by JD Nixon
“It does matter. You tell me my information about you is incomplete. That might affect the outcome of the interview.” He said it with no expression, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was secretly laughing at me.
Why had I opened my big mouth? All I’d wanted to do was to puncture his self-assured arrogance, but instead I would be the one to end up looking like an idiot. As usual.
As I turned to leave again, pondering my self-inflicted predicament, one of the big sash windows in his office exploded inwards with a shattering crash. Shards of glass flew through the air, wickedly embedding themselves in every exposed surface, including our skin. Before I even registered what was happening, I was knocked to the ground. Heller covered me with his body, protecting me from further explosions I presumed, rather than an uncontrollable desire to get closer to me. I lay there winded, ground into the carpet, glass shards painfully pressing in to my face and hands, with his incredible weight forcing the air from my lungs. If it has ever been your fantasy to have a tall sexy Viking smothering you, let me tell you it’s nowhere near as much fun as it initially sounds.
“Daniel!” Heller bellowed through the door, almost rupturing my eardrum. “Take Niq downstairs to the basement! Now!”
I heard them scurrying away obediently down the stairs and subsequently heard heavy footsteps jogging into Heller’s office. He rolled off me. I gratefully gulped in some air, coughing and gasping, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees. My skin was stinging everywhere. It was like a thousand paper cuts.
“Stay down!” he yelled at me, then to one of the people who arrived at his door, “Take her next door.” Rough hands helped me to a crouching position and I was half-dragged, half-carried to the main office where I was unceremoniously dumped behind Daniel’s desk before being abandoned. I hunched up against a wall and cowered there for some minutes, painfully picking shards of glass out of my hands and quietly bleeding over Daniel’s clothes and the floor. I hoped nobody minded. I didn’t know if blood came out of wool-blend carpet.
I’d decided by then that I was going to get the hell out of this place the second I could and would never look back. I stood up, a bit shakily to be honest, and cautiously moved towards the stairs, not wanting to attract any attention. I would mail the clothes back to Daniel when I’d washed them. Then I remembered – my handbag was still in Heller’s office. I couldn’t leave without it. It contained my almost empty purse, house keys and my return bus ticket. Fuck! Fuck! Fuckity-fuck! I sidled over to his office door and guardedly peered around, spying my handbag lying on the floor, half-hidden under the lounge where it had landed after Heller had crash-tackled me.
Heller stood with two other gigantic men, his arms crossed, listening and nodding while they conversed heatedly. They were intently examining the projectile, a crudely fashioned solid metal sphere, like a small cannon ball. It had found a resting spot in the exact place I had been sitting only moments before it had burst through the window. I stared at the ball in horror. If I hadn’t stood up in a huff to leave, it would probably have smashed directly into me! Bile rose in my throat and it was a battle to choke it back down again.
“They’re long gone,” commented Heller with detachment, glancing out of the broken window down to the road. “Must have used some kind of catapult or mini-cannon.”
“It’s those fuckers from Select Security. We all know it,” spat one of the other men angrily.
“They won’t be happy until they kill one of us. I’m sick of those bastards, Heller. It’s time for pay-back,” growled the other man.
“Check the footage from the cameras out the front. You might be able to make out a number plate,” Heller directed one of the men, his calm voice a foil to the other men’s fury.
None of my business, I told myself, just concentrate on getting out of here. I warily edged around the door towards the lounge. My shoes crunched loudly on the broken glass scattered on the carpet and the three men immediately stopped talking and swung around in unison to stare at me. I stood frozen in mid-step, eyes wide with apprehension, blood gently dripping onto the carpet.
“Just getting my bag,” I babbled nervously, helpfully pointing at it where it nestled tantalizingly out of reach. “Then I’ll be off. I promise I’ll mail Daniel back the clothes. Don’t worry about my suit.”
