Dirty Bad Secrets

by West, Jade

  She examined the figures on the coin. “You’re not going to backtrack are you? This is my week, Andy, I mean it. Fair’s fair.”

  “No, Faye, I’m not going to backtrack. It’s only seven days, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  She got to her feet, arms folded, and it took just that one sorry moment for me to register the error of my ways. “I’ll be taking your desk,” she said. “You have all the important shit over there.”

  “What important shit do I have that you will need access to in these seven poxy days, Faye?”

  She pulled her chair over to my station and plonked herself down, staring unapologetically at the financials screen in front of me.

  “That’s what I’m about to find out,” she said. “I want you to walk me through me every single thing you do for this club, Andy. Starting right now.”

  Faye was like a fucking dog with a fucking bone, dipping into this and fucking that, poking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. Financials, suppliers, membership procedures, marketing. She wanted the low down on the whole pissing lot of it, as if it would have ever been that simple.

  “Three years,” I snapped. “You’re expecting me to walk you through three years of management. Rome wasn’t built in a day, Faye, and you aren’t going to waltz in here and take on my role in seven poxy days.”

  “I’m not expecting you to walk me through three years of management, Andy, I’m expecting you to help me understand exactly what goes on around this place.”

  “And what exactly about this place is it you wish to understand?”

  She sighed. “Don’t make this impossible. I won the coin toss, I get my week.”

  “And this week I’ll start walking you through the financials.” I opened the profit and loss spreadsheet and she slammed her hands on the desk before I’d even started.

  “I’ve already got this information and you know it,” she snapped. “Show me something new.”

  “Just because you’ve already got this information doesn’t mean you understand it. Tell me how we display bottle versus draft revenue and what impact that has on our stock lines. Tell me where we record additional membership revenue for one-off events.”

  Her face was the very picture of exasperation, and I fought the urge to pull the little bitch over my knee and slap some humility into her. “Fine, show me the profit and loss spreadsheet, and then show me all the other reports you’ve already palmed me off with, and all the others you’ll use to stall because they don’t mean shit,” she hissed. “But tomorrow we will be looking at marketing, and you will be telling me what I want to know whether you like it or not.”

  We simmered and we festered and we managed to somehow trawl our way through a whole day of my show and tell puppeteering, but by the close of play on Sunday evening, I had no intention of rolling over and letting her bulldoze through my marketing strategy.

  I kicked off my shoes as soon as I was back through my own doorway, grabbed a triple of vintage bourbon and flicked on the TV I hadn’t used in months. My pulsed raced as I considered the unthinkable, but I did it regardless; cancelling every one of my morning alarm calls.

  Time to take an impromptu duvet day. I’d fucking earned one.

  ***

  I called Topaz on her mobile, smiling to myself at the surprise in her voice as she registered who was calling. I imagined her still in bed, green hair splayed out on her pillow like a bird’s nest as she groped for her handset. To say she wasn’t a morning person would be an understatement. The girl sounded half fucking dead.

  “I’m not coming in today,” I said. “You can tell Faye when you see her.”

  “Not in?! You mean, not at all?”

  “Just tell her,” I snapped. “And don’t be late.”

  I’m such a fucking cunt sometimes.

  I kicked back on the sofa, flicking through TV channels in horror as I came face to face with the dregs of daytime TV. I lasted through all of twenty minutes before I had twitchy feet, mind racing through the stacked up to-do list at the office. I imagined Faye’s pouty, self-entitled face to keep me glued to my seat, and it worked well enough. My mobile was on the coffee table in clear view, ready for the stream of text messages and calls when she realised she didn’t know shit about running our club. Only they didn’t pissing well come. I didn’t hear a single peep out of her.

  She’d always been stubborn; stubborn and highly strung. An explosive and unpredictable combination.

