“Nope, I opted out remember. Left the field to the two champions.”
“You gutter scratching, fat bellied, lowlife wimp.”
Aiden made a beckoning gesture, crooking his index finger and spoke low and deep. “Come here and say that.”
She was already standing close. She went, “hah,” and shaped up, shifting to stand toe to toe. She tipped her chin up, pressed a finger into his chest. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She was Miss Naughty mentored by Miss Make No Mistake I’m Dangerous.
They were standing in the brewery’s car park, between a pillar and someone’s hotted up Ford Falcon. Everything about this was inappropriate: the place, the time, the occasion, the girl.
She started in, poked his chest. “You gutter scratching...” He stopped her with a finger under her chin, she sucked in a breath and spat out, “fat bellied.” When her mouth opened, he swiped his thumb gently across her lower lip. Her eyes flared, “Lowlife.” He bent his head to hers, ran his nose up her cheek to her temple, luxuriating in the fragrance of her skin. She grabbed both his arms, but otherwise held completely still, not breathing. He said, “Don’t let me stop you,” in a whisper against her ear and she said, “Wimp,” on a breathy sigh as he took her lips.
There was nothing surprised or platonic about this kiss. It was hard and tight and wet; tongue’s flirting, touching, bodies surging together. Bailey’s arms came up under his suit coat and she pressed into him. He had one hand cradling her face and the other wrapped around her hips, holding her close. Someone moaned. Bailey said, “Bells,” and bit his bottom lip.
He stepped her backwards until she was braced against a cement pillar then crowded her close, soaking her in, his hands on her arms, her hips, her backside. He pulled the clip from her hair and pushed his fingers in against her warm scalp to hold her head while he devoured her lips. She jerked her hips forward to meet his and neither of them was stopping. How long were they there: five minutes, ten, longer? He heard a car start somewhere behind the pillar and ignored it. His whole body was on fire to touch her. He didn’t care who saw them. He only cared about having her now.
The boom gate lifted, a car horn beeped. A mobile phone rang, his, hers? It didn’t matter. This mattered. Her breath on his face, her eyes heavy lidded with lust, her hands, pulling at his tie, opening his shirt. Her colour balanced against his darkness, her gift of awareness and renewed life.
“Aid, we can’t stay here.”
He heard, but this was surely an enchantment, once they stopped it would be vapour. The real world would crash back into place. She’d be Bailey, brave and brilliant, and he’d be broken and no good for her. There was only now. He had the buttons of her jacket undone, but he wanted her skin. There was no easy getting around this dress, he palmed her breast. “I need you.”
She jolted on his touch, gasped, “Not here.”
He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have all of her. It maddened him, made his touch harder. His fingers pinched her through the cool wool of her suit, his kisses punished her. She twisted beneath him, brought her knee against his thigh, hands to his chest and thrust him back.
“Aiden!”
She was breathing quickly, wide-eyed, her hair all tumbled down, backed against the painted red pillar. She was scared. Fuck, he’d scared her. Come on too strong, lost it. His need too intense. Everything he’d been frightened of. All the reasons he’d kept his distance.
He staggered back, his hand to his head, trying to contain the horror of what he’d done to her. “You’re right. I’m a gutter crawling, untrustworthy, snake in the grass, lowlife bastard.” His voice was gravel, sounding like it belonged to someone who’d back a colleague into a cement pillar in a public car park and assault her in the middle of the day.
She kept her distance, buttoned her jacket, found her clip and tried to put her hair up. She wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look away from what he’d done. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t make her hair stay up. Her eyes were shiny.
“Bailey, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tell you how sorry.” He wanted to lay into the bonnet of the Ford, kick its glossy orange door in, punch out its windscreen, cave in its headlights. Bloody his knuckles, burn his muscles. Hurt himself on the outside to make the hurt inside go away. But that would only frighten her more. That must be what she’d expect from him, a skip from reality, a blowout of control. He turned away from her. He didn’t want to see her hatred.