My glance moved from one man to the other. I blinked rapidly. Twins! But like no twins I’d ever seen before. The two men with Heller were built like tanks and completely identical, down to the same suit. They had the whole 1950s London gangster-look happening, doubles for Ronnie and Reggie Kray. Imposingly tall and broad-shouldered, their dark pinstriped tailored suits stretched tightly across their chests. Their craggy, acne-scarred faces were carved out of stone and topped by black, slicked-back quiffs. They had matching cold, flat, unfriendly dark gray eyes and fleshy small grim mouths, and one man had broken his nose at some point in his life. One of them by himself would have been intimidating. Together, they scared the absolute hell out of me. My immediate instinct was to turn and flee, which I reminded myself, was exactly what I was trying to do at that very moment.
“Who the hell are you and why are you wearing one of our uniforms?” the broken-nosed one demanded in a hostile, gravelly voice. He glanced at Heller. “You need me to take care of her, Boss?” And coming from a big brute like him, that comment sounded more menacing than considerate.
“No Clive, this is Matilda Chalmers. I was in the middle of an interview with her for the client manager position when this happened,” Heller explained, indicating the window. “Ms Chalmers, this is Clive Trilby and this,” hand waving to the other one, “is his brother, Sid Trilby. Clive runs my security section and Sid’s in charge of the surveillance team.”
“I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t offer to shake your hands,” I said, holding out my bleeding palms to them like a tortured saint begging for mercy. “Very nice to meet you both though. I’m just leaving.” Clive stared at me coldly and Sid nodded and smiled. Well, I think it was a smile. It cracked his stony countenance, revealing surprisingly tiny regular teeth. But his smiling face was only marginally less alarming than his angry face.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Heller ordered. “You need more first aid and we haven’t finished our interview yet.”
My mouth opened and closed like a slow-witted fish. Did he honestly think I was going to hang around to be physically and mentally tortured some more? Oh man, he was a real piece of work! The interview was well and truly over as far as I was concerned.
“What do you mean more first aid?” asked Sid.
“Niq kicked her in the face earlier,” Heller answered, regarding me unsmilingly.
“Trouble-magnet, is she?” Clive scorned, his lip curling.
“Apparently,” replied Heller, and they stared impolitely, almost as if waiting for some other disaster to befall me. When I failed to oblige, they turned away and resumed their discussion. I bristled indignantly with the unfairness of it all. As if being kicked in the face and nearly blown to pieces by a ball thingy was my fault!
“Look, I appreciate your willingness to resume our interview, Mr . . . um . . . Heller, but I’m slowly bleeding to death here and I’m sure you understand that after everything today, I just want to go home.” I carefully picked up my handbag with my stinging hands, the blood smearing all over the cream leather-look material. “Oh, now look what’s happened! That will never come out. This has been the worst day I’ve ever had.” I could have cried in frustration.
“Stop!” Heller ordered again. Before I could blink he was standing closely in front of me, looking down. “You haven’t told me what that other job was yet.”
I raised my eyes to him and sighed. What did it matter if I embarrassed myself before him one last time? I’d never see him again and my parents had always told me to take pride in my work, no matter what I did. So I took their advice and met his eyes as I spoke. “I played a slice of watermelon in a fruit salad song-and-dan
ce routine. It was a big hit with the primary school kids.”
He closed his eyes briefly and his beautiful lips clamped together as if to suppress a shout of laughter. He couldn’t stop them twitching at the ends though. Fed up, I spun around, determined to finally leave. He grabbed me by the arm and turned me back around again.
“I was just about to offer you the job on a one month trial. I’m impressed by your ability to handle unexpected events in a calm and collected way. You haven’t fallen to pieces, despite today’s many, er, misfortunes. I didn’t see that in any of the other applicants, and frankly it’s a vital skill in this office.” He paused for a moment. “Plus, you’re very entertaining.”
I shook off his hand angrily. “I’m not here to entertain you! I was looking for a job, but I’m no longer interested in this one,” I said huffily as I started to stalk out of the office again, not without some satisfaction I confess. But I also knew that I had to get out of here before something else happened to me.
