Wicked Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  “Just a token.” I shuffle, suddenly aware that Maria and Loretta are both staring at me.

  “Oh, my Lord, girl, this is amazing. My sweet little Honour looks the spit of her dear mother, rest her soul. I can’t believe you did this; you should have your work in one of those fancy galleries off St James,” Maria gushes, and I get a pinch, a tingle of pressure behind my eyes when hers fill and burst with tears at the mention of her daughter.

  “Actually, I sold my first piece today,” I say to stop us both from having an emotional episode. “Not from one of those galleries in St James mind, but Logan’s friend has one off King’s Road. Anyway, I have officially moved up from starving artist, to very poor artist.” I laugh lightly, but Maria doesn’t join in. I add clarification because she is looking more concerned than amused. “At least I’m not homeless anymore.”

  “You’re not really starving?” She takes my hand in hers, her face the picture of concern. I shake my head vigorously.

  “No, no, and I have a roof over my head, but I’m still pretty broke. My hobby and would-be livelihood is super expensive.” I shrug. She seems to relax with my light tone and explanation of my situation.

  “Let me pay you—” I hold up my hand to stop her, and I’m just as quick to interrupt.

  “Oh, God, no, Maria. I didn’t mean anything like that. No, all I meant was, I just went to the art shop today, and now I have a pretty long list of what I need. I’m going to need to sell a few more paintings to replenish my stocks, but then that’s why I’m here.” I sweep my open palm in a gesture to encompass the entire Tower.

  “You know, there’s a perfectly full store cupboard on the fifth floor that has enough office supplies to support all the schools in the city. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss a few pens and pencils.” She winks conspiratorially, but I can’t help but stiffen at her remark.

  “I’m sure they would mind, and no, I’m good, thank you.” I don’t mean to sound like a stuck-up arse, holier-than-thou, but this is a line I won’t cross. My tone softens. “Despite what my record says, I’m not a thief, Maria.”

  “Oh, I know, honey, and it ain’t really thieving; it’s topping up on the shitty pay.” She tips her head, and Loretta is quick to nod in agreement, but I step back a little and shake my head again. I don’t want to cause offence, but I have more than my job on the line here.

  “I’m pretty sure Kruse Corporation wouldn’t see it like that.”

  “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks, but you’re the only one that isn’t on the take in this building,” Maria scoffs.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They are all just as dirty as a dealer on the street. They just wear nicer suits,” she says, but I’m not sure she’s talking to me. She’s looking intently at the picture I just gave her. Her statement has me intrigued though.

  “You have proof of this, of course?” I probe.

  “Nah, just a feeling.” She looks over at me and my momentary interest vanishes with the realisation this is just more hearsay and gossip. I’m not a fan of either. “I know a bad’un when I see them, and I’ve met them all on that top floor. The mother is the worst, butter wouldn’t melt, but that is one ice cold bitch.” I snort out a flat laugh at that comment because that observation is spot on.

  “I’m not going to argue that,” I mutter under my breath.

  “I’ve worked here so long it’s only the golden pension I got with them that keeps me here. Trust me, that pot of gold at the end is worth it. I’m gonna be able to buy me a sweet retirement and pay for this little one’s education.” She looks fondly at the portrait and continues to explain. “I can’t afford to leave, but I wouldn’t even if I could. See, you have to work every day up to the end to get the bonus.”

  “Bonus?”

  “Yeah, the company doubles your contribution just like that, but only if you work right up to the last day.”

  “Really? That seems really generous. I’m surprised they could afford to do that with every employee.”

  “Not many stay till the end, hunny. Not many stay longer than a few years.” She lets out a bitter laugh, and Loretta nods with her friend’s observation. I know she’s telling the truth. They have the highest turnover of staff in the private banking sector. The money is good enough to attract the very best, but it’s obviously not enough to keep them.

  “Where do you want me?” I ask when she falls uncharacteristically silent.

  “Actually, you’re on the top floor. The big boss is transferring back from overseas and needs his office opened up, cleaned, and sparkling.”

  “Big boss?”

  “Yes, the son is returning. He’s been working out of the Moscow office, and apparently, he’s coming home for good. They are having some financial crisis, and he’s the wonder boy that is going to solve all their problems.”

  “Is there anything you don’t know, Maria?” I quip.

  “No, I’m the eyes and ears of this place.” She chuckles.

  “Remind me to buy you a drink sometime. I’d love to know more.” I pick up the keys to the store cupboard and turn to leave.

  “I don’t drink, but buy me a cake, and I’ll tell you everything,” she chuckles.

  “Okay, you’re on but your cakes are the best Maria, not sure any shop bought compete.”

  “Birthday cakes are my specialty but I love any cakes that I’m not making myself.” She chuckles and pats the roundness of her midsection. I smile and ignore the inference to her weight, she’s perfect. “You want me to do the whole of that floor when I’m done in his office?”

  “Yes, honey, that would be great. Work your way down to the fortieth. I’ll grab you around two in the morning for a break.”

  “Oh, I’d rather work through and leave early if that’s okay? “I smile sweetly with my request because Maria really likes her break time to be a communal thing.

