by Nikki Moore
‘Okay. Well, I tried to make Mum and Dad proud, but disappointed them when I moved to London. It was the only real risk I’ve ever taken, but I had to do it. As beautiful as the countryside is, staying in a rural community wasn’t for me. I wasn’t happy,’ I sigh, realising I’ve folded my napkin into a swan shape. Setting it aside, I laugh self-consciously. ‘I worked as a silver-service waitress in the next town over when I was seventeen. Anyway, me wanting to move away caused ructions and my parents spent months trying to talk me out of it. They’d rather I lived locally and got engaged to a nice village boy.’
‘So how did you manage to leave?’ Alex shrugs out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair.
I won’t let my eyes wander down to check out his broad shoulders in the crisp blue shirt. Staring at his face, I admit, ‘In hindsight I could have been more mature, persuaded them it was my risk to take.’
‘And in reality?’ There’s a twinkle in his eye. He knows what’s coming.
‘I was eighteen. Let’s just say there was some bad behaviour.’ I roll my eyes, recalling my teenage flouncing and yelling. ‘They finally backed off when I declared I wasn’t going to live my life according to what other people wanted and was moving to the city whether they were happy about it or not, even if I had to live on the streets. I started packing a rucksack to make my point. Mature, hey?’
‘You were young,’ he excuses.
‘Yes, well … they didn’t exactly give me their blessing, but we stopped arguing at least,’ I smile wryly.
Too personal to share is that it’s still there between us. Going home is always tense. My parents love me but still don’t agree with my decision. The distance hurts but I’m not sure how to bridge it. It’s the reason they don’t know how broke I am or how close to failing. The plan is to tell them only if I absolutely have to. I don’t want them to think they were justified in the opinion that staying home would have been best for me. Whatever has happened, I’ll never regret making my own way in the world.
‘I know what you mean,’ Alex confides, a shadow crossing his face.
‘You ran away from home too?’ I try and lighten things, scrub the glint of unhappiness from his eyes.
‘No. Not quite.’ He goes still. ‘I never talk about it.’
But he needs to. ‘Well, I’ve trusted you with my teenage angst. Why not tell me about yours?’
‘It’s nothing controversial. Neither is it something exclusive to my teens. And it’s hardly angst. It was just what you said about the spotlight being on you.’ He picks the napkin swan up, turning it over between his long fingers. ‘I understand. Being part of a family-run organisation as successful and wealthy as ours doesn’t exactly give much opportunity for privacy. It’s always bothered me. That’s why I do the press conferences for the business when I have to, but don’t give interviews about anything else.’
I’ve got something in common with a billionaire. Who’d have thought it. Gazing into his gorgeous eyes, a shared moment of understanding flows between us and I gulp. I can’t do this.
‘That was pathetic,’ I tease to break the connection. ‘Tell me one of your actual secrets.’
‘It wouldn’t be secret if I told you. And besides,’ he says po-faced, ‘you'd have to sign a gagging order if I did.’
I’m not entirely sure he’s kidding.
‘You went to a state secondary school, right?’ Alex moves the subject on swiftly before I can comment on his surreal remark. ‘Why didn’t you go private?’
‘Mum said it would be good for us, give a better grounding in reality. I wouldn’t have wanted to go to a boarding school anyway.’
‘And why London rather than anywhere else?’
‘I left school with respectable grades, and took a Business Studies NVQ and a few A levels at the college in the nearest town. In the first year, I went on a theatre trip and fell in love with the city. After that it was just a question of time.
‘It’s great, so full of hustle and noise and people and shops and different places and experiences. It’s such a change after my childhood, was exactly what I wanted, no … needed. I wouldn’t want to raise children there but I’m a long way off that yet, so it’s not an issue.’ Woah, where did that come from? Why would he care about my plans to start a family one day? He doesn’t comment, but his expression goes shuttered and distant. TMI?
‘Did you go to uni?’ he simply asks. ‘Or have a gap year?’
‘No, straight to London. I did plan to go to Africa as a volunteer, help build schools and see a bit of the world.’