He mentioned the salary and I stopped dead in my tracks at his office door, hesitantly rotating, sure I’d misheard.
“How much?”
He repeated the offer. My bank manager sat up with interest.
“That’s a very generous salary.”
“You’ll earn every cent of it,” he said, which sounded like a threat to me.
“Does this kind of thing,” and I waved my hand around his ruined office, droplets of blood spraying freely, “happen often?”
“No, this is nothing, a little unfriendly rivalry with one of my competitors. I’ll sort them out soon enough.” He looked me up and down critically and I clutched my bloodied handbag to my chest protectively. “I’ll also pay for your clothing and styling. I need you to look absolutely professional at all times. With my clientele, appearances are critical to my success.”
I suddenly felt dowdy in my borrowed clothes.
“Hmm,” he added, looking me over again unfavourably. “You really are going to require quite a lot of styling. And some toning as well. You aren’t as in shape as you ought to be for a young woman, though I think there are good bones underneath there somewhere.”
Make that fat and dowdy.
“And like most of my office staff, I want you on call twenty-four hours a day. That is why I pay so well.” He added casually, “It would be best if you moved into the building.”
“Live here in the office?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes, several of us live here in this building.”
“You want me to move in with you?” I squeaked. My stomach did a double-flip.
He grinned nastily, flicking his eyes up and down me again. “If you want to, but I was thinking rather of a small place I have on the fourth floor. One bedroom, self-contained. No rent.”
I blushed ferociously at my faux pas and gathered together the remnants of my battered dignity. As if I really had any choice. It was either working for Heller or humping the landlord. Unsurprisingly, on remembering the landlord’s greasy hair and fat belly, I chose Heller.
“That would be most satisfactory, thank you, um . . . Heller. When would you like me to start?”
He shot me a withering glance. “I have offered you a job and you have accepted. You have just started working for me. I’ll ask Daniel to show you around and then you will return to your flat and pack your belongings. You will move in today.”
And with that imperious order, he went to his phone and summoned Daniel and Niq back upstairs.
Chapter 5
After he organised a glazier and a cleaning crew, Daniel led me up two flights of stairs to my new little flat on the fourth floor. It had the same redbrick walls and starkness as the other areas in the building that I’d seen, but there was pale green carpet on the floor and the furniture was white, bright and modern. The flat had a cheerful IKEA-look about it, although I was quite sure it was actually very posh furniture. I glanced around me happily, thinking that with a few little personal touches it would be quite cosy. And I would live here alone, not with three other people! Sheer luxury! It wouldn’t be hard to turn my back on my current dingy little flat, with its rickety and lumpy tenth-hand furniture.
The bathroom was modern white and sparkling clean and also housed a washing machine and dryer. The bedroom had a comfy queen bed complete with good quality white linen and a small walk-in wardrobe. The kitchen was very compact, but fully-equipped with utensils and cooking implements. The combined living-dining room was pocket-sized, but so well-designed that it still felt spacious. Lots of natural light flooded in from the white-trimmed sash windows, and with its high ceilings the flat had a pleasant airy feel. I couldn’t wait to move in. Daniel watched my progress through the rooms with enjoyment.
“Everything looks so new!” I exclaimed. “Has it been lived in before?”
“No,” he replied. “Heller converted it from some storage space only recently when he decided we needed another staff member. You’re the first tenant.” I was speechless with delight. He continued, “There should be some towels in the bathroom cupboard and I’ve grabbed another set of clean clothes for you to change into. When you’re finished here come back down to the office.” He’d kindly brought up some soap, shampoo and conditioner for me, as well as some disinfectant cream and bandaids.
I took a quick shower in my lovely new shower cubicle, the water jets on full-blast to dislodge any stubborn remnants of glass. One check in the mirror afterwards confirmed my suspicion that I now resembled Edward Scissorhands’ sister, and I patched myself up as best I could. I slipped into the expensive man’s jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt that Daniel had left me. The people here seem to love dressing well, I thought. I presumed the clothes were Daniel’s again and I hoped I didn’t also end up bleeding all over them.