But she came after him. Her hand on his back. Her voice soft and steady. “It’s alright. I was there with you. It was too much, too quick. The wrong place, the wrong time.”
Her sympathy tore hunks out of his skin. It made him want to be rough with her to bust this sense she had that she understood him. “You don’t mean that. I scared the fuck out of you.”
“This scared me, but I’m not scared of you. You wouldn’t have hurt me.”
He turned to face her. She’d put herself back together. She was calm and composed, and her compassion might break him. “You can’t know that. I don’t know that.”
“Aiden, you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You give me too much credit, Bailey. What you saw, that’s as much a part of me as anything else. I am not in control around you. I never wanted that to happen. I tried to stay away. But you...”
He couldn’t go on. He wanted to blame her for being constantly in his head, for giving him the idea she could save him from himself, but that wasn’t right. That was all imagining. She’d done nothing to deserve the way he might hurt her. Like the morning pic, she was the beach, and he was the ocean crashing repeatedly on her, and consuming her.
“I know you’re hurting. I know you’re...”
He cut her off. He had to get her away from him. “You can’t heal me. I’m not a project you can work on. I’m not some detail you can fix with dental floss and a sassy comeback.”
And like the beach, she wasn’t easily cowered. She didn’t let his insult knock her. “You said you needed me.”
“Not for anything good.” He re-buttoned his shirt. “We need to stay away from each other before you get hurt, worse than what I just did. I have to tell Blake. If you want to take action against me I understand.” God, this was a screw up. It could hardly get any worse. “In fact I insist you do.”
“I don’t want that.” She shook her head quickly; one lone curl she’d not captured dropping over her face. She tucked it behind her ear irritated. “I don’t need Blake to know. He’s not to know about this. We can work this out between us.”
“There’s nothing to work out. You might change your mind about taking action. I’ll understand. I hope you’ll still want to work on Bitters. I can make sure I stay well away from you. Please know I’m more sorry than I can ever say, but you need to stay away from me.”
“Aiden, don’t do this. Don’t beat yourself up. Don’t cut yourself off from me.”
Different emotions played with her features, poured from her eyes and found expression in the way she frowned and positioned her lips. He saw confusion frustration and empathy. And they made him want to grab her and shake her till they turned to anger, retribution and hate. Those were emotions he could handle. Those were emotions he deserved.
He watched her wrap his tie around her palm, like a bandage, and he saw the second when a fresh bloom of pity flowered across her face. It made him cold inside. Pity left him nothing to hit out against, nothing to fight. Pity was crime, shame, misfortune. It was solace, charity, clemency. She was too good to pity him; he was too poor and undeserving of her kindness and grace. It made him hard.
He raised his voice, gave it a steel edge to scissor her with. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” She frowned, he snapped the blades shut. “I don’t need you. You’re the worst possible thing for me right now. Stay away from me.”
He left her there in the car park famed between the orange Ford and the red pillar with his silver blue tie in her hand, distress for him on her face, and the effects
of his fear and guilt and cowardice lodged firm in her heart.
35: Despicable
She’d have gone after him, but his pride wouldn’t have stood it. She’d have gone after him but he’d looked haunted by what might’ve happened and how he’d lost himself. He used anger to push her away, but he was angry with himself and he resented her for trusting him, for caring for him.
Why couldn’t that have happened somewhere else, when they were alone and safe, when they could bank the urgency, temper it with time, and secure it with the knowledge they were both right there together in the moment?
He’d been rough, but it wasn’t designed to hurt her. He’d been rough, but she’d needed him too. If they’d been around softness and comfort, not concrete and metal, that harder edge would have been excitement and thrill, not sharp consciousness and sudden fear of exposure.
He’d frightened himself far worse then he’d frightened her, and now he’d re-bricked the wall between them with apprehension and self-doubt.