  “You got a hot date?” She raises her pencilled in brow nice and high.

  “Something like that, a hot date with some cold Chinese food,” I scoff and wave my goodbye to the sound of her laughing.

  The view from the top floor is breathtaking. The length of this office is floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Thames and beyond. On a clear, star-filled night like this, I swear I can almost see the coast. I step flush against the window and press my nose against the glass so even my peripheral vision is filled with this vista. I feel like I’m floating or about to fall. It scares the crap out of me, but I love it, too. It’s like a test. Isn’t the saying, do something that scares you every day? I laugh bitterly to myself at the irony. I’ve spent so many days terrified for my life, this is nothing, and it’s also in my control.

  I exhale through my nose, and the glass steams up. Stepping back, I draw a lazy doodle of a love heart with my finger, which slowly disappears as the mist warms on the glass. It’s no longer visible, but in a certain light, the mark will show. I am about to wipe the window with my cloth and spray, removing any trace but stop myself. He always had my heart.

  I turn and look at the now sparkling clean office of Acting President Atticus Kruse. I did a good job, although it wasn’t difficult. It’s a very clinical and sparsely furnished room. A large oval glass and oak desk at one end and two long white leather sofas at the other. There’s a display cabinet and a side unit with a fridge. The tall shelving unit behind his desk is empty other than a lone bottle of his favourite whiskey. Other than that, there are no personal items to speak of. Maybe that will change, but at this moment, the room could belong to anyone. It certainly doesn’t feel like it belongs to him. I shake my wayward thoughts away because none of that matters. Wistful recollections and trips down memory lane are for naïve love-struck teenagers, and I haven’t been one of those in a long time. I lock the door to his office and begin cleaning the rest of the top floor and then the next and the next until, at five thirty in the morning, I drag my weary arse home.

  The dawn breaks around four o’clock this time of year, and it’s almost fully ligh
t by the time I hop off the night bus and make my way up our street. I reach the gate and find two women on the doorstep. They have their backs turned to me and are searching around in an oversized bag for something. They look immaculate from here. Slicked dark hair pulled back into matching ponytails and heels so high I’d need an airbag for safety if I were to attempt to wear anything remotely similar. One is wearing a full-length fake fur coat, while the other has on a neat fitted black leather biker jacket. Her skirt clings to her arse like a second skin and barely covers the bottom curve of her cheeks. Her stocking tops and suspenders are clearly visible. They haven’t heard me approach, and I’m about to push by, but they start to whisper, so I freeze, my foot lifted and hovering mid step.

  “That’s a lot of money for doing nothing.” I can hear the surprise in her tone, and her friend nods enthusiastically.

  “Yeah, I actually wish he would touch us though…just once, you know?” She snickers.

  “Just touch? Fuck that. No, no, I want his cock. I want to fuck him so bad, have his cock in me, not your dildo or strap on. I want him to join in for a change, not just watch us get it on.” She pouts and I think my jaw just hit the pavement. What the hell are they saying?

  “Yeah, me, too, it’s a shame, you know, a waste. He’s built down there; hell, he’s built everywhere, but you just know he’d be soooo good.” She giggles and sighs.

  “Never thought I’d say it about a John, but I feel bad taking his money. You think he’s gay?”

  “No, Jade, I don’t think he’s gay. He’s only been like this since she—Ow!”

  “Shit!” Jade’s head snaps round to face me, her bony elbow interrupting her friend by digging into her side.

  “Ow, what the fuck, Lacy!” Jade rubs her ribs and follows her friend’s startled glare. “Oh, shit!”

  “What did you just say?” I step forward and keep my voice low. Sound travels, and it’s too early for the everyday noises of a street waking up to cloak the conversation.

  “Nothing, we said nothing.” Jade snaps her lips shut, as if it isn’t already too late for that.

  “But you did.” I offer a smile and raise my brow, hoping my jokey tone will endear her enough to clarify and expand on their conversation.

  “Escort-client privileges, we’re not allowed to say.” She bites back with a spiteful twist in her glossy bright pink lips. Apparently not.

  “I think that’s only with doctors, lawyers, and priests, and I don’t mean any disrespect by assuming your trade, since you are none of the above.”

  “Smarty arse, hmm? Must be why he likes you, since we’re not allowed to speak and all. That must be what’s different,” Lacy butts in with equal disdain for my presence and questions.

  “Not the only difference, I hope,” I blurt and instantly shake my head by way of a retraction.

  “You got a problem, bitch?” Jade steps up to me. I don’t back down, but I’m not going to defend myself, either. It was a low blow. “Because as I see it, we’re here providing a service he ain’t getting, and if he ain’t sharing the details with you…” She jabs her finger into my chest. I flinch but don’t move. “…then I guess it’s none of your fucking business, is it?” Her face is inches from mine, and I can see in her eyes the fire is hiding a little hurt. I let out a slow breath and try and make amends.

  “You’re right; it’s none of my business. I’m actually sorry for the snide comment. I’m in no position to judge. I’ve just had a long night cleaning offices.” She huffs, and her shoulders lose a little of their stiffness. She steps back and Lacy slides her arm through Jade’s.

