Monochrome Interview

by May Freighter

  Before she knew what happened, she was hanging upside down and staring at his ass up close. Her hair came undone, swaying with his strides as he brought her to a chair and dropped her into it. This situation should have scared her. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine him hurting a woman.

  She glared at him when he rummaged in his desk drawer. A second later, he produced a pair of handcuffs.

  “You’re not serious!” she said in disbelief.

  “Oh, I do not have time to deal with you right now. If wiping your memory doesn’t work, there is little I can do other than imprison or kill you.”

  Her face paled at the seriousness of his tone. The dryness in her throat became unbearable, so she launched herself out of her seat, screaming for help.

  “Stop it,” Alexander hissed into her ear when his arm wound around her waist and the other covered her mouth.

  Tears escaped her, and she mumbled obscenities against his palm. She didn’t want to die. Her father was in a hospital. Who will pay his bills? Her boss never said that Alexander was a maniac. Influencing people, memory wiping, and killing… He had to be a serial killer. Her mind travelled down a dark path, conjuring images of his dark deeds. Maybe Jennifer worked with him. Did she provide him with young interns, so he could torture them?

  She shuddered when the cold metal of the handcuffs bit into her wrist, and she lifted her watery eyes. She couldn’t see his expression clearly. Is this how I’m going to die? That thought made her burst into another wail as she sniffled.

  Alexander stuffed her free hand full of tissues. “Please don’t cry here. It makes me feel bad.”

  “You’re going to kill me!”

  “Only if I cannot erase your memories,” he replied.

  Her mouth fell open. “That’s insane. You’re insane!”

  “I guess I am.” Alexander removed his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders. “Be a good girl and use those tissues to wipe your face. I hate it when women cry.”

  His cologne enveloped her, and she struggled not to enjoy it as she dabbed at her face with the ball of crumpled tissues. She blew her nose then left the tissues on his desk in a silent form of revenge.

  Alexander took out his phone and left the room.

  Once she was alone, Abigail tugged on the handcuffs that kept her tied to his desk. With the world being a bit of a blur, she squinted to focus on the contents of his desk. She saw a pen and a few paperclips on top of a mountain of paperwork. Reaching over, she reshaped the paperclip into a straight wire before fiddling with the lock. Thank God her dad had taught her about locks since she could walk. Because of her locksmith upbringing, she couldn’t be contained in a room.

  The cuffs clicked open. She searched the floor until she found her glasses.

  Not waiting for him to come back, she grabbed her bag and ran to the window. Once she opened it, she looked down. At least, they were on the first floor. If she fell twelve feet, she’d live.

  She jumped.

  Her knee scraped against the rough dirt. Both of her wrists hurt from the impact since she landed on them, but she ignored the pain and ran to her car.

  Speeding towards her apartment, she dialled the police with quivering fingers.

  “Hello, I just escaped from a nightclub called Russian Roulette. It’s on the—”

  “Could you please slow down?” the operator asked.

  Abigail sucked in a breath. “Okay, I think I’ve witnessed a shooting at a nightclub.”

  “Could you give us the address of your location?”

  “Yes, it’s… Damn.” She hung up. Alexander was an influential man. If she went to the police with this, he would bounce back and kill her for real. No. She needed to be smarter than that. She gripped the steering wheel and headed to her apartment. Even her boss didn’t know where she lived because she had moved to a new place last week.

  She parked outside the apartment block and hurried indoors. Her bag bounced against her side while she fumbled for her keys. She input the security code and entered the building. Reaching the third floor, Abigail unlocked her apartment door then slid to the ground. All energy left her as the adrenaline rush faded.

  Drained, she picked herself back up and dragged her feet to the bathroom. She splashed her face with cold water. The only thing it did was prove how real the situation was. She slapped her cheeks until they stung.

  “I did not witness a murder. I did not witness a murder…”

  The image of that man in the VIP room putting a gun to his chest and pulling the trigger made her stomach do an unpleasant somersault. She bent over the toilet and the contents of her stomach spilled out. Exhausted, she rinsed her mouth and climbed in bed.

  “I hate Wednesdays.”

  ALEXANDER

  Alexander returned to his office to find Abigail missing. Handcuffs lay on the floor, undone. He ran a hand over his face and dialled Jennifer again.

  “I told you, Alex, you can’t kill her, or I will end your good publicity!” she screamed into his ear.

  He grimaced. “I am not going to kill her. I just need to make certain she doesn’t go around telling people about the VIP room.”

  After a long pause, she burst out laughing. “Did she get away?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because you wouldn’t call me back without wanting something from me first.” She laughed again. “I can’t believe she gave you the slip.”

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Like I’d tell you!” Jennifer yawned. “Look, I’ll call her tomorrow and have a chat with her. If you lay a hand on her, I will ruin your club. Are we in agreement?”

  He sighed. “I could find out for myself…”

  “You’ve been warned. Now let me sleep. I’ve had a long day.” She hung up.