  Faye Devere had always been a maelstrom of enthusiasm to my calm. She was creative and flamboyant, with her head too high in the clouds for her own bloody good, but her ideas, more often than not, were spot on. She thought big and I thought real, and somehow between us we’d find that sweet spot, where shit got done and it got done well. It was Faye who’d set her heart on the Explicit venue in the first place, way beyond the scope of my initial investment. Faye who’d convinced me to dig fucking deep and take a chance on it, on us. Explicit was her grand vision, brought to life by my bullish determination to make a fucking go of it. We’d gone in big, I’d gone in big, and it had paid off.

  And then she thanked me by pissing off into the sunset without so much as a goodbye.

  I wasn’t going into that fucking office, not even if I had to tie myself to the coffee table and watch a whole fucking day of soul-destroying TV.

  Just as well I had Vincent cunting Blackmore’s shitty novel to keep me occupied.

  Topaz’s expression was one of both fear and relief as I strolled through the bar at just gone seven that evening. She was perched on a stool with her earplugs in, fingers only slightly more covered in glitter and glue than the bar top beneath them.

  “You’re back!” she said, her cheeks flushing.

  “Clearly,” I muttered. I leaned over her shoulder, trying to work out what in the name of hell she was actually doing.

  “Faye’s idea,” she said. “Explicit gaming cards, for truth or dare night.”

  “Truth or dare night?” I pulled a face. “And when exactly is this truth or dare night supposed to be happening?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I’m just getting them ready.”

  I fished a completed card from the glitter, and it looked like a poorly executed primary school project.

  “Kiss my ass. Five points. It’s time for your partner to get down on all fours and pucker up for some deep anal smooching. Five straight minutes of asshole worship are heading their way. Tongue penetration compulsory.”

  “Do you like it?” Topaz asked, hopefully.

  I flicked through the rest of the pile, fighting the urge to laugh at the curly writing.

  “Ride ’em, Cowboy. Five points. It’s bronco time! Your job is to ride your partner and hold on tight, their job is to buck you off. Whoever gets off first is the winner.”

  “See what I did there?” she smiled. “Whoever gets off first?”

  I declined the opportunity to comment either way.

  “So, where is she?” I said. “And how much of a hissy fit am I walking into?”

  “In your office,” she replied. I stared her out until she continued. “She’s… a little upset.”

  “Upset as in hysterical tears, or upset as in carving knife to the face?”

  She shrugged. “I think you’d better find that out for yourself.”

  I hung up my coat without a word, glancing across her desk for just a moment on the way to mine. Today’s mail was still in piles, unopened.

  “You’ve missed the post,” I said. “Those cheques should have been banked hours ago. If you want to take the reins, Faye, you’ve got to steer the bloody horse.”

  Her mouth was a puckered little hole of hate. “Where the fuck have you been? Where the fuck were you today?!”

  “Annual leave,” I said. “You’d have to agree, I’m owed quite some time.” I took my seat and fired up my laptop. “I trust you coped just fine in my absence, partner?”

  Her palms slammed hard against her desk, but I didn’t even lo
ok in her direction. “Why are you being like this? I won the toss! You flipped the fucking coin! We had a fucking agreement, Andy. You promised me!”

  “Poor little Faye, my heart fucking bleeds,” I said. “Don’t even start. I wasn’t in today, big fucking doo dah. You haven’t been in for three fucking years.”

  In a heartbeat she’d gathered up the half-opened mail and thrown it in my lap. “Sort this fucking post, Andy,” she hissed. “It’s your job today. You should have been here to do it on time.”

  I gathered up the envelopes and launched them back in her direction. “No, Faye. Your job. Your responsibility. A stupid bloody coin toss doesn’t change the basic premise of our dynamic here. The truth is that you don’t know the first thing about running this club, and today has merely proved my point.”

  “And what fucking point would that be?”