  “On minimum wage, yeah, that would make me a grumpy bitch, too.” Jade laughs, but it’s hollow.

  “Yeah, needs must, though, a girl’s gotta’ eat.” I step past them and up to the front door. Jade calls after me.

  “You need extra cash, we’re always looking for new girls, and you’re pretty enough.” Her smile is genuine, and her face is a picture of excited anticipation. I fight off the grimace that is threatening and flash an apologetic smile.

  “Oh, thank you, but I’m assuming sex would be involved, so that kind of counts me out,” I quip, and Lacy leans over to whisper, only it’s louder than her normal voice.

  “Oh, that makes much more sense.”

  “What does?” I step back toward the girls, but they hurry through the gate.

  “Nothing. For fuck’s sake, Lacy, keep your mouth shut. This sweet gig will end if he finds out we’ve talked, okay?”

  “Shit, can you just forget you saw us?” Jade pleads.

  “Hardly, but I won’t say anything, either. It’s not my place,” I offer, and Jade lets out a relieved breath and smiles. Lacy can’t seem to help herself and speaks once more before Jade drags her away.

  “Not what we’ve heard.”

  I am way too tired for this cryptic shit.

  Why do my balls still ache? Jade and Lacy acted their toned little arses off for me as I directed them in my own personal porn show. Even if I closed my eyes at the final moment and saw only emerald greens looking back at me, I still thought I came hard enough to give me a little reprieve, but no.

  I hear the front door shut, and I get that twinge in the base of my spine and that ever-present throbbing in my balls that I know will only be sated by one thing. Tia.

  It’s my own damn fault; I should’ve made my move on our first drunken night together, when I knew she was interested, before she started putting up these barriers and shifting me into the fucking friend zone. I hadn’t done all my checks, and I needed to be sure she wasn’t playing me. I needed to be sure she was telling the truth. I needed to be sure she was real. She did tell me the truth. She just didn’t tell me everything, and when I found out, I hated myself for being so damn good at my job. Hacking into her prison records and medical file exposed a world of pain I can only imagine and something I can’t in good conscience add to, what with my own fucked up shit. Not unless she makes the first move.

  She freezes in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure of my mood no doubt. I have laid out two plates, there’s a shit tonne of Chinese food, and there’s a pot of tea steeping. To me at least, it’s pretty fucking obvious I am over her ‘best intentions’.

  “You said you weren’t going to wait up,” she says, her voice hesitant. I don’t blame her, although I have a grip on my temper most of the time, she’s seen me at my worst, and that’s pretty fucking scary.

  “I didn’t wait up.” I start to open up the take-out containers.

  “Oh.” Her shoulders drop, and I shouldn’t take so much pleasure from her disappointment, but I’ll take that and any other sign she throws my way that this is more than a ‘just friends’ deal.

  “I haven’t been to bed, but I didn’t wait up for you. I was busy.” I don’t have to make it easy, though. I’m not pussy-whipped… yet.

  “So I saw.” She sniffs derisively, and I take that as a win, too. My face splits into a shit-eating grin until she snaps with open hostility.

  “Did you give them breakfast, too?” I raise a brow, and her eyes narrow on mine. Heat and hurt hide behind those long lashes, and I’m desperate to explore the former and heal the latter. It wasn’t always like this, but recently the tension, sexual and otherwise, between us seems to be escalating on a daily bases. Something is going to give. I just hope it’s her, to me.

  “Did they look like friends?” I ask, my tone softer, and I take the seat opposite.

  “No, not exactly.” She flops down into the seat, and I notice the dark circles under her eyes and how her skin looks so pale. She’s exhausted. Now I feel like a complete shit, not for shutting her down earlier but for goading her now.

  “Then you’ve answered your own question.” I wink and start to dish up her favourites. She rests her head in her hands and rubs her temples. Her dark hair falls in long, loose curls like a curtain, covering her face until she draws in a deep breath and sweeps it back.

  “I’m sorry, Logan.” She holds
my gaze, and all I want to do is sweep her into my arms.

  “I know, Dodge, I know.” I stand up and walk round the table. She looks up, startled, when I lift her into my arms and sit back down in her place. She lets out a peaceful sigh and relaxes into my hold, her head heavy on my chest, her eyelids starting to droop.

  “Hey, you need to eat something.” I kiss the top of her head and, with enormous effort, ignore the swelling in my boxer shorts when she lets out a heavenly moan.

  “I think I’m too tired.” She stifles a yawn but loses the battle to keep her eyes open.

  “Then let me.” I scoop some rice onto a spoon and press it against her lips. She opens her mouth and for the second time in as many seconds, I have to try and focus on anything other than that sound of ecstasy escaping her perfect lips. Next stop, cold shower.

  I’m making some homemade soup, as I know the smell alone will rouse Tia from her self-inflicted coma. I carried her up to bed around six this morning, and it’s now nearly five in the afternoon. I checked on her several times throughout the day, even held up a mirror against her mouth to check if she was still breathing at one point. I swear she hasn’t moved a muscle in the whole eleven hours. She’ll be starving when she wakes and probably grumpy too, having wasted the whole day asleep, and since she’s an idiot who is due back at work again tonight.