by West, Jade
“Haven’t used it in a long time.” I sat down at my desk, and Faye wheeled her chair opposite. A solid gold coin, made to order. One side showed a woman riding a man, her head high as she had her way with him. The other side was reversed, the man pinning the woman down, fucking her hard. A switch coin of my own design. One simple toss and power was assigned. A kingmaker of sorts. I’d had a lot of fun with that coin in years gone by. A smile flickered on my lips at the memories. “You remember how this works?”
She held out a hand and I passed it over. She flipped it in delicate fingers. “Much more relevant than heads or tails.”
“Quite.” I gestured for the coin, but she held it high.
“I don’t trust you with it,” she said. “You might have a trick.”
I sighed. “It’s a fucking coin, Faye. Nothing sinister. It’s not weighted, there are no tricks.”
“Even so.”
I shrugged, impatient. “Fine. You toss.”
“And this is it? The winner is set for seven days?”
I nodded. “Our weeks will run from Sunday morning to Sunday morning, just after we close. It makes sense to do it that way. This week will be slightly shorter, but we’ll live with that. We’ll lock up from the Saturday shift and toss the coin. Deal?”
“Fine. Let’s do it.” She kept the coin in her fingers, playing with it. “What are the rules? Winner has complete control?”
“Within reason,” I said. “No major refurbishments, no major policy changes, just day to day authority.”
“Ok.” She tossed the coin in the air and her eyes sparkled as they followed it. I was looking at her, not the coin when it landed. The sag of her shoulders told me I’d taken the week. A quick glance confirmed my win. Sure enough the man was fucking the woman. A thrill ran through me.
“Shit,” she said.
“You tossed. That’s the way it fell. Fate has spoken.”
She looked so sad I felt almost guilty. “I’ll go back to the bar, then. Congratulations, Andy. You win, again.”
“For the week,” I pointed out. “It’s hardly a win.”
Faye looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen her. Exhausted and agitated. She rose from her seat like a woman defeated. I scooped the coin up and into my pocket.
A niggle inside, something brewing. “What’s going on today, Faye?”
“Nothing.”
I reeled through her known family. A mum and dad on the south coast, one brother and three sisters, mainly living close to home. “Everyone ok?”
“Everyone’s fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
She picked up her mobile from my desk, and it buzzed in her grip. I couldn’t miss the flinch, the wide eyes. She didn’t check the message. “I’ll get on and sort that drink delivery when it arrives.”
“Thanks.”
She didn’t look at me again on her way to the door, and I was glad she missed the warring emotions on my face. I felt myself caving, guilt and fear making me weak.
“Faye, wait.” I dragged her stupid old empty desk back into the centre of the room. Her chair, too. I even chucked a load of biros on there, and a notepad. “I’ll have to sort you out a phone extension, I think I have a handset downstairs in the storeroom.”
Her eyes were guarded. “Is this another game?”
“No game,” I said. “You can work here until you get too big for your boots or we argue to death before the week is up.” I gestured to her chair. “Just don’t push your luck.”
She sat herself down and arranged her pens in some rudimentary kind of order, then shot me the only genuine smile I’d seen from her in days.
It was a beautiful smile, but not nearly so beautiful as the words that followed it.
“So, what are we doing today, sir?”
Oh, the fucking ideas.
***
Faye
He sorted me out a telephone extension, as promised. A laptop, too. I watched him the whole time he set me up, waiting for some chink in the veneer. But none came.
My mobile buzzed repeatedly in my pocket, until finally he fixed me in a steady gaze.
“Who is that, Faye?”
I shook my head. “Just junk.”
“Right.” He didn’t believe me, and I didn’t expect him to.
My hand was shaking as I took out my phone, the strange magnetic pull still strong from overseas. I couldn’t bear to look at my notifications, couldn’t bear for all the open-mouthed comments as Facebook went Vincent Blackthorne crazy. “I’ll turn it off.”
His fingers grabbed for my wrist as I held the power off button, and the touch was electric. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Like I said, it’s just junk.”
“If he’s bothering you, Faye...”
I changed the subject, pasting on a smile. “This is great. To have my old desk back, it means a lot. Thanks.”
He couldn’t resist the snipe. “It’s not a marriage proposal.” Despite the snark in his tone he squeezed my wrist just a little bit tighter. The urge to unravel stretched its limbs, the need to be consumed by a force stronger than me, stronger than Vincent.
I took a breath, pushed it aside. “Still, thank you.”
“We’ll see if you’re still saying that at the end of the week.” He let go of me, and walked away, only to return with a pile of mail. “Today’s,” he explained. “Accounts paperwork can go in the tray, cheques can go to be banked. He handed me a paying in book. “Down the road, same place it used to be.”
“I remember.”
“Good.” He leaned over me to sort the envelopes into piles. His hand on the back of my chair, his shoulder against mine, and the scent of him, like a desert breeze, hot and oriental. “You get a feel for this without even opening them. Start with these, they should be the cheques.”
I found I was touching him, gripping his arm, fingers tight around the solid flesh beneath his shirt. His face was so close to mine, much too close. He swallowed. Dark eyelashes fluttered. “…Don’t do this, Faye.”