  I flashed her a bitter smile. “Today was your chance to step up and find your feet. A chance to get on with the shit you could take ownership of, all it would have taken was a hard day’s graft and the use of that sharp fucking brain in your skull. What really happened? Fuck all. That’s what happened.” I yanked a pile of paperwork from my in-tray. “See these? Invoices that need putting onto the system.” I held up a handful of others. “These ones here have got notes on them, very simple to follow. We have queries on these, they need a call put in to the suppliers to sort out the discrepancies.” I shoved them all back in the tray. “You could have asked Topaz what needed doing. We need another member for the door team, you could have looked through the advert templates in the staff folder and stuck an advert online. If you’d have really wanted to step up to the plate you could have written one of your own. You didn’t even get the post sorted. Need I go on any further, Faye? Really?”

  Her finger jabbed in my direction. “This is crap and you know it. I’d have done all of that stuff if you’d bothered to come in and show me!”

  “Would you? Doesn’t seem that way from where I’m sitting. It seems you’re only interested in playing Princess Pouty and setting Topaz loose on some ridiculous art project. Have you even seen those things out there?” I snapped. “It looks like you’ve let a toddler play with a glitter gun. What image is that going to give of our professionalism here?”

  “Truth or dare night is a good idea, Andy, whatever you think about the glitter.” Our eyes simmered as they met, and her jaw looked as rigid as mine felt. “You had no intention of keeping to our agreement, did you? No intention whatsoever of letting me have a proper place in this club. It was just a stupid game to stall me, to make me think we could work this out.”

  It was my turn to jab the finger. “Don’t you dare fucking start that shit, Faye. I had every intention of keeping to our agreement. Who sat there all fucking day with you yesterday while you stuck your oar in like a self-righteous fucking prick?”

  “I was asking basic questions, Andy. Basic fucking questions. I’m entitled to know how to do shit around here! I’m entitled to know what the fuck is going on!” Her voice was sharper than usual, sharp and shrill. And then it cracked. “I did everything you wanted!” she shrieked. “I worked bar, I did the mail, I even cleaned up shitty fucking condoms from the fucking drain! I put up with every shitty thing you threw my way! I PLAYED FAIR, ANDY! I PLAYED FUCKING FAIR!” She slapped a hand on the desk.

  And then she went quiet. Her hand clasped over her mouth and her shoulders did that horrible fucking judder that only means tears.

  “And that’s it, is it?” I said. “Poor little Faye is going to cry her eyes out because Andy’s so fucking mean to her. That’s where we’re at?”

  She raised her hand, and the slightest little sob slipped out of her. It was a pitiful fucking noise, and it smacked me right in the fucking stomach.

  “What are you going to do now, Faye?” I sneered. “Google some fucking lawyers again? Run off back to Vincent cunt-face Blackthorne? Hide in your shitty little hotel room and cry it all out? What’s it going to be, Faye?”

  She caught her breath and summoned a sliver of composure, even though her eyes were pools of hurt. “You don’t want me here, Andy. You’ll never let me back in, will you? Not as a partner. It doesn’t matter what I do now, I’ll always be the enemy.”

  “You think that, do you?” I snapped. “That’s really what you fucking think? You’re sitting in my fucking office, at your old fucking desk. You have a fucking in-tray, and a laptop, and a fucking telephone extension. I think I’ve been really pissing generous, all things considered.”

  “You don’t treat me anything like an equal!”

  “So make me!” I raged. “You want respect, you fucking earn it! You want to be my fucking partner again, then you’ll have to stand up tall and stand your fucking ground! We’re going to butt heads, Faye, all the fucking time. That’s who I am! I’m not going to roll onto my back for you like some spineless fucking squib. I make decisions, I take charge, I boss people around, that’s who I fucking am! Stand up for yourself. You should have called me on the mobile the second you knew I wasn’t coming in, and you should have bollocked me, like I’d bollock you, and believe me, I’d fucking bollock you. You should have told me to get my fucking arse into work, to stop being such an irresponsible, stroppy fucking cunt and to get the fuck on with it.”

  “Like you’d have listened! Andy Morgan doesn’t fucking listen!” she spat.