Bailey’s heart was heavy as she waited for her taxi. Aiden was nowhere to be seen on the street. She could only imagine how he was beating himself up. There had to be a way to help him get past this. But it would be almost impossible unless he let her, and as long as he fought this thing between them, there wasn’t much she could do. It was his choice. He could reach out and embrace her, or he could choose to live in his past with his dark moods and shadows. She ached to help him choose the light; choose her, even as she knew he feared it.
That’s what made her heart heavy. That he’d choose to run rather than face her. That he’d desire remorse and remembrance over moving forward.
In the taxi she changed her shoes. She loved those stacked heels, but they made the penguin come out to play. A dull pain settled in her lower back as a punishment for her vanity. She could as easily have worn something flatter. Good thing Doug was coming after work.
The office was all abuzz about the pitch. Aiden was obviously back, and had been talking it up. She had to replay the monkey moment a couple of times before she made it to her desk. When she did there was an envelope addressed to her in Aiden’s big precise hand lettering. Inside were a note and two fifties.
BW
On the weekend, I watched Despicable Me with the kids. The title says it all. My behaviour towards you was despicable, when all you’ve ever offered me is your friendship.
In the movie the mad criminal character, Gru, says to the orphan kids he’s adopted, “That book was accidentally destroyed maliciously”. I had to explain that to Jas. She thought it was funny. What’s not funny is that’s what I’ve done today, destroyed what we had accidentally, but maliciously. Make no mistake about it, Bailey. I knew what I was doing and I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. That’s Jas’ definition of ‘deliberately on purpose’ and it’s mine too.
I can’t begin to say how sorry I am. I’m uncomfortable about not telling Blake, but I’ll defer to your wishes in this. I’ll also make sure to give you enough space to continue working here without feeling you need to consider me.
I’m the monkey, Bailey and you’re the one free to dance.
AR
Bailey tucked the two fifties in her wallet. Her pitch phrase win was already a tired helium balloon, annoyingly puckered and hanging around at knee height. Aiden’s note was equally flat and cheerless, despite its poetic licence.
She knew the movie. She had her own favourite lines. It was the two orphan girls, Agnes and Edith. Agnes says, “Aw my caterpillar never turned into a butterfly.” Edith says, “That’s a Cheeto,” and Agnes says, “Oh!” and promptly eats it.
On another day she’d have shared that with Aiden. They’d have laughed. But now she wondered at the symbolism of it. The wings fluttering in her chest were stilled. They were nothing but Cheetos—stale and yellowed in her belly.
“Hey, if we win this you’ll stay on.” Blake suddenly in her doorway back from wherever he’d mysteriously rushed off to. He still had his suit coat on, but had lost his red tie. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” It came out with a flavouring of exasperation.
“Bails? Did something happen between you and Aiden?” Blake came into the office, shrugging off his coat, and tossing it on the back of her visitor’s chair.
Now she went with irritation, particularly as he looked like he was going to settle in. She didn’t feel like doing this with him now. “Why would you ask that? No.”
“Bails?”
“Nothing happened.”
He threw himself in the chair and rolled up his sleeves. “You’ve always been a piss poor liar.” He was right. He put his elbows on her desk, clasped his hands and waited.
“I...we...he...” she blurted, not knowing what to say, hacking up by trying.
“This’ll be good if you can finally spit it out.”
“I’m not talking to you about this.”
“Why not?”
“He’s your best friend.”
Blake shrugged, “And you’re my other best friend.”
“We had a fight.”
He threw himself into the chair back making it squeak. “So what’s new? That’s standard operating procedure with you two, that and picking nits, I mean glitter, out of each other’s hair like a couple of apes.”
Bailey eye-rolled. “We’ve had enough of the monkey today.”
“Do you think I can’t see what’s happening?”
Now it was Bailey’s turn to give her chair a hard time. She pushed into its backrest, rounding her shoulders, dropping her head forward. “Well, maybe you can tell me.”