Back in the office, Daniel guided me through the appointment paperwork and arranged for my staff card and keys to the building. As he did that, he filled me in on me a few work rules, including one that reinforced my impression that the Warehouse was not a place where you could spontaneously invite people over. Heller hadn’t been joking when he said that he screened everyone who came to the building. I wondered if he would let Dixie visit.
We were about to commence our tour of the Warehouse when Heller walked back through the door. He had obviously showered as well and like me, was covered in scratches and cuts. He had changed out of his suit into black jeans and a tight, muscle-hugging dark green t-shirt. Having already been bowled over by his stunning good looks, you would expect that I’d be better prepared this time. But you’d be so, so wrong! Just at the sight of him again, my heart stopped, my stomach flipped, my brain froze and my private parts grew hot and tingly. God, he was absolutely heavenly. I tried to settle myself, swiftly looking away so that nobody could see my desperate expression. I really needed to find a boyfriend. Fast.
“Thank you, Daniel. I’ve decided to take Ms Chalmers to collect her belongings myself now,” he said.
“No worries, Heller,” Daniel told him. “We’ve finished with the paperwork for now anyway.” He turned to me. “Welcome to Heller’s, Tilly. I hope you enjoy working here.” I smiled at him. He was a very nice man and I could tell I was going to like him a lot. With a surreptitious wink, he sauntered away, whistling to himself.
“Let’s go,” Heller said abruptly and disappeared quickly down the stairs. I hurriedly followed him down to the basement level, hobbling in my tight court shoes, puffing by the time I got there.
“You’re not very fit,” he remarked scornfully, and if I hadn’t literally been fighting for breath I might have shot him an acidic response. He climbed into a shiny black Mercedes 4WD, its vanity number plate gold-coloured with black lettering spelling out HELLER. No question over who owned this one, I thought with a well-hidden smile as I clambered into the passenger side. I had barely begun doing up my seatbelt when the vehicle squealed backwards and shot off up the driveway to the entrance to the garage. On the street though, he drove carefully. I noticed th
at he regularly checked his rearview and sideview mirrors, prudently stuck to the speed limits, and cautiously obeyed all road signals – almost as though he was trying not to attract attention. It was the complete opposite of my driving style. I regularly attract far too much attention from the traffic police. That was on the rare occasions when I was flush enough to actually own a car though. Mostly I was forced to use the bus for my transport needs.
Heller didn’t even bother to ask me where I lived, but confidently guided the Mercedes in the right direction. Of course, he already knows, I thought sourly. We didn’t speak on the trip. I stole some glances at his perfect profile, but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road. I went at one stage to turn on the radio, but he glared at me so ferociously that I hurriedly leant back in my seat and looked out the window instead.
Finally we pulled up outside my slummy block of flats. Unaccountably, Heller was able to find a free parking space right out the front when in my entire two years living there, none of us had ever been able to park closer than four blocks away. I stared at him with suspicion. He was almost supernatural.
Unsurprisingly, the lift was now out of order and he followed me up the stairs, which today smelt of urine, curry and cat crap. Shame burned my cheeks and I kept my eyes on the ground. By the time we reached the seventh floor, I was puffing like a stream train and a sweat had broken out on my forehead. Heller remained cool, his breathing normal. He shot me a look.
“Yes, I know!” I spat out between heaving breaths. “I’ll start working out tomorrow.” He raised a cynical eyebrow but said nothing. I fumbled in my handbag for my key and opened the door. It was stifling hot inside the flat and the smell of unwashed dishes and clothes hit me as soon as I entered. I desperately did not want Heller to witness the shabbiness and impoverishment of my life, and tried to close the front door on him.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I insisted. “Wait there.” He wedged his well-shod foot in the doorway. I tried again to shove the door shut on him, but he pushed it open with minimal effort. I gave up. He stepped into the slovenly mess and wrinkled his elegant nose.
