Alex glances at me. ‘No. He’s ill. Miss Caswell came via an agency.’ He doesn’t notice Tony raising his eyebrows at my assumed name, too busy shuffling the papers next to his elbow.
‘Let’s begin. We’ve held a number of these meetings today and this is the last of them.’ Smiling at me: ‘Sorry, Charley, I should have said. This is Tony Ferrier. He’s a new management trainee, due to go off to Africa with the expanded programme soon. He’s acting manager of our flagship branch in London. Do you know it?’
He can’t know that every word is like a stiletto grinding splintered glass into my bruised heart. ‘Yes, I know it,’ I respond politely, though inside I’m seething.
I don’t believe it. Tony has taken my job twice over. First in ejecting me from it and second in stealing it from me. It must be recent or Kitty would have called. God, they must hate working under him. I freeze. What if he starts coming on to them too? As manager he’s in a stronger position than he ever was. I have to find a way to block him. Wait. Was this what it was all about from the beginning? Getting my job?
‘Thank you, Alex.’ I conjure a smile to aim at my temporary boss, then turn it on Tony, baring my teeth. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Ferrier.’ Not.
Tony’s gaze flickers between Alex and I, probably trying to work out how much Alex knows.
‘Pleased to meet you, Charley. I used to know a Charlotte,’ he muses, ‘she was an interesting woman.’
‘I’m sure you’ve lots of stories to tell, Tony,’ Alex interjects smoothly, ‘but if you don’t mind, now isn’t the time for them.’
Tony shifts his attention. ‘Yes, of course,’ he agrees, ‘sorry. Sometimes I just get carried away with memories of happier times, like—’
‘Ouch!’ I cry, jerking my hand away from a piece of paper.
Alex reaches over to touch my arm, ‘Are you okay?’
A spot of warmth grows in me at his concern.
‘Charley?’ His big hand wraps around my wrist and the zing of it, even in these circumstances, amazes me.
Tony’s eyes zero in on the physical contact, his expression first assessing then worried. He runs a finger along the inside of his shirt collar.
‘Yes, Sorry. Paper cut.’ I slip my arm from Alex’s grip, hold up my bleeding finger, glad my distraction worked. I wonder why, given his obsession with privacy, Alex would be so hands-on in front of another employee.
‘If you’re sure.’ He swivels back to Tony. Strange he doesn’t notice bastard-face’s pallor when he notices everything about me. ‘So, quarter one, the beginning of the financial year.’
Tapping out the notes of their conversation, I find the sound of Alex’s deep voice oddly soothing. Weird. I do my best to ignore Tony, getting lost in the Q1 report, facts and figures I know back to front and sideways, as I was at the casino until late summer, half-way into quarter two. They’re stats I input into spreadsheets and analysed myself. My rage grows exponentially and I stab the keyboard keys, wishing they were Tony’s face.
After five minutes, during which Tony takes credit for the successful results and high profit margins, never mind all the hard work of the entire staff, my jaw is aching from clenching my teeth so hard. It’s an incredible effort not to spring out of my chair and start ranting at both of them; Tony for being such a devious bastard and Alex for trusting one.
‘Thanks. I think we’re done. Good results, nice to meet you.’ Alex shakes Tony’s hand twenty minutes later and I want to warn him to go and scrub them with high-end detergent. Saving the document, I log off the laptop, needing to get away and re-gather my thoughts. But it’s backed up and takes forever to co-operate. I fight the urge to fling it across the room at Tony as he stares at me with a creepy smirk.
Alex’s mobile rings. ‘Excuse me, I have to take this,’ he says, exiting swiftly, shutting the door behind him.
Dismay wallops me. Don’t leave me alone with him! I want to yell.
No. You can handle this. And if he lays a hand on you, just scream the bloody place down.
Crossing his arms, Tony squares his rounded rugby shoulders and raises a menacing eyebrow. ‘Hello again, boss. Going somewhere?’ he sneers.
I can’t help it, I snigger. He’s ridiculous, trying to be some tough East End gangster or something. The stance and comment are probably designed to intimidate, but have the opposite effect.
‘Are you being serious?’ I snort. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’
Flushing, he drops his arms. ‘I wouldn’t be so confident. My best has already floored you, hasn’t it?’