Blake said, “Oh. I was bluffing,” to the top of her head, and she straightened up. “I know.”
“What is happening?”
“Nothing.”
He sat forward again. “He’s a hard nut to crack, Bails. He wasn’t always like this. Light and dark. He used to be solid colour, one size fits all. Now it’s like he has two halves, and he’s at war with himself. I used to think I could help, but he’s too proud, he’s too stupid to let me. He has to work it out. Don’t go getting in the middle. The best we can do is be around if he needs us.”
“Ok, that makes sense. Thanks.” Of course it did. It’s what she’d been telling herself. Except she didn’t believe it. There must be something she could do to reach Aiden, to show him it was ok to care for her—let her care right back.
“Bailey, I’m serious, don’t go thinking Aiden is a problem you can fix.”
She shook her head and Blake frowned. It was hard to tell which one of them distrusted her more. He changed the subject. “So, you’ll stay to run the Bitters project.”
“I note that wasn’t phrased as a question. So you’ll tell me about your bookie?”
“I note that was. And since I’m the kinda bloke who answers a direct question. Nope.”
Bailey hooted, “Oh you are not. It’s not a real bookie is it?”
He was fiddling with his phone, but looked up. “Nope.”
“Well?”
He swivelled around and yelled, “Cara, call Brian Barton at the bank, I can make the 3pm. Make sure Dom knows the new time.” Cara called, “Ok,“ and Blake swivelled back. “Need to know, Bails.”
“Bank?”
“I always see my banker after I’ve seen my bookie.”
“Aiden knows.” She’d seen the look that passed between the two of them in the car park before Blake took off. “And Dom knows.”
“Yeah they know.”
“Right.”
“You say that like you mean the opposite. Tell Uncle Blake what you’re thinking.”
Bailey sighed. “I feel like a big silly girl. I feel left out. I know something is going on and I want to help, and you won’t let me. I know you want me to stay focused on the brief you gave me but....”
“Don’t need you.”
“Yep, I got that message today already, loud and clear.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Whatever th
ey were up to, she’d likely read about it in the ad trade press before Blake gave it up, and what a depressing thought that was. But the Bitters job, that would be lucrative, worth sucking up the ‘being on the outside looking in’ ego slam. “Yes, I’ll stay for Bitters if we win.”
“If! Getoutahere. Did that loser downstairs pay up?
“He did.”
“Good. Can’t let him get away with too much. You know I did leave you a shot, left it wide open for you and the damn tutu wearing monkey.”
She leaned over her desk to get in his face. “You didn’t leave me a shot. You forgot about it.”
He shifted forward too, jamming his knees into the desk back. “I would never...”
They were face to face, separated only by Bailey’s closed laptop. She said, “You’re despicable.”
He sat back. “Despicable. I like it.” He did a little wiggle in his seat, as thought he was settling in to new clothes. He stood and grabbed his coat. “Despicable. I’m going to wear that home and show it off to Livy.” He turned his back and walked out calling over his shoulder, “Despicable. Despicable me.”
36: Code Word for Everything
It was too soon, but Blake wanted to finalise the Melbourne firm takeover. It was too late, but Happi-Anne just wanted to have a little chat.
Aiden returned Happi-Anne’s voicemail, and no surprise—got voicemail. He focused on the work.
Blake had done his part courting a Melbourne based agency called Energi—code named “the bookie”—putting the finance together to buy them out. Now it was Aiden’s turn to plan how to successfully merge the two businesses. And he’d yet to convince Blake they were undersized in their senior leadership team, and needed more help to pull this off.
They’d agreed to make Dominic a full partner though Blake grumbled about it diluting their profit share. But there’d be no profit to share if they didn’t have a strong CFO in place and Dom was more than up to the challenge. He was even successfully sitting on Blake to stop him pulling numbers from the air without Aiden running interference.
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