My fingers traced their way up to his shoulder, until they were ghosting along the tender skin of his neck. He closed his eyes. “...Don’t.”
“…I want to thank you. I want to feel like I belong here again.”
“Then sort the mail. Take those cheques.”
I let out my breath. “Ok.”
He retreated to the safety of his own desk, where he buried himself in his laptop and barely looked at me. I organised the cheques, recorded them on the incoming spreadsheet, and tallied them up for the paying in book.
“I won’t be long.”
I picked up my mobile, but thought better of it. I left it on my desk, instead.
***
Andy
I was gasping for caffeine by the time Topaz brought coffee. She set it down and glanced at Faye’s empty spot.
“Yes, that’s her desk. She’s gone to the bank,” I said.
She smiled politely, almost making it clean out of the room before I called her back. She approached slowly, wary of what was coming.
“I want answers, and I want them now. What do you know about Vincent Blackthorne?”
She wouldn’t look at me. “Pretty much everything.”
“Fine. What’s the latest? In a nutshell, please.”
“New book release in a few weeks,” she said. “Bird in the bush.”
“Why did she leave Italy?” I demanded.
Topaz fiddled with her nose ring. “I don’t know. Honestly.”
“You asked her about him, though, didn’t you?” I could see the fear in her eyes. “Answer the question, Topaz, I know you pissing well asked her. If I was going to fire you, I’d have done it by now. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
“She said he’s brooding, serious. A creative type.”
“A flouncy fucking fairy, probably.” I couldn’t hide my disdain. “He writes porn, doesn’t he?”
“Erotic romance, Mr Morgan. It’s not porn.”
/> “All the same bloody thing if you ask me.” I knew I was scowling. “What’s the deal with his books?”
She took a breath. “His latest series is about a woman, Magpie. He meets her at a conference, their eyes meet and there’s this crazy fated connection. She becomes his pretty bird, his muse. It’s very intense, very romantic. Very dark.”
“Dark?”
“It’s a turbulent love affair, jealous, and sexual and... well... it’s dark...”
“A crock of old shit,” I scoffed. I failed to mention my foray into the world of Vincent Blackthorne, an older book of his when Faye had just left. Pretentious fluff. Up his own arse and then some. I’d thrown the thing in the bin before reading past chapter two.
“I don’t think it’s shit. I think it’s real.” Topaz shifted her weight from hip to hip, stared at me. “She’s Magpie, isn’t she?”
“You fucking tell me.”
“Ok, then yes, she is.” She pulled her phone from her pocket, and her eyes were wide. “I didn’t know whether to ask her about it or not.”
“About what?”
“About this.” She turned the screen to my eyes and my breath caught. “It was only revealed today, I swear, and I haven’t even seen her… Even if I did, I’m not sure what I’d say.”
I gripped the phone, eyes wild and fucking crazy. Bird in the Bush. Book 4 of the Pretty Bird series. Sir Vincent Blackthorne. Like fuck he was a Sir. I’d never seen Faye look so sad as she did on that picture. Her eyes were glistening with tears, the tracks of which fell beautifully down her cheeks. Her lip would have been trembling, you could tell, a single moment of sorrow captured perfectly. Her eyes were big and dilated, and haunted. Brimming with fucking despair. And love.
The eyes of a woman in love.
It made me sick to my stomach.
“And this is his fucking book cover, is it?”
She nodded. “I didn’t know before today, I promise.”
I threw the phone back at her, angry fingers jabbing at the keys on my laptop. I looked up the piece of shit’s website, and Faye’s eyes took my breath for the second fucking time.
Topaz was reading the text aloud before I found it on screen.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Magpie is a broken bird. Spinning in Master Blake’s web in the heart of the Veneto mountains, her fate will play out on stage, during Blake’s most dangerous show of all.
His pretty bird is broken, but her beautiful pain only serves to bring her closer to Him. Her Master. Her Lover. Her everything.
Fourth instalment in the acclaimed Pretty Bird Series.
Warning: Contains aspects of dominance and submission which may disturb some readers. Dubious consent, multiple partners and sadomasochism. Please enjoy responsibly.
“What the fuck is this?”
“I’ve read the others,” Topaz said. “All of them. They’re pretty hardcore.”
I started clicking around the screen. “Where can I get a copy of this fucking book?”
“You can’t,” she said, simply. “It’s not out yet. You wouldn’t understand it anyway, it’s not a standalone. You have to start with book one.”
“Where can I get a copy of book fucking one then?”
“Amazon. Do you have a Kindle?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Do I look like the kind of guy who has a fucking Kindle, Topaz?”
I was scaring her. She twiddled her thumbs together. “I could lend you mine.”
“Please.” I stared at Sir fucking Blackthorne’s author picture. Some piece of shit black and white thing with his face hidden behind a Casanova mask. “How the fuck do I contact this prick?”
“You can’t,” she said. “He gets so much mail he has to employ a PR agency.”
I jabbed a finger at the cover on the screen. “This isn’t fucking happening, Topaz. This was a fucking mistake. If this thing goes to fucking print, I’ll sue the poncey prick for everything he’s got.”
