Unsticky

by Sarra Manning

  Grace really wanted a mug of builder’s tea brewed so strong that she’d need a hand-whisk to stir it, but she couldn’t imagine Vaughn boiling up a kettle and dunking tea bags. ‘Diet Coke, if you’ve got it.’

  ‘The terrace is through those French doors at the end of the corridor.’ Vaughn tipped his head in the general direction before disappearing to find her a can of caffeiney goodness.

  The terrace was perfect. A little rooftop oasis of cool and calm; a water feature trickling away in defiance of the hosepipe ban, gravel crunching under Grace’s ballet flats as she picked her way through succulent green plants, their leaves brushing against her legs until she came to a spindly and delicate wrought-iron table with chairs gathered around it.

  Grace stared out over the rooftops and chimney stacks. There were little patches of green here and there, other gardens in the skies, and if she really craned her neck, she could just make out the tops of the plane trees edging Hyde Park. She’d only ever seen the park from eye-level, never from this high up, and - without the hordes of tourists and the danger of being mown down by skateboarders and overexcited small children - it was peaceful. Almost calming. And a timely lesson that money could buy you anything: even a better view.

  ‘It’s so beautiful up here,’ she said, because she could hear Vaughn’s footsteps behind her. ‘Like a secret little camp or something.’

  ‘Well, it’s wonderful on days like this but it doesn’t get much use, I’m afraid,’ Vaughn said shortly, setting two glasses down on the table. He pulled out one of the chairs so Grace could sit down, and the tight, binding feeling was back in her stomach. She took a quick gulp of the Coke to rinse the metallic taste out of her mouth, while Vaughn watched her closely. ‘OK, what would you like to ask me?’ He looked intrigued, as if she was going to ask him if he had a dungeon or if he wanted to dress her up as a French maid before he fucked her. Not even close.

  ‘Are you married?’

  There was a moment’s startled silence, before he cleared his throat. ‘Divorced. For quite a while now.’

  That was just the warm-up question; the ones after that were harder, especially when Grace felt as if she was having to fight for every breath. She swallowed nervously and turned her head to gaze at a water feature. ‘See, I was thinking about the terms of the agreement, that we could . . . that you could . . .’ She trailed off, not exactly sure how to phrase it, and shrugged helplessly.

  ‘That I could what?’ Vaughn prompted, and Grace didn’t think she’d ever heard him sound that gentle. It helped a little.

  ‘Couldn’t I just help you with your parties and be your hostess and that would be it?’ She looked up to see Vaughn frowning, though surely he had to understand what she was saying. ‘That we wouldn’t, y’know, have sex. It would just be like a part-time hostess job.’

  She looked down at her hands, which she was clasping tightly so she wouldn’t start wringing them, and waited for Vaughn’s reply. She didn’t have to wait very long.

  ‘No, that doesn’t work for me,’ he said simply. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Grace, but surely you’re here because you wanted to have sex with me.’

  Grace had been heating up steadily and now she was sure that she was so red she could be seen from outer space. ‘Yes, but . . . I did, but that was before you started talking about agreements - and I was really, really drunk that night!’ Her voice was straining higher and higher and she took another gulp of Diet Coke and nearly choked on it. All the while, Vaughn watched her as if she was some kind of science experiment and it made Grace resentful enough that she found her second wind. ‘What I’m trying to say is, this whole sex thing: I just don’t know that I could do it without being in love.’

  ‘Oh, do you only fuck people you’re in love with?’ Vaughn asked tartly, and actually the snark was easier to handle, familiar territory. ‘That’s novel.’

  ‘No, but there’s usually an emotional involvement . . .’ Grace tailed off again because she was tying herself up in knots. Usually there was an emotional involvement, but sometimes it was just because it was easier than saying no and she didn’t want to be on her own.

  ‘Interesting as it is watching you have a crisis of conscience, I need a decision,’ Vaughn said sharply, and if Grace thought he’d be charming and persuasive to get her on side then obviously she was wrong. ‘In the next five minutes, otherwise I’ll rescind the offer. Would you like me to set my watch?’

  ‘No! I can’t think properly. You could at least try to see this from my point of view.’

  ‘Well, I’m trying, but your point of view is a little cloudy,’ Vaughn murmured. He made a big show of looking at his watch. ‘Four minutes now . . .’

  ‘Jesus!’ Vaughn hadn’t said anything about her having to squirm under his relentless gaze so Grace stumbled to her feet and crunched over the gravel until she was looking down at Hyde Park again and trying to herd her scattered thoughts. She could go back the way she’d come in so she was at ground level, chugging along at the same old pace. Or she could stay up on the roof where even the air seemed purer.

  And really, she would have slept with Vaughn in New York. So if she just remembered that and also remembered that the money wasn’t for the sex but for being Vaughn’s hostess, then it immediately became less shady. Because sleeping with your boss wasn’t that bad on the wrong scale: loads of women did that. Or married for money. In fact, all the Skirt fashion department had rich husbands. Kiki was married to a hedge fund manager and he was really plug ugly so it wasn’t like Kiki had been knocked off her Jimmy Choos by his good looks. And Posy and Lily had rich dads. Grace frowned as she suddenly realised that practically every woman she knew was being bank-rolled by a man in some way. Well, except her grandmother who would have fifty fits if she ever knew what she—

  ‘Time’s up, Grace,’ Vaughn said behind her. ‘Are you in or out?’