  Alexander fought the urge to throw his phone across the room. He made his way to the drinks cabinet. Pulling it open, he selected his favourite decanter of Dalmore scotch and uncorked it. He grabbed a glass, ready to pour some of its amber liquid into a glass when he scowled at the bottle. The last time he couldn’t influence someone, the girl turned out to be a witch and nearly got him and Lucious killed. No matter how he looked at it, she couldn’t be a normal human, not when she looked like the prim and proper Mary Poppins.

  “Abigail Greene,” he said her name aloud. He couldn’t leave her alone. Her knowledge of the secret events in his club could be dangerous for both of them.

  Alexander sauntered to the window she had escaped through. He glanced down, studying the car park shrouded in the night and neon lights. The girl had unlocked the cuffs, jumped from the first floor like an everyday thief, and had the audacity to leave dirty tissues on his desk. She certainly knew how to leave an impression.

  He ground his teeth. Next time, I’ll use rope.

  ABIGAIL

  Her chirpy ringtone forced Abigail to peel her eyelids apart and face the morning sun. She reached for her phone on the bedside table. Sliding her thumb along the touch screen, she accepted the call.

  “Abigail, this is your boss. What on earth happened last night?”

  She cringed at Jennifer’s stern barks and sat up. Rubbing her face, she recalled yesterday’s catastrophe and flopped back onto her pillows. “Did you know Alexander is a psycho? We should report him! Someone died—”

  “No one died yesterday, Abigail.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes!”

  Jennifer sucked in a calming breath. “I’m sure whatever you saw was an act they put on for the patrons.”

  Abigail scrambled out of her bed and started tugging on her skinny jeans. “That’s not possible. He even said he’d kill me!”

  “Are you sure you were sober?”

  “I don’t drink on the job.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “Alright, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for whatever you saw because, I assure you, no one died at that club. Alexander is rich. He can afford realistic special effects
. I guess he just got too engrossed in his role.”

  Abigail slowly sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t stay long enough to witness anything past the shooting. All she saw was blood spreading over the man’s shirt. In movies, they do it all the time. None of the attendees seemed too concerned about the whole thing.

  Am I wrong?

  “Are you coming into work today or are you planning to write a thriller?” Jennifer asked.

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “I’ll be on time. I’m sorry about this, I really thought—”

  “Don’t think about this anymore. Alexander likes theatrics, and he’s a flirt. As long as he can get into a woman’s head, he’ll use any tricks in the book. I’ve warned you about that.”

  “Yeah,” Abigail mumbled. “You did.”

  “Good. Now get your ass to the office. I need that article ready by noon.”

  Abigail checked the time. She tugged on a navy tank top and a suit jacket. After putting on some makeup and her contact lenses, she ran out of her apartment.

  With her steaming cup of coffee ready at her side, she sat at her desk and started typing up the interview with Alexander. Arrogance dripped from him as if he stood in a waterfall. She hated men like him. They hoarded money, used women, played around, and to what end? Self-serving pigs.

  She snorted and added ‘craves female attention’ to her article. Without that warning from her boss, she would have interviewed him in her normal clothes, which would have been a grave mistake. Their office building had a TV studio on the lower floors where she could borrow some granny clothes from Niamh who worked with the wardrobe. That girl had a heart of gold, unlike Alexander.

  Abigail sipped her coffee with a sour look on her face as she read her article. Her annoyance built up when she noted she had subconsciously overused his name.

  Why do all hot men have to be jerks?

  CHAPTER 3

  ALEXANDER

  The cackling of his childe should have warned Alexander that something was amiss. When Tanya waltzed into his office and tossed the local newspaper on his desk, he didn’t react.

  “You have been played, Alexander,” she said with a grin.

  Furrowing his brow, he read the article about him. Words like egotistical, delusional, and unimaginative stabbed him like sharp pins in the big toe. His hands gripped the paper. Ms Greene sure knew how to get on his nerves. A woman who couldn’t tell fashion from her grandmother’s World War attire had the gall to insult him and his business.

  He stood and threw the newspaper in the bin. “Have you found out where she lives?”

  “I hired a PI to keep an eye on her movements just in case,” Tanya admitted. “I can’t believe Jen published that. Perhaps she was mad at you for trying to kill her employee.”

  “I didn’t try to kill her!” Alexander snapped and ran a hand through his platinum hair. “I wanted to scare her into submission. Who would have thought that she would—”

  “Outwit you?”

  Alexander shot her a piercing glare. “I understand this situation amuses you. Why?”

  “Because I’ve never seen you lose to a woman before. Excluding me, of course. And since Jen likes her, your hands are tied.”

  “That’s not the issue here. I couldn’t influence her. She’s…different.”

  Tanya cocked a brow. “In what way? When I was around Abigail, she seemed like a human.”

  “Isn’t that what we assumed about Helena?”

  She snorted. “That girl was the definition of a mystery. Still, it all worked out. She is living with her family in Florida and Lucious remains in the U.K.”

  His expression grew sour at the memory of the events in London last month. “You should have seen him, Tanya. The loss and pain Lucious went through proved to me just how important she was to him. I had no right to intervene. It was my fault they parted the way they did…”

  Tanya hugged him, letting Alexander rest his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m sure you and Lucious will work out your differences. He needs time to heal.”