“She must have given him permission, Mr Morgan. He’s not an idiot. His other covers were illustrations, bird cages and shackles and feathers.”
“She can damn well take her permission back then, can’t she?” I fixed her in a glare. “What does dubious consent mean?” She couldn’t even look at me. “Topaz, what the fuck does dubious consent mean?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Morgan, I don’t know what to say.”
I slammed my fist on the desk. “Tell me!”
“It’s … it’s dark erotica, forced submission that sometimes goes over the line.”
I put my head in my hands, temples thumping. “Get me that fucking Kindle, Topaz.” I looked across to the empty desk, and Faye’s handset sitting on top of it. “And while you’re at it, pass me that fucking phone as well.”
***
Chapter Six
Faye
I’d known it was inevitable, but still the sight of Topaz hunched over Andy’s desk while he blatantly tried to guess my mobile’s security PIN was enough to drain the blood from my face. So much for my happy little jaunt to the bank and back.
“You’ll never get it. It’s a totally random combination,” I announced.
Topaz shot upright with a gasp but Andy didn’t flinch.
“Now you’re back I can stop guessing,” he said. Topaz made some blathering excuses before he waved her from the room, but I was hardly listening. Andy waited until the door clicked shut before he skimmed my phone back across the desk. “I just need his number, I can handle the rest.”
“Handle what, exactly?”
His expression darkened as he turned his laptop screen in my direction. “This. This fucking... travesty.”
If he expected shock horror he was sure to be disappointed. The picture on screen was old news. I’d seen it, approved it and signed the thing off long before I left Italy.
“Thanks, but there’s really nothing to handle.”
The scowl was etched across his face. “And you’re happy with this, are you? Not bothered that your face is going to be on every dirty cow’s Kindle screen the planet over? He can fuck right off if he thinks he’s using this picture to sell his seedy little porno book.”
I didn’t even attempt to argue the literary beauty of Vincent’s work. It would have fallen on deaf ears. “I gave him permission,” I said. “In writing. Signed, sealed, case closed.”
“Is it fuck,” he said. “What’s his fucking number?”
I couldn’t help but smile at his zeal. “I signed it off, Andy. My signature.”
“Queen fucking Elizabeth could have signed it off for all I fucking care, Faye.”
I focused on the twitch at the corner of his perfect mouth. “You’d be wasting your breath.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” He stared right at me. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want your face on his poxy book.”
“It’s not that simple...”
“It is that simple.”
“Andy, seriously. I signed it off. End of.”
“Past tense. Permission fucking withdrawn. I have great lawyers, Faye, we’ll sue him for every penny he’s got, I promise.”
He rooted through his papers, pulled out a business card and began dialling before I could speak. The business card was one of those uber posh ones, watermarked on a thick, expensive grain. My hand was on his before he’d been connected, guiding the handset back into its cradle. “Thank you, I really appreciate your concern, but stop. Please.”
He didn’t let go of the phone. “If you’re worried about speaking to him...”
“I’m not,” I lied. “Look, I knew he’d be using that picture. It’s no big deal, he’s in Italy and I’m here, he’s busy writing books and I’m busy running a club.” I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, though. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.”
He swallowed, but kept his expression deadpan. “I mean it, Faye, we could fight this.”
“And I mean it when I say it’s no big deal. It’s just a picture.” I ignore
d the worms twisting in my stomach.
He gestured to the screen. Bird in the Bush. The title still made my heart race. “Topaz said you’re this Magpie woman, whatever the fuck that means, and what’s all this dubious consent shit? Did he hurt you?”
I forced a smile. “Maybe there’s some of me in Magpie, but she’s just a character. It’s just fiction.”
“Just fiction?” His eyes were so demanding. “Because if it isn’t...”
“It’s hardly a biography. Maybe I was a muse for Vincent, maybe some of it is loosely based on real life, but it is just a story.” My heart was thumping so loud I feared he’d hear it, but he let out a sigh.
“Fine.” He dropped the phone and pushed the business card back amongst the paperwork.
I used the opportunity to retreat to my desk. “Cheques are all banked. What next?”
He swivelled his chair to face me, and the fine hairs on my arms bristled. “Just answer me one thing. Why did you leave him?”
I hesitated for only a second. “End of the road.”
“End of the road?” I could feel his stare, hot on my face. “Why?”
“I wasn’t with Vincent, Andy. I stayed to help him organise his Venice events. It didn’t work out. We weren’t a couple. Not like that.”
“Not like what?”
“Not like anything.” I shrugged. “We messed around occasionally, mainly in public. That isn’t a relationship.”
He paused for a long moment. Long enough to catch me off guard. “You loved him.”
The pang of heartache took me by surprise. “I never said I didn’t.”
He turned the laptop again in my direction, my sad eyes haunting me across the fucking room. I looked away, busying myself with the rest of the mail.
“What was going on when this was taken?”
“Nothing.” I laid out the membership ID photocopies, the invoices, too.
“Don’t try and make a dick out of me. Breezing back in like nothing ever happened might seem like the best option to you, but I want to know what I’m fucking dealing with here.”