  Was she in?

  Was she going to say yes?

  Grace closed her eyes and stepped nearer to the edge of the roof. She could stay exactly where she was, still and stagnating, or she could jump. She took another step, until she felt the guard rail dig into her waist.

  Of course she was going to say yes. If she really thought about it, she’d been planning to say yes ever since last Monday. Being Vaughn’s mistress was the something that would one day turn up and take her out of a life of colossal, mind-churning debt and nagging discontent. She’d been waiting for this, for something to change because she felt that she was walking through life in slow motion. Liam was moving on. Lily was moving forward. And, as usual, Grace was stuck in the same place and she couldn’t fucking stand it.

  ‘I’m in,’ she said finally, glad that her voice didn’t shake or sound squeaky. Nothing happened, which was weird. There should have been a sudden loud clap of thunder at the very least. But she’d been here before, and when your life changed, everyone else’s life carried on the same as before. It was like the long minutes of silence after her mother and father had had their most ferocious row ever about who wasn’t going to get custody of her. They’d sat glaring at each other from either side of the table in the little anteroom in the family court, terrified that one of them would get the short straw. Finally, the social worker had asked Grace who she wanted to live with and rounded it off with a volley of encouraging smiles and she’d heard herself say, ‘I don’t want to live with either of them.’

  The buses had carried on trundling past the window, someone had laughed in the corridor, the sun had continued to shine, even though something inside of Grace had been smashed into little pieces that could never be put back together. So, really, no matter how scary Vaughn was, he couldn’t break her. She was already broken. In a way the joke was on him, because he was buying damaged goods.

  ‘I’m in,’ Grace said again because Vaughn hadn’t responded and she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her.

  ‘Good. Now come away from the edge before you break your neck and we can go over a few details.’

>   Grace followed him back to the table and this time she was able to sit down, cross her legs and sip at her Diet Coke without feeling like she was about to burst into flames. She wasn’t relaxed, not at all, but now she could fake being relaxed.

  Vaughn didn’t say anything. Nor did Grace as she stared at the heat haze suspended above the city. ‘OK, you need to start talking,’ she said finally, because the silence was torturous and she was clutching the can of Coke like it was a life-raft again. ‘You’re totally having second thoughts now, aren’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be so fatuous,’ Vaughn snapped quickly enough that her ego undented itself. ‘Could you bring yourself to maybe look at me?’

  Grace inched forward so she could meet his eyes, but Vaughn was staring at the thrust of her breasts in the fitted blouse, which was unexpected, but strangely validating.

  ‘So, how does this work then?’ she asked curiously. ‘Would I have to live with you?’ She had a sudden vision of herself handing Vaughn a perfectly mixed vodka martini as he came through the front door and asking him in a seductive purr, ‘Hard day at the office, dear?’

  Vaughn gave a snort of laughter, which nixed that idea. He even slapped one hand against his knee, which was completely unnecessary. ‘There aren’t enough incentives in the world to persuade anyone to put up with me seven days a week.’

  Grace let out tiny sips of air. ‘Are you really that bad?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I hope it’s going to be an exciting experience for you, but I’m not the easiest man to be with. You should think very carefully about what you’re agreeing to,’ Vaughn advised, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on hers. ‘I’ll give you one last chance to back out, but then all bets are off.’

  Grace thought of the bags stashed behind the desk downstairs. Compensation for how shitty Liam had made her feel this morning. At least with Vaughn, it wouldn’t be messy. No more grey, which had never been a colour that went well with her complexion. Might as well be with someone who wasn’t going to pretend that she was the one girl he’d never get enough of. At least he’d buy her things to make up for it.

  ‘I’m not going to back out,’ Grace said firmly, fingering the knot of the scarf to make sure it was still secured.

  ‘Even when I make you cry every day? Twice daily on weekends?’ Vaughn’s voice was airy but he was drumming a tattoo with his fingers on the tabletop and his fierce blue glare didn’t falter. ‘When I tell you that I hate what you’re wearing or force you to flirt with some malodorous Russian oligarch, or I don’t want to talk to you because I’ve been on conference calls all day. Are you sure you’re up to it?’

  Grace didn’t scrape back her chair and flee in squealing horror. Vaughn’s catalogue of horrors were nothing compared to what she’d had to put up with from past boyfriends. There was Paul Gold who’d taken her virginity and given her a score out of ten on the wall of the gents in Burger King. Or the graphic artist in her freshman year who’d dumped her on the side of the M6 after they’d had a row on the way home from visiting his parents. Or the cokehead DJ who’d nicked her TV, DVD player and stereo to buy drugs. And there was Liam . . . So, yes, Grace was sure she was up for anything Vaughn wanted to throw at her.

