‘You don’t know the consequences—’
‘Of what? What do you think I’m going to do? Are we back to privacy again, is this where you whip out the gagging order?’ I shake my head, ‘You hide behind your clause and your professional reputation as an excuse. But I think it’s about sharing part of yourself with someone else. You don’t like people getting too close.’
‘You’re wrong.’
‘Am I?’
‘It’s not a fear of intimacy.’ He flashes back. ‘I’m not some commitment-shy teenager. Give me more credit than that.’
‘For God’s sake, what is it then?’
‘I just don’t want to let anyone down!’
‘Why would you? How could you possibly let anyone down by trying to have a normal life?’
‘Because then that’s all I might want!’
His anguish shuts us both up.
After a moment he admits. ‘You’re right, okay? I hate my job, I’m not happy. Being good at something doesn’t mean you love it.’ He looks pained, and then as if ripped from him: ‘I do it because I have to. It’s my responsibility. But there are so many things I miss out on. I don’t have any hobbies, I do nothing for fun. The closest I get is running on the treadmill and lifting weights whilst listening to business reports on my earphones. I feel completely out of touch with the real world. I’ve got no idea what programmes are popular and I can’t remember the last time I read a book.’ He stops, looking horrified. ‘This is bullshit. I’ve got nothing to complain about. A lot of people would kill to be in my position. Listen to me,’ he mocks, ‘the ungrateful rich guy who wants to escape his money-padded cell.’
Even if I didn’t feel the wild magnetism to him, he’s a person in torment. ‘You feel guilty because you don’t want it,’ I attempt to console him with words, ‘but that’s okay. Everyone should be able to choose their own lives. It’s normal to feel hemmed in if that’s not the case.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Freedom is one of the most important rights a person has, Alex, you only get one chance at this funny old world. The question is whether you can do something to change your situation.’
‘Could you walk away from everything you are? Could you let your family down, abandon your responsibilities?’
‘I feel like I already did. I didn’t fit into my parents’ plan for me when I came to London. I’ve always felt like a disappointment for being career-minded and doing my own thing.’ Traipsing to the sofa, I sit down.
Alex follows, standing above me, hands on lean hips. I make sure I look at his face rather than the dangerous area in my direct eye line.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being ambitious,’ he replies. ‘And why wouldn’t somebody as bright as you want to use their brain? Despite your occasional clumsiness, you’re the type of person who could set their mind to anything and be successful. You’re attractive, confident, quick. I know I’m impressed.’ He sits down on the sofa.
His unexpected comments warm me, soothing the sore spot ripped open by Tony’s recent actions. It’s the rawness most of us have, the little voice whispering insidiously that we’re not good enough and never will be. ‘Thank you,’ clearing my throat, ‘and did what I said help?’
‘Maybe. I’ll think about what you said. If only you could help solve some of my other problems.’ He chuckles darkly.
‘Like the woman who texted you yesterday, who you were talking about this morning?’ As soon as it’s out there I regret it. None of my business.
‘What do you know about it?’
‘I was standing next to you. You said she. Just forget it,’ I say stiffly, rising. ‘I’ll get my bag. We should go.’
‘I’m sorry.’ His voice stops me. He sighs, shudders. ‘Have you ever loved someone so much the thought of them being taken away makes you feel like shutting down?’
I gulp. He sounds tortured. Oh, God. Did I nearly help him cheat on someone last night? He doesn’t seem the type, is too principled, but you never can tell. I have to know. Sinking back down on the sofa beside him: ‘No,’ I answer. ‘I’ve never felt that way about anyone, not romantically.’ Hint, hint. Have you? I keep going when he stays silent. ‘I’d be gutted to lose a family member, obviously, and I’ve felt like that about other things.’ With a certain degree of irony, I think about my job, flat, friends … life.
‘What do you do?’ he asks.
‘Do?’
‘When it happens. How do you stop from shutting down?’
‘I don’t know.’ I shift, caught off guard. ‘Honestly? Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you let it happen, shut down, and then you,’ I grope for the right words, ‘reboot. And you decide whether to fight, or walk away.’