  “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t, but you’d have been in the fucking right, Faye, and even I’m not such a thick-skulled fucking asshole that I wouldn’t have seen it. You get respect by demanding it. You’ll be my partner again when you learn to fucking act like one.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to do!” she hissed, and there were tears again, rolling down her cheeks in mascara-streaked rivers. She was a pain in the ass; a hysterical, whimpering, self-pitying ghost of the woman I risked a fucking fortune for, but she was so fucking beautiful that she took my breath.

  I stormed to the filing cabinet at the back of the room, unloading boxes of paperwork from the top before I managed to reach what I was aiming for. I slammed the case down in front of her, springing open the clasps with angry fingers. The case was a bespoke walnut masterpiece, lined with black silk, and much more expensive than the contents.

  The tears stopped in a heartbeat, and she stared up at me with big glassy eyes. “What’s this?”

  “What does it fucking look like?” I said. I pulled out the cane and tapped it against my palm. My own personal favourite, and it felt just as smooth as I remembered it. A decent weight, yet springy enough to draw blood if you caught the skin right. She took out the paddle, and the strap, too, turning them over in her hands in nothing short of wonder.

  I dropped the cane back in its case, and leaned over until her face was just an inch from mine. “So, what’s it going to be, Faye? Are you going to stand up for yourself and teach me a fucking lesson, or am I going to bend you over that desk and give you something to really cry about?”

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  Faye

  Andy’s eyes were dark, dredging mine for the slightest sniff of weakness. His whole body was wired; tense and tightly wound, ready to spring for my throat.

  It would have been so easy to let him. But not today. This was my day. My week.

  I got to my feet, summoning every ounce of grit in my body.

  “Strip,” I said. “Everything.”

  His eyes flashed with the desire for rebellion, but his body followed my orders. He slipped off his jacket, then fumbled at his cufflinks, dropping them onto the desk with a metallic clunk. He pulled off his tie, laying it neatly across his jacket before his fingers worked their way down his shirt buttons. Solid shoulders topped a chest that was tight and toned, tapering into the sculpted wall of his abs and the muscular V of his hips. He kicked his shoes and socks off, unbuckled his belt and loosened his trousers just enough to drop them to the floor.

  “Everything,” I repeated.

  He hook
ed his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and slid them down, making no effort to hide the thick swell of his cock.

  His eyes ploughed into mine, and they were simmering; vicious and angry and clearly pissed off. I liked him that way. It would make hurting him taste all the fucking sweeter.

  “What now?” he snapped. “Are you going to actually take charge or do I have to stand here like a prick all day?”

  I pointed the cane at his desk. “Bend over, lie flat on your front.”

  I scouted the contents of the case. Besides the paddle and cane, there was a skein of bondage rope, a set of handcuffs and a miniature swede flogger.

  “That’s not all of it,” he said as he lowered himself onto the desk. “The rest is in a locker outside playroom four.”

  “I think this will do for now.” I picked up the handcuffs and tested the key as he stared up at me, his bad attitude still written all over his face.

  I threaded the handcuffs around the metal desk leg. “Wrists.”

  He offered them out and I cuffed him into position. It was a beautiful stretch for a beautiful body. He was angled diagonally, his perfectly sculpted ass jutting out over the edge of the desk. He grunted as I reached under him to grip his cock. Easy access, what a bonus.

  “Spread your legs,” I said.

  Every one of his muscles was defined and tense, from the bulge of his calves to the glorious trunks of his thigh muscles.

  “Are you going to fucking hit me, or just gawp all fucking day?”

  I picked up the paddle. It was solid oak, nice and weighty. Just the quality I’d have expected from Andy Morgan. I ignored his question entirely.

  “When did you last use this stuff?”

  “Fuck knows. I hardly put it in the calendar,” he sneered.

  “You’re not making this any easier for yourself. You know that, right?” I grazed the paddle across his ass cheeks. “I’m going to enjoy this, Andy. I think I may even get a taste for it.”