‘But?’
‘But I missed the application window.’
‘Why’s that?’
I glance away and mutter something.
‘Sorry, what was that?’ he asks.
I sigh. ‘I got glandular fever.’
Alex throws his head back and laughs, ‘The kissing disease?’
‘Yes, okay, I’ve heard that one before.’
‘Sorry. So was it? Down to kissing?’
It’s like he’s completely forgotten himself. That this is just work. Worryingly, I like it.
‘No comment,’ I reply cheerfully.
‘Fair enough.’ He drops the swan and traces a finger on the tablecloth. I wish for a flashing moment it’s my skin. ‘Did you know we send our managers out to Africa for charity projects?’
‘Yes, I—’ almost applied. I manage to stop in time. Too close. ‘I saw it on the internet.’
He frowns. ‘You said earlier you hadn't managed to research the company.’
Damn, caught out. ‘That’s right,’ I think fast, ‘but I’m talking about when I was looking into it at college, surfing the net. I remember seeing something about Demetrio doing it as part of a corporate programme.’
‘Really? I can’t remember when we started it.’
‘Well I’m twenty-seven, so this was about nine years ago. ’
‘That makes sense. I went out there for the pilot scheme around that time, whilst my father was still in charge.’ Suspicion slides from his face and I let out a breath.
How funny. Would we have met under different circumstances if I hadn’t become ill? Mind you, Africa is a huge country and what would be the chances of us volunteering in the same village? I don’t know why I’m even thinking it. We occupy different worlds. And there’s the giant issue of the reason I’m here, along with his glaring mistrust of women.
He isn’t for me.
Alex clears his throat. ‘Charley?’
‘Yes, Alex?’
‘You went somewhere else.’
‘Sorry.’ Time for bed. Standing, I grab my bag from under the table and shove my pad and pen inside it. ‘It’s late. We should call it a night. Everyone else has.’
Alex blinks and unfolds himself from the chair, glancing around the restaurant. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ Looking puzzled, he pushes his shirtsleeve back to check his watch. ‘It’s almost eleven!’
‘Still an hour away from turning into a pumpkin though?’ I tease.
‘Something like that.’ He shrugs back into his suit jacket, rubs a hand over his emerging stubble. The rasping sound makes my pulse kick and my hands tighten around my handbag.
We meander back to reception and the silence is companionable enough as we wait for the lift but there’s a tension about him; in the line between his eyebrows, the way his hands are shoved in his pockets. I wonder what he’s thinking.
Once in the plush interior of the lift, I lean against the wall. ‘Thanks Alex, it’s been a nice evening. I know I upset you earlier but I’m looking forward to working with you this weekend.’
Shifting away, ‘Yes,’ he says in a clipped voice, staring at the lift doors, ‘I think we covered all we needed to.’
Huh. What did I say? I don’t understand the super formal censorious tone after we’ve got on so well. I wish he’d stop running hot and cold, it’s unnerving. He’s like two different people, one the stern CEO and one the normal, down-to-earth guy. Trouble is,
I never know which he’s going to be.
I dart out into the corridor as we arrive at our floor, pawing through my bag for the key card. ‘What time do you want me?’ I ask over my shoulder.
‘Pardon?’
My cheeks burn. Did he think I was making him an offer? ‘In the morning, what time do you want to make a start?’
‘Seven please. Let’s meet at main reception.’
‘No problem.’ Running the card over the reader, I shove the door open. Stepping into my bedroom, I turn and look at him as I clutch the door handle. ‘Night.’
‘Yes, goodnight.’ His reply is muted by the door as I swing it shut but his magnetic blue gaze is the last thing I see.
Chucking my stuff onto the dresser beside the wide bed, I start stripping off with a suspicion it’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Nine
I’m not wrong. After texting Jess to explain why I cut short our call earlier and say I’m off to bed, she responds with a simple message.