  “You’re right,” he replied, pulling away. “I’ll let the matters with him rest. For now, give me the address to this reporter’s home.”

  A smirk tugged on her crimson lips. “Are you going to kidnap her?”

  “Something far worse,” he said with a smile of his own. “I will put her in her place.”

  ABIGAIL

  Abigail kicked off her shoes and locked her apartment door. On the floor lay a stack of her mail. She groaned as she picked the letters up, most were probably bills. She dumped her bag on the cream sofa before pouring herself a cup of coffee. It took her two hours yesterday to convince Jennifer to publish that article. The readers deserved to know the truth about Alexander and his shady nightclub. The press was about honesty and not about pandering to the overblown egos of the rich. She only wished she could see his face when he read her article. She would give a month’s wages for that.

  Her fingers landed on the letter from the Criminal Court of Justice. Ripping it open, she found a yellow summons for jury duty. She had forgotten she submitted her confirmation over a month ago. Abigail checked the date and skimmed the details. She needed to attend every morning for a week or she’d be fined. Just like the justice system to squeeze the last penny out of their citizens if they didn’t feel like doing their civic duty.

  She tossed the letters onto the coffee table and sipped her cup of coffee. Her mind invoked Alexander’s husky voice and the way his hands felt against her skin. Abigail’s temperature rose with each naughty thought when the doorbell rang, making her spill her drink.

  “Shit!” She shot up and hurried to the door. Peering through the peephole, she covered her mouth to keep her gasp in.

  “Ms Greene, I know you are there,” Alexander said. “I believe there is much we must discuss.”

  “How did you find out where I live?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Abigail scanned her outfit. She couldn’t let him see her in her normal look, not when she wanted him to believe she was a virgin with a chastity belt the size of the Eiffel Tower. “Of course, it matters! I need to know whether I should call the Gards or not.”

  He lifted a tantalizing dark brow. “Could we have this conversation inside? I would like to apologise…for my behaviour.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Give me a minute. I have to get…dressed.” Mumbling another curse, she ran into her bedroom where she flung the wardrobe doors open and searched for the oldest clothes she had. She changed into a baggy T-shirt with a Dalek from Dr Who saying, ‘Exterminate!’ along with a pair of faded jeans with paint splatters all over them.

  After tying her hair into a tight bun, she found the ugly glasses on her bedside table and put them on. They hurt her eyes since she hadn’t taken her contacts out. Once she entered her living room, she groaned. Apart from the spilled coffee on her table, it seemed too neat. So, she gathered some of her clothes and threw them on her sofa cushions and any furniture she had. She contemplated leaving a pair of panties out but thought better of it as he would find that intriguing rather than disgusting.

  Having become the everyday slob, she unlocked the front door. “What can I help you with?”

  Alexander visibly cringed, and she struggled not to grin. “May I come in?”

  “Ah, sure, sure. Don’t mind the mess. I tried to clean up as best I could, but you know what it’s like to live by yourself—no time to clean.” She waved for him to enter.

  He edged into her apartment. His eyes scanned the messy surfaces, the knocked over magazines, and the random paperwork she had scattered on the sofa. Upon seeing his disgust, she trudged past him. She pushed some papers off the seat and sat down.

  Once she folded her legs beneath her, she stared at him. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

  “Do you ever clean this place?”

  “Not in the past month…or four.” She forced a laugh. “Do you want a cup of tea or coffee?” She pi
cked up her stained mug. A few drops fell onto her rug, and she struggled with the internal need to immediately clean it up before it left a permanent mark. “I was about to get a refill.”

  Alexander shook his head. As she walked past him, he grasped her by the elbow. Her body started to prickle with that same electrical current, making her almost drop her cup.

  She glared at him. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

  He frowned and released her. “I apologise.”

  “Why did you come here, Mr Grekov?”

  “Alexander.”

  “Alexander then.”

  He closed his eyes as if trying to retain his gentlemanly ways, which she knew were an act. This man wouldn’t come to her place unless he was after something. She just had to figure out what that something was.

  “If you’re finished here, you can leave,” she said.

  “I came to apologise for my behaviour at the club the other night. As I’m sure Jennifer has explained, what you saw was an event held for the patrons.” He took a seat on her sofa. “And I would like that coffee you’ve so kindly offered.”

  Abigail shuffled her feet in the least womanly way possible to the kitchen counter. She scratched her bum, knowing full-well he was watching her. The sensation of his intense gaze burned into her back while she made the instant coffee.

  “White or black?” she called over her shoulder.

  His voice ghosted next to her ear, making her jump. “Black, please.”

  How did he get behind me without making a noise?

  Her breath hitched, and she tried to pretend his closeness wasn’t affecting her. With quivering hands, she poured the steaming water from the kettle.

  “Did you know you smell like vanilla?” he asked.

  She turned on the spot and handed him his cup. “No. Does that bother you?”

  Alexander put his cup down and lifted hers out of her tight hold. “Not at all.” He paused, giving her another onceover with his perfect poker face. “At first, I thought you were a woman who had never been with a man.” Those captivating silver eyes of his melted her insides when his full attention was on her. “Yet, when I looked into you, you’ve dated quite a lot in the past.”