He’s not as broad as Alex. In fact he’s a lot smaller than I remember. I step closer and realise I tower above him. ‘I think floored is a bit of an overstatement. After all, I’m here aren’t I?’
For months I’ve been shadowed by him and his actions, but he isn’t a monster, I see it now. He’s just a man. A spoilt, immature, playground bully who likes to dominate, who finds sneaky ways to take what doesn’t belong to him because he’s not good enough to earn them like everyone else. Adrenalin hits with a surge of primitive anger, my heartbeat accelerating, blood pressure rising. Really, what else can he do to me?
I haven’t been a victim so far – because I kept on fighting, kept getting back up, so I definitely won’t be a victim now.
How do you beat a bully? I think back to black-haired Sally Benson in primary school who tripped me over in class and called me names every day for weeks, and how that was resolved.
You show bullies no fear.
I chuckle. ‘If that’s it … ’ Snapping the laptop shut, I place it on Alex’s pile of stuff, pick up my bag and circle the table, ‘I’ll be off.’
He steps into my path. ‘You don’t get off that easily,’ he spits. ‘Are you going to tell me?’
I stare him down. ‘Tell you what?’
‘What the hell you’re doing here!’
‘What does it look like? I’m working, no thanks to you.’
‘Oh dear,’ he moves nearer, ‘been having trouble finding gainful employment?’
The statement is so inadequate to describe all the pain he’s caused it chokes the words in my throat. Fury flashes and I step right up into his face, teeth gritted … and he flinches.
He’s scared of me.
I know the moment will be etched in my brain forever, a glowing memory I can hold onto when things are tough. I’d never hurt anyone physically but this man deserves to hear what I think of him.
‘Not as much as you’d like,’ I snarl, my hands curling into tight fists. ‘You’re pathetic. I said no to you and you didn’t like it, so you had to make me pay, and you couldn’t get a management job like a normal person so you had to slither your way into mine. Sad.’ I shake my head pityingly. ‘And now you’re asking stupid, obvious questions.’
‘Not stupid. You seem awfully close to the CEO, I was just wondering if you were trying out a different line of work.’
His comment is intended as an insult but I’m more interested in the anxiety shining in his eyes. I knew it. He’s worried I have a personal relationship with Alex which might give me the advantage. He doesn’t need to know he’s wrong, not if it’s an illusion that’ll help me.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ I reply, smiling very slowly and very suggestively, hoping I’m convincing.
‘You’re talking crap,’ he says flatly.
‘Am I?’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘Or do I know the way he likes to be kissed because I sat in his lap and did it yesterday afternoon?’
He must see that truth in my eyes. ‘You conniving bitch.’ His tone is almost admiring. ‘You’ve certainly changed over the last few months. After all, you said no to me because of the contractual clause, yet here you are shagging the guy who wrote it.’
I want to tell him not to talk about Alex like that but the drama needs to play out if I want to get rid of him. Plus it feels good. ‘I hate to burst your silly little ego,’ I say sweetly, ‘but it wasn’t the clause, Tony. It was you.’ I stab a fi
nger at his chest. ‘I didn’t want you.’
He steps towards me. ‘I don’t believe you.’
I jerk out of reach. ‘Believe it.’ My voice is concrete. ‘I’d rather lop off my right arm than sleep with you.’
‘You bitch!’ he raises his hand. ‘You’d better be ready for a fight at tribunal. I’m going to tear you apart.’
‘Bring it!’ Maintaining eye contact, I refuse to back down. ‘But lay a finger on me and I’ll scream, and you’ll regret it.’
‘I completely agree,’ Alex says from the doorway.
Tony whirls around to face him and panic claws at me. Oh God, not like this. I know what conclusion Alex has come to and need to say something, but disbelief and shock whisk my voice away.
‘Get out,’ Alex orders.
No, no, no. ‘R–right,’ I whisper.
‘Mr Ferrier.’ Alex points at the door, shoulders tight and vibrating with tension. ‘Leave now please. I’ll find you later.’
‘Sir—’
‘Out.’ The broad back he turns on Tony is an immovable barrier, a clear dismissal. With a look of impotent fury, Tony slams out of the door.