Oh dear! Okay Cee, talk in the morning x
Trying to settle, I flick through the channels before turning off the TV, pick up a fashion magazine but hurl it on the floor within minutes, grab my e-reader and shut it down after a few pages. Deciding to attempt sleep because I need to be at least semi-human tomorrow, I’m frustrated by twisting restlessly into the early hours, sheets wrapping themselves round my sweaty body. I switch on the air-con but get too cold, so switch it back off. Nothing feels right. At one point I’m so irritated I shout a string of swear words into the dark.
It’s no good. My physical state’s not the problem. Working with Alex, who I find so compelling but who’s the only one left who can help me, meaning he’s off limits, is bringing up all sorts of conflicting feelings.
Like oil bubbling from an underground well, the memory of my last horrible night at the casino, the reason for my current situation, rises to the surface.
Then
Slotting confidential papers into the cabinet, I tilt my head from side to side to get rid of the kinks in my neck. Time for home and a hot bath. Tony should be filing this stuff away but I don’t trust him. The thought’s no sooner there than he swaggers into the room, shutting the door behind him decisively.
‘Not gone yet? You’re free to call it a day, Tony.’ Go away.
He doesn’t answer but is suddenly right behind me, trapping me against the drawer. Not particularly tall, he is nonetheless stocky, built like a real British rugby player, and it makes me feel crowded. Feeling the heat of his body against my back, a needle of fear pierces me. We’re alone in here with the door shut. I rapidly calculate how many members of staff are out on the casino floor. Not many, it’s a Tuesday, one of our quieter nights. It’s unlikely anyone would come up here at gone eight.
‘You’re working late,’ he says in my ear. ‘Why can’t I?’
‘I’m expected to cover some of the late shifts. You aren’t,’ I answer stiffly. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ Orders aren’t my usual management style but my patience is razor thin. When he doesn’t move I grind my teeth. ‘Is there something in particular you want?’ Slamming the drawer shut with a metallic bang, I turn to elbow past him.
Before I know what’s happening, he grabs my ponytail and throws me roughly against the cabinet. ‘Hey!’ I squawk. He’s too close for me to plant a knee between his legs.
‘You know there’s something I want,’ he breathes, making horror jump in my chest, ‘but you’re so stubborn! Little Miss Boss in her tight suits and high heels, taunting me with her sexy body every day.’
A moist hand runs over my left hip and squeezes hard. I wince and try to back away as the hand continues a path upwards. In that moment, outraged and scared after weeks of uncertainty, I come alive. This can’t be happening. No way. I won’t let it. Scorching anger rockets. Bringing both arms up in the few inches between our bodies I thrust them apart and break free. ‘Get off me! Now!’
Grappling with me, Tony steps back, accidentally tearing my silk t-shirt in the process. There’s a loud rip but I don’t care. Luckily he gives me just enough room for escape. As I turn to run out, I catch sight of the industrial-sized stapler on top of one of the cabinets. So when his fingers brush the bottom of my ponytail, I pivot around and feign a swing at the side of his head. Wrenching himself out of the way, he stumbles backwards.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ he roars. ‘Are you crazy? That would have been assault.’
‘So is what you just did to me!’ I shout back, equally angry, but with a tremor beneath my volume. Watching him, keeping hold of my makeshift weapon, I back out into my office, deliberately opening the door to the main staircase so I can call for someone if I have to. Stuffing my things into my bag, I pick up the phone as Tony strolls in, calmly smoothing his tousled hair.
‘Hi. Can you call a taxi for Tony please?’ I ask the duty security guard. ‘He’s ready to go home. Thank you.’ Replacing the handset with a click, I look at my assistant coolly, trying to hide how shaken I am.
‘It was just a bit of fun,’ he says sulkily. ‘Talk about overreacting.’
I put a hand up. ‘You're having a laugh! That was no one’s idea of fun and I’ve told you repeatedly I’m not interested. There’s something seriously wrong with you. Now get out.’
He takes a step towards me but stops as I brandish the stapler. ‘This will seem mild in comparison to what I’ll do if you take another step, Tony. And I’m more than happy to call the police.’ It’s all bravado, because underneath I’m shaking to the core, wondering if he’ll flip and I’m going to be an unsolved murder on Crimewatch.