‘I bet you didn’t.’
‘Didn’t what?’
He smiles, traces a finger along the back of the sofa near my shoulder. ‘Walk away.’
But perhaps I should have. I feel like the worst kind of deceiver sitting with him, sharing thoughts and feelings, while he’s oblivious to my motives. ‘What makes you say that?’ I ask.
‘You’re far too stubborn. No offence.’
I smile. ‘None taken, you’re right.’ I gather my thoughts. ‘But wrong too, because I’ve gone through something really tough and walked away for a while.’ In the weeks after the appeal when all I could do was rail against the unfairness of it all, before I decided to stop being a moaning Myrtle. ‘Then I decided to fight,’ lodging the ET, ‘which I thought was the right thing to do. And in some ways it still is, the principle is important. But, lately I’ve been wondering if sometimes hanging in there is worth it, if it isn’t more damaging to keep going when you know the cost is stacking up.’ I look at him, a guy who is hurting, clicking that he’ll see my fibs as a betrayal no matter what my justification. ‘When you end up doing things you don’t like.’ An idea crystallises. ‘Sometimes maybe walking away is the best thing to do all round.’ Is that what I should do?
‘I can’t walk away,’ he grinds, ‘no matter what the cost.’
‘Why? And no doubt you have unlimited funds, but I was talking about emotional costs.’
‘I know,’ he interjects. ‘But there’s no choice, not when it comes to this.’
I feel sick thinking he’s part of a couple. Or was he pining after an ex last night and I was some substitute? ‘So, who is she?’ I grimace. ‘This woman you love so much.’
‘Who is she?’ He jolts like I’ve stuck a cattle prod somewhere unmentionable and electrocuted him.
‘The reason you’ve been so stressed?’
‘Yes. Her. Louise.’ He lopes over to the bar and cracks open two bottles of cola. ‘Here.’
‘Thanks.’ I accept it gratefully. ‘So. Louise? Who is she?’ Taking a thirsty gulp.
‘My wife.’
‘What?’ I splutter and cough, leaning over to cup a hand over my nose, scared drink will shoot out of it. Please no. Not a married man. There’s never been a whiff of it in the papers. This cynical guy actually loved someone enough to walk them down the aisle? Wow. I can’t pinpoint the odd feeling in my chest at the thought.
‘Are you okay?’ He pats my back a few times and I block out the warmth of his palm through my suit jacket.
‘Uh-huh,’ I wheeze. Scooting forward, I put the bottle down rather than break it with tightened fingers. ‘I didn’t know you were married.’ Please tell me this isn’t one of those stories where his wife doesn’t understand him and that’s why he almost strayed.
‘Not many people do.’ He touches my shoulder as I sit up, gazing deep in my eyes. As if unable to stop himself, he tucks my hair behind my ear, making my skin go goose-bumpy. ‘Very soon we won’t be married. Our divorce is almost final. We’ve been separated for two years.’
‘Right,’ I mutter. Alex has integrity, and as far as I know has never lied to me, despite concealing his wife’s existence, though by the sound of it that’s been from the world in general. Reaching forward and grabbing my drink again, I take a big
gulp, feeling confused. Am I relieved because if he’s being honest I haven’t helped him semi-commit adultery, or because it means he’s available?
‘Aren’t you going to ask me any more questions?’
‘Nope. I’m whipped. I had a late night last night.’
I definitely don’t want all the gory details about his ex, about how glamorous and high-society she is.
‘I know.’ He stares at me meaningfully. ‘I remember some fierce red-haired she-monster slamming the door in my face.’
‘That was nothing,’ I say lightly. ‘You should see me when I get my hulk on.’
‘Yes. I’d hate to see you when you’re really ferocious.’
‘Positively scary.’ I wiggle my eyebrow and manage to put the half-full bottle on the table without spilling it. He smiles and I smile and then we’re smiling together and I feel that unbelievable spark between us. The tingle along the back of my neck warns me not get in any deeper.
My smile fades and I stand up, but Alex grabs my hand.
