kate that I want.”

  He puts his finger under my chin and brings my face up to meet his; his eyes drop to my lips. “Now let’s talk about Kate,” he murmurs. “I like her.”

  His eyes are so blue . . . and I feel myself lean toward him.

  Just one kiss . . .

  I snap out of my trance. “Let’s not.” I turn and march from the office. I hit the elevator button with such force I’m surprised I don’t break it. I storm into the elevator and take it to the ground floor. I need to go for a walk in the fresh air to try and clear my head.

  Everything is just so confusing at the moment. My life is a head-fuck . . . and not in the good way.

  Music is piping through the gym and the sound of laughter can be heard throughout the space. Trays of champagne and beer are being walked around by waiters and there are balloons and Christmas decorations.

  I’m at the work Christmas party and this isn’t how it was supposed to be. Miles Media was to be going away for a mini break overnight just outside of London, but the country club we were having it at burned down last month.

  I stand at the back of the crowd with my team and sip my champagne as I people-watch.

  Christmas parties always bring out the worst in people; you see your colleagues in a completely different way. Last year, Little Miss Innocent Prim and Proper from level two spent the night in one of the married managers’ rooms. She was the talk of the office for weeks. Marcus and Neil, who are both married, were caught kissing each other in the photo booth, and Mandy from level nine took her top off and danced in her bra because she was hot. I smile as I remember it—it really was a funny night.

  My mind comes back to the present and to Elliot’s indecent proposal.

  As much as I’m attracted to him, and I am, I can’t deny it—and after today, I don’t even know why—I don’t want to be the workplace fool.

  He’s told me straight up: no strings, no relationship or feelings, and no other people.

  So, why would I even consider doing it?

  I mean, isn’t the point of seeing someone about having fun, going to places, and getting to know each other? If I’m not going to be seeing anyone else, don’t I want to be with someone who’s proud to be with me?