‘What the hell was all that about?’ Alex demands, staring at me with narrowed blue eyes.
‘You didn’t hear the whole conversation?’
‘No, just your last comment.’ He grabs my elbows, pulls me against his chest. ‘Are you okay? What did he do to you? You’re bright white.’
Letting out a jittery laugh, I look down, feeling guilty, body shaking as the adrenalin of confronting Tony drains away. Do I tell Alex everything now so Tony can’t get in first? Slipping from his arms with no lack of regret, I go over to the window, looking out to sea and wishing I was far, far away.
‘There’s no way I’m having one of my managers, any member of staff, intimidate or make another feel uncomfortable,’ he speaks into my silence. ‘It’s completely unacceptable.’
‘Yes,’ I murmur, summoning the bravery I need to tell him the truth.
Then he moves and puts his arm around my shoulders, catching me off guard and skittering my breath. I can feel the warmth of him down my entire body. I tremble harder, back shuddering, teeth chattering. Then I let myself go for a moment, closing my eyes and resting against him, drawing on his strength. It feels so sinfully good. And so heartbreakingly right.
His arms tighten. ‘God, you’re really shaken, aren’t you?’ He puts his mouth to my ear, voice croaky. ‘You’re all right now. Tell me what happened.’
I feel so safe, so secure for the first time in ages. I want him to keep holding me.
‘Charley?’ he prompts.
‘H–he just, got a little close and—’ My shoulders slouch. I want to tell him the truth but when I do, I really think I’ll lose him. All he’ll see is the betrayal. I bite my lip. It’s okay to be a little selfish sometimes, isn’t it? To want to hold onto a good thing for as long as possible.
His phone beeps. ‘For God’s sake! This is getting ridiculous.’ He drags it from his pocket with a telling sigh. ‘I’m so sorry. Can we meet in the suite at half eight? Will you tell me then? We need to go over a few things for tomorrow anyway. And you’ll be safe up there. I’ll make sure he stays away, I promise. Have a few hours off. I have to sort this out.’
‘Okay.’ I smile, my cheeks feeling tense and unnatural. ‘Do what you have to do.’
He brushes a finger down my cheekbone. ‘You’re sweet.’ Walking across the room, he pauses, giving me one of his heart-stopping crooked smiles. ‘What I said earlier. Last night wasn’t just because you were there. Or that you’re gorgeous. It was you. You talk to me like I’m a normal person. You make me feel … normal.’
Without waiting for my reply, he leaves. I slouch back against the window, mouth gaping.
What am I supposed to do with that?
Chapter Nineteen
Muttering as my watch ticks past eighty forty-five, I pace the golden carpet, coral-painted toes sinking into the thick pile. Where’s Alex? He said he’d be here. Ten more minutes and I’ll go look for him.
Over the past couple of hours I’ve tried to relax after the jolt of encountering Tony and the ton of confusion brought down by Alex’s admission. A quick dinner and long, hot bath helped, but I can’t stop wondering where Tony is and what he’s doing. Has he tracked Alex down, or has Alex gone to find him? Are they talking about me right now? Is that why Alex is late? Maybe I should start packing my case again. Every muscle in my body clenches at the idea.
Sitting at the piano, half afraid to touch it because of how expensive it looks, I plunk a few keys tentatively to de-stress, and launch into ‘Chopsticks’, playing faster and faster, fingers pressing the keys harder and harder as my frustrations flow onto the ivories, the force making my wrists ache.
When Tony said those things about my closeness to Alex and me changing, he was right and wrong. He touched a nerve. I’ve changed. But maybe not for the better. My hands stumble and I crash out some discordant notes, pulling a disgusted face. I switch to a Coldplay number from my teens, from a time when I sat at the piano for hours learning songs from the charts.
Tony is wrong about me. Isn’t he? Fuelled by sheer desperation, my principles have flexed enough to take this assignment under false pretences, but they haven’t bent so much I’ll use my body to get ahead. But the fact Tony believed me straight away leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve compromised my own moral code to get alongside a stranger, to try and gain his trust. The last few months have been so awful I’m now lying to a guy who doesn’t deserve it. It’s easy to think you can do something to someone when you see their face in a corporate brochure, but once you meet them in real life it’s different. Especially when you discover they have pretty major trust issues and don’t leave themselves vulnerable to people very often.