His eyes narrow and he looks like he’s seeing me for the first time. He slouches his shoulders, puts on a kicked puppy dog expression. ‘There's no need for that,’ he says meekly. ‘I’ll go now.’ A pause ‘I–I’m sorry. It was crossed signals, that’s all—’
‘That,’ I gesture to the filing room and then my ripped top to emphasise my point, ‘was nothing to do with any confusion on your behalf. You knew exactly what you were doing.’
‘B–but,’ he gawps at my tone, ‘I—’
‘We’ll deal with this tomorrow.’ When I’ve had a chance to calm down, have called HR and arranged to have him suspended, sought their advice on whether to involve the police or not. ‘Now go home,’ I insist. My hand hovers over the radio at my hip and the panic button I can press to summon security. Why the hell I didn’t think of using it in the file run I don’t know. Shock probably.
He flushes. ‘Fine. I’m gone.’
A slammed door and rapid footsteps follow. I wait a minute before calling the security office again. ‘Did Tony get his taxi okay?’
‘Yes, he just left.’
‘Thank you.’
Sinking my head into my hands, I sit there for a long time, waiting for the shaking to stop. After a while I drag myself out the chair and walk with heavy feet down to the front desk. ‘I’m not feeling well,’ I tell Lynda. ‘Can you track Evelyn down and ask her to cover for me please? She’s on silver duty tonight.’
She looks up with a quick smile. ‘Sure. She’s around somewhere. Hope you feel better soon.’
‘Thank you. Night.’ Stepping onto the street, soggy after a summer shower, I stumble numbly to the tube station, feeling like I’m caught in a nightmare I can’t wake from.
The next morning, having shared my horrid experience with Jess over a few glasses of wine and had a good night’s sleep, I feel steadier. Steeling myself for the day, I put my most modest suit on. I could feel bad about what I’m about to do but I’ve given Tony enough chances to understand what’s acceptable and he went too far. The blue smudge of a handprint on my hip and yesterday’s ruined top agree. The only regret I have is not calling the police last night. Too late to worry about it now though, and I can decide what to do after speaking to HR.
I sweep into work at half eight. Tony’s not due in until eleven because of a dental appointment so I’ve a few hours to make t
he necessary calls and see if a HR rep can attend to help me suspend him.
Roberta, the new receptionist, in to catch up with some paperwork – probably trying to show willing – hails me with a wave. ‘Morning. You need to go straight to the conference room,’ she tugs her hair behind her ears, ‘you’ve got visitors.’
‘Really?’ I frown, ‘There’s nothing in my diary for this morning.’
‘They arrived twenty minutes ago and said when you came in you were to see them. I think one of them was from HR.’
Huh. Weird. Perhaps someone overheard or saw something last night so they’re here in anticipation of my complaint. ‘Fine. I’ll see them now. Can you pick up calls please?’
‘No problem.’
Skirting round the black marble desk, I push open the gold-plated Staff Only door and run up the stairs, swinging round the door of the conference room with a polite smile on my face. ‘Good morning, how can I help … ?’ Trailing off, I take in my regional manager sitting at the head of the meeting table with a grim look on his face. A woman I don’t recognise is sitting beside him in a formal grey suit, jotting something in a notebook, a copy of the disciplinary procedure in front of her. ‘Nigel, what are you doing here?’ I frown.
‘Sit down Charley,’ he orders.
Sinking into the nearest chair, I fold my hands on the table. ‘Did you hear about what happened last night?’ I ask, perplexed.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he replies. I open my mouth to tell him the situation but he carries on talking. ‘That’s why I’m here. It gives me no pleasure to do this … but I have to suspend you. We’ve had serious sexual harassment and bullying complaints lodged against you and you need to be off work while we investigate the allegations.’
‘What?’ The absolute bastard. My seat sticks against the carpet as I spring out of it and my feet get tangled in the legs. Steadying myself on the table, I stare at my boss. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Luckily the complainant won’t be involving the police, which is helpful. Otherwise we’d have to use the prosecutions policy as well, which as you know would make things more protracted.’