‘Where are you going?’
Gesturing to the wall clock: ‘We need to go.’
‘We have a few minutes. I got sidetracked, haven’t said everything I need to.’ He tugs on my fingers and I try to ignore the zing it creates between my thighs. ‘I feel bad about last night—’
Mortification burns and along with it, pride surfaces. I’m not some naive little school girl and I won’t have him feeling sorry for me. ‘I’m sorry I slammed the door in your face but don’t worry about it, I understand. You have baggage. We all do. Don’t lose sleep over it, I won’t.’ Liar, liar your pants are positively roasting.
He pulls on my hand. ‘Well, I might. I don’t usually do that sort of thing.’
‘What?’ I ask, sitting back down. ‘Fooling around with women you hardly know?’
‘Um.’ He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Wow.’ That makes a girl feel special. Picking up the bottle, I start to peel the label off.
My thoughts must be reflected in my expression because he closes his intense blue eyes then reopens them, ‘I don’t usually kiss women I work with,’ he growls. ‘Or immediately ask them not to disclose it. I acted like an insensitive idiot and insulted you. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ I respond neutrally. ‘You’ve already told me you got spooked because we’re working together and you can’t appear a hypocrite. We’re going round in circles. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether you live like a monk or not.’ Why did I say that? He’ll think I’m fishing.
Hesitating, he runs a hand through his hair. ‘You need to understand, the world I live in has its own rules.’
‘And?’
‘You go out socially as a couple for business or PR reasons and it makes sense to extend it to other areas. It’s convenient. But any arrangement I have, both parties are clear what the rules are.’
I laugh in disbelief. ‘Yeurgh! It sounds so … cold.’ I look at him, puzzled. It’s so at odds with the hot-blooded guy I’ve started to know. The one who kissed me, the one who pinned me against the wall. I blush. ‘And if you want the correct definition, I think you mean friends with benefits, which isn’t exclusive to your world. More disturbing is the way you’re talking about casual relationships like they’re contracts. I’m sorry Alex, but people’s emotions don’t behave according to a set of logically laid out terms and conditions.’
‘I wasn’t inviting a commentary on my private life.’
‘What were you doing then?’ Anger sends a sparkle of pain across my temples.
‘Explaining my actions last night.’ A pause. ‘The truth is, I panicked.’
‘Panicked? Because I might tell people?’
‘Yes. But mainly because I can’t make the same mistakes again. Too many people get hurt.’ He stomps all over my attempt to ask him what he’s on about. ‘It shouldn’t have happened. I should have had more control.’
Slamming the bottle down on the table, I rear up. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, or patronising! We were two consenting adults. You hardly ravished me against my will. We’re not in some regency novel where you’re the lord of the manor. We live in the modern world.’
‘But those kinds of books are about honour, aren’t they?’ He comes out of his seat to tower over me. ‘About keeping it and losing it? And this situation is about honour. It’s something instilled in me since childhood. Honour is a big thing in the Greek half of my culture, modern world or not.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘So what compromised your control?’ I demand. ‘What made you lose it?’ Say I’m not like the others. Even as I think it, I know I shouldn’t.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘I’m not thinking straight with everything that’s going on. And you’re absolutely gorgeous … and you wanted me.’
‘So anyone half-presentable, up for it, and within reach would have done.’ As much as I don’t want it to, my voice trembles. ‘Thanks very much.’ I spin away. ‘I’m just going to grab something from my room. I’ll see you down there.’ I march across the room, movements stiff and jerky.
‘Charley, come back.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Slamming the door, I lock it tight, needing a few moments to myself.
Men!
Chapter Eighteen
The sound of my fingers pounding away at the laptop seems disproportionately loud, as Alex and his Chief Finance Officer Greg agree on a list of actions with corresponding timescales. There’s a different feel to this meeting and I wonder if they’re friends as well as colleagues.
‘Quarter three,’ I correct them.
‘Pardon?’ Alex’s head lifts.
‘I think you mean quarter three, not two.’
Frowning, he checks the paperwork. ‘You’re right, thank you.’