And they start to trust you.
And you like them.
And they tell you that you make them feel normal.
And you know with every fibre in your body that’s a good thing.
My hands still, the last notes echoing in the sumptuous room, my head slumping down onto my hands with a plink-thud sound.
What am I doing?
Jess was right. I should never have come here, should never have pursued this crazy plan. I might have lost some of my trust in the world but I don’t want to be someone who is comfortable betraying people. And I definitely don’t want to be someone Tony Ferrier approves of.
I can’t do this.
Lifting my head, I realise something else. I don’t want Alex to think of me that way, as someone who lies and deceives and uses. Fingers flitting over the keys again, I look out the window at the Barcelona skyline, at the buildings and lights, before turning my attention to the sprinkling of stars I can make out in the distance far above the sea. The darkness they occupy is simple and absolute. The sight gives me perspective and everything in me goes quiet.
It’s clear now. I have to abandon my plan and come clean with Alex. I’ll tell him the truth about what I came here to do, but am no longer going to pursue it. I’ll live with the consequences. It might not help my career or financial situation, but I’ll know that in the end I did the right thing.
I lift aching fingers from the piano, curl my hands into loose fists, study the clock. Time’s running out. Where on earth is he?
Knocking on Alex’s bedroom door to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep or lost track of time, I tut when there’s no answer. I run into my room and slip some flats on. Checking the restaurant, with no joy, I rocket into the bar as the next logical choice. I’m completely underdressed in my blue skinny jeans and clingy grey long-sleeved top but don’t care, scanning the room.
Spying Alex at the bar, drink in hand, talking to Greg, his CFO, I can see from the way he’s slouching it’s not his first drink. Strolling over to them, I tuck my hands in my pockets and dredge up an easy smile. I need to play it strategically, not take issue with Alex for being late. ‘Hair of the dog?’ I
check. ‘Or a re-run of last night?’
Glancing over his shoulder, Greg gives me an easy nod. ‘Hello again.’
‘Hi.’
Alex swivels around, suit jacket on the back of the stool, tie ends dangling loose around his collar. Damn, how does he always look so good?
‘Charley.’ He grimaces, ‘Am I late? What time is it?’
‘Almost nine.’
‘You didn’t stand her up did you Alex?’ Greg nudges him with a light elbow.
I open my mouth to reply but Alex gets in first, straightening in his seat. ‘Of course not. It’s not a date. We arranged to go over some work-related matters.’
‘That’s right,’ I agree smoothly. Does he think I’ll blurt out what we did last night? Or that earlier he as good as told me he likes me? ‘We agreed to have a post-meetings brief,’ I explain. ‘Are you ready Alex?’
In answer, he slides off his chair, ‘Can I have a word?’ He walks to a spot by the window.
Trailing a few feet behind, trying not to stare at his gorgeous bum, I bash into him. He turns, catches and steadies me, stepping away as though he’s not allowed to breach the space between us. What was that scene in Dirty Dancing? Something about frames and Jennifer Grey muttering about spaghetti arms as Patrick Swayze tried to cop a feel. ‘Thanks.’
‘I was wondering,’ he broaches, ‘if we could meet in the morning instead of tonight. Say half seven?’
‘I really need to talk to you.’ I need to tell him the truth, and, as part of that, need to know whether he’s spoken to Tony.
‘I need time to myself tonight. I need to … think some things through. Do you mind? It can wait until morning, surely.’
There’s no point in starting an argument, it won’t achieve anything. If he agrees to listen I’ll know he’s knackered and impatient and not in the best frame of mind. ‘I guess so,’ I say reluctantly.
‘Thank you,’ his long-lashed blue eyes warm up, reminding me of a young, dreamy Jared Leto. Sigh. ‘I appreciate it,’ he adds, looking so grateful I wonder how often he gets an evening off. He needs to agree some serious parameters with his staff. Lack of work-life balance can lead to burn-out. I’ve seen it happen and am seriously worried he’s on his way to it.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 41