  ‘You’ve been nothing but honest with me and I think that’s a good basis for this, like, partnership,’ Grace said. ‘There are boundaries, which means I have less chance of screwing things up, but I still think you might regret the whole six months thing.’

  Vaughn waved a dismissive hand. He was already snaring the edge of a pad with his finger and pulling it closer so he could make notes. ‘Why don’t you let me worry about that? What kind of holiday allowance do you get?’

  ‘Six weeks and public holidays.’ Grace was lucky if she took half of that because, despite all appearances to the contrary, when it came to signing her holiday booking forms, Kiki was always reluctant to let her go.

  ‘We can work around that, though I have to insist that your days off belong to me now.’

  All sorts of warning bells should have been ringing, but all Grace could hear was a solitary car horn beeping from a long way away. ‘OK. I’ll work out how many days I’ve got left and email you or something.’

  ‘I’ll get my assistant to set up an account for you at a spa. Now do you want the other allowances paid into your bank account or would you prefer cash?’ Vaughn’s voice was bland, like he was asking her if she wanted another Coke.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How do you want to be paid?’ Vaughn repeated, tapping the edge of the notebook with an impatient finger.

  Grace thought quickly. The second that money hit her bank account it would disappear, snatched away by greedy hands belonging to several large, loan-clearing companies and she would need to spend some of it on some suitable hostessy clothes and other luxuries like food and topping up her Oyster card. ‘Um, cash will be fine. You know, you don’t have to give me so much money!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t need that much. It’s seven thousand a month - that’s like having a part-time job that pays nearly a hundred grand a year.’

  ‘I know. And really, if I gave you any less I’d be short-changing you,’ Vaughn assured her carelessly, but his eyebrows had risen up in surprise. ‘If you can’t spend it all, then give some of it to charity. Really, it’s no concern of mine.’

  He had to be really, really rich, Grace thought. The kind of rich where almost a hundred grand a year was pocket change - money that didn’t matter one way or another; the multi-millionaire equivalent of coins down the back of the sofa, even though it was enough money to instantly change her life beyond all her expectations. It was impossible to process and Grace had this strange out-of-body sensation, as if she was floating high above the clouds, watching a girl who looked like her and sounded like her. Because stuff like this just didn’t happen. Life - her life - didn’t work like this.

  ‘So, what happens now?’ Grace was half-expecting, half-dreading Vaughn to have her naked in the next five seconds.

  But he just underlined something on the page in his crabby scrawl, before he closed the pad decisively. ‘I had my lawyer start to draw up the contract. It will be with you later in the week.’

  ‘So you knew I’d say yes?’ Grace couldn’t help the slightly peevish tone. Was she really that predictable?

  ‘I hoped you’d say yes. Now you have, so it’s worked out well for both of us.’ There was a slight bite to Vaughn’s voice and his lips tightened, but when Grace tried out another tentative smile, he relaxed. She just needed to figure out the right way to handle him - and quickly. ‘Anyway, I won’t see you for a while. I’m flying to Moscow in the morning for a week and you’re going to be rather busy. My assistant will be in touch about the specifics.’ He stood up and held out his hand so Grace had no choice but to let him pull her to her feet. ‘Your top priority is to do something with this.’ His hand brushed her cheek as he lifted up a hank of hair. ‘It really isn’t the right image.’

  There wasn’t a person in the world that approved of her daring and bold choice of hair colour. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Grace said demurely, though her words lacked conviction.

  ‘You do that.’

  They were just sounding out words now as a way to avoid the fact that it was time to make things official.

  It was weird, especially when Vaughn’s hands rested on her hips, that they could stand so close, touch each other, but still feel so far away. Grace shifted, her knees banging against Vaughn’s legs, and giggled.

  She expected Vaughn to smile back again but he lowered his head and kissed her.

  It started out as a perfunctory kiss, something a little more symbolic than a handshake. But it was so different from the way that Liam had dribbled into her mouth that morning, that Grace rose on tiptoe and put her hands on Vaughn’s shoulders so she could tentatively kiss him back. Both of them were just testing the water but there was a part of Grace that wanted to close her eyes and dive right to the bottom.

  Grace was certain that this wa
sn’t a kiss that was going to lead anywhere. Vaughn’s grip relaxed and loosened but he didn’t slide his hands a few crucial inches down but up to trace the violin curve of her waist as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging lightly before he pulled away. A tiny whimper of protest leaked out of Grace’s mouth before she could hold it in.

  Desire was so complicated.

  ‘Well, I guess I’m your mistress now,’ Grace said, and wished she hadn’t because it was a totally dumb thing to say.

  Vaughn obviously thought so too because he ignored her but lightly traced the edges of the scarf. ‘You’ve been worrying at this ever since you got here,’ he remarked idly, as Grace flinched away from his touch. ‘Why did you change your mind?’

  The scarf felt as if it was still fulfilling its remit to cover up the evidence of the night before but Grace really wanted to fiddle to make sure. ‘I just did, is all,’ she muttered. ‘It made sense once I thought about where my life was going and where I really want to be.’ Which was anywhere but where she’d been that morning.