‘Of course.’
With a final comment of, ‘We need to watch those costs and we’ll be on track for quarter four,’ Alex stands, and I do as well. ‘That’s it, we’re done.’ He shakes his CFO’s hand, ‘Thanks for your time, Greg. Have a good flight home in the morning.’
‘Same goes, but perhaps we can have a drink in the bar later?’
‘That would be good.’ Alex grins then after seeing him out turns to face me, unbuttoning his jacket. ‘Charley, I think you took my comment the wrong way earlier. I know it came out wrong.’ He raises his eyebrows, looking at me hopefully. ‘Really, really wrong,’ he tacks on gravely.
I shrug and stare out the window, trying not to let the comment mean anything, determined not to get further involved for the sake of my sanity.
‘I care even if you don’t,’ Alex says roughly.
A tap on the door cuts off whatever else he was about to say and his face goes blank. ‘Good afternoon, you must be Tony. How are you?’
My blood freezes in my veins, time slowing.
It can’t be.
But it is. Alex’s broad shoulders block the doorway, shielding the person from view, but as the visitor answers in a deferential tone I recognise the voice.
‘Yes. Fine, thank you sir, and you?’
I struggle to draw in quiet, even breaths, instead of short, panicky ones. What the hell? What’s he doing here?
‘I can’t complain,’ Alex says formally. ‘Take a seat.’
And with that, in swaggers the man who turned everything in my life upside down, who ruined my career, my credibility and my prospects. I drop into my chair, head down to hide my face, giving myself a moment to think before he sees me.
Oh, God. I can’t be here.
The room falls away, Alex and Tony’s voices going muffled like I’m underwater. My ears pop and light spots in front of my eyes join together so that my whole vision goes bright white, warm clamminess spreading over my body. It’s scary and disorienting. Sweat beads my forehead and I tuck my chin closer to my chest as I fight to breathe, to think. In, out. In, out. What am I going to do? I can’t let t
hem see me this way – weak. It’ll pass. It has to pass. Thankfully the oxygen starts filtering back into my body and my sight starts clearing. It must be a stress reaction. Sitting still while it lifts completely, I wonder if Alex or Tony noticed.
There’s the shifting of furniture and bastard-face sits down to my right. I catch a waft of the aftershave I disliked so intensely, and raw emotions hit, coagulating in my stomach. Fear, anger, seething frustration, sadness … jamming into a ball of concrete in my throat. I shiver, blood whooshing through my veins, heart thudding. Ba–doom, ba–doom, ba–doom. I can’t look at Tony, there is so much turmoil inside, but at last my pride kicks in, and I sit up straighter.
Of all the ways I’d imagined seeing my ex-assistant again this wasn’t one of them. I had daydreams of dramatic scenes where I’d tell the world what he’d done, giving an impassioned speech for justice that’d bring tears to people’s eyes and a spontaneous round of applause. Then he’d get his comeuppance somehow, before crawling into a deep, dark hole, never to be seen or heard from again. And I’d magically get my old life back. Yes, all a bit Dynasty I know, but the mind works in funny ways.
I definitely didn’t think I’d be stuck in a small room with him and another person oblivious to the undercurrents. Plus I’m at a massive disadvantage. If Tony greets me by name it’ll blow my cover, and Alex will find out the truth in the worst way possible. I quake, but anger and resentment step in. Don’t let him win again. Don’t let him see you rattled. Take control. I stare at the thick black carpet, then study the polished glass table, the shiny metal of its legs, the huge square windows and white blinds, until I’m calmer, steady.
Then, lifting my chin, I look directly at Tony, gaze raking over his straw-yellow hair and pinkish complexion, which drains of colour with the shock I read in his flinty eyes. His attention switches to Alex and back to me and his lips shape something before he recovers, suspicion narrowing his glare.
‘Is there a problem, Mr Ferrier?’ Alex asks, eyebrows pulling together.
‘No.’ He studies my face but I stare back at him blankly. Let him wonder. ‘I thought your assistant was a man? Did he leave?’
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 40
