Breaking Leila

by Lucy V. Morgan

  So. How does one fill eight hours without being able to masturbate?

  Matt spent most of it with his iPod, to the point where I wondered if it would require surgical extraction. Poppy juggled Post-Its in about six different colours while simultaneously poking me every twenty minutes to ask about something in one of the newspapers. Why couldn’t she just be quiet? Why?

  Joseph tapped away on his laptop for an hour and spent the rest of the journey asleep, which made me wonder what he’d been doing all Saturday night, and Yves…well. Yves got pissed. Sadie finally ordered him a brandy and it knocked him out cold.

  I hid a Jilly Cooper novel beneath the FT. From behind the pink paper, I could safely glance at Matt without him noticing, and appear conscientious at the same time. Bonus. I stared at the seat Poppy occupied, wondering what it might have been like to fly out as his girlfriend still–the things I could’ve done to him under a blanket, the anticipation at finally getting to our hotel room and closing the door.

  Awful reasons to consider staying with someone. I knew this. They lingered, though. It was hard to banish them beneath the guilt over his drawn expression–he looked so very weary.

  The room I would be going to was Joseph’s–a suite, no less. I’d even get into his car. Matt and I would be separated as soon as we hit the ground. What would that have been like, if we were still together? He’d have been a mess by the end of the week and I…well. I wouldn’t have been half as miserable as he’d have liked.

  When we landed, it was three o’clock on New York time and eight back in stuffy England. I buzzed with nervous energy that could not be attributed to the sex scenes in my novel, horse whips and all. Our luggage arrived swiftly and yet it felt like hours; I stamped from foot to foot, unable to keep still. The strange, lilting accents that shot around filled my ears and unsettled me.

  Then the moment I’d been gearing up for–we split into three pairs as we went to find our cars. Sadie and Yves, Poppy and Matt…Joseph and me. I could feel the stares branding my skull as we slid into the sleek Merc. It was downright unprofessional of Joseph to be showing a preference for a trainee when we were all competing. Matt was right; he was being incredibly brazen.

  The car door slammed shut and the chauffeur introduced himself, asked if we’d like him to explain the landmarks along the way. Joseph declined. Then we were just two people framed by the busy streets that flew past through the windows, the static buzz of this vaguely familiar city and the low hum of the engine.

  I sat in nettles. The atmosphere popped and pricked.

  Finally, he reached over and laid a hand on my bare knee. I watched as his long fingers curled around and pressed into my skin, how the muscles in his forearm flexed. His touch was so warm after hours in the draining plane cabin that I wanted to sigh out loud.

  I could feel him watching me.

  Slowly, his hand drifted upward where he kneaded at my thigh. I gave in after a few minutes and let him stroke the inside, his caress turning light and teasing. I resisted the urge to sink back in my seat and spread my legs for him. Not even whores are meant to be that easy, right?

  Well.

  Our hotel was just a few blocks from Wall Street, which would probably have Poppy creaming her pants, and stood imposingly in sandy stone. Inside, the lobby made Heathrow look like a shoebox, the ceiling span all the way to heaven on a spiral staircase thread. Everyone was busy, everything zipped past in dashes of colour and noise. When I had last stayed in New York on a somewhat smaller budget, four of us had shared a room at a little boutique place–which is a nice way of saying small. We only had one luxury–the view–but all that mattered then was proximity to Bloomingdales.

  Much to my relief, we were the first to arrive at the check-in desk. Joseph pressed a hand against the small of my back, and a wad of notes into my palm.

  “You go up now,” he said smoothly. “I need to sort a few things–I’ll be with you in ten.”

  A bellboy with shaggy caramel hair led me to the lift. I closed my eyes as the floors clicked past. Nine, ten, eleven…how far up was the junior suite? When we arrived, steel curtains flew back to reveal a cool corridor lined with pale wood doors.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he murmured, beaming at me as he left.

  Ma’am…I kept forgetting I wasn’t in England anymore and my brain still resembled a knife block after the numbing eight hours of flight.

  Doing my job–the other job–I’d visited a lot of hotels. Some suites had been far more indulgent than this one, but still stunning in its minimal opulence, it was a little like Joseph in that fashion. A large bathroom played host to a double bath and shower. Convenient, hmm? A split-level living area with velvet sofas and a glass wall that lead out to a terrace. A mirrored chandelier teetered from the high ceiling in the bedroom, and everything was in startling black and cream except for the bowls of suede-petalled red roses dotted about the place. I would expect boutique to look like this.

  I stood in the living room for a while, surveying the view: the reams of straight roads and microcosms they boxed in, the towering glory of 40 Wall Street. I’d always expected a thick shadow of smog to lick at the tips of skyscrapers, yet the sky here looked as cobalt blue as any, and the sun made me squint as it bounced off the glass. It was all beautiful in the way only cities could be, the promise that writhed through cracks in concrete and stone.

  I was fiddling with the door lock for the terrace when Joseph came in. He appeared behind me–he had an annoying habit of doing that–and wound his arm firmly about my waist.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “It’s nice,” I began, “although I can’t find my room.”

  He chuckled to himself, nuzzling at my loose hair. “Funny, that.”

  My eyes fell shut as he caressed me. I ached for him as always, like it was stitched into my genes and the thread tied in a blunt knot.

  Something wasn’t right.

  He turned me and I toyed with the hem of his sweater, my hand trembling slightly with nerves. He tightened a fist in my hair, eased my head back, and claimed the mouth he'd paid for. The kiss befitted our surroundings; slow and thorough, it shoved me back against the glass, and I didn’t have to calculate my response. I melted against him, my teeth closing around his bottom lip.

  His low groan made the scene snap and my stomach lurch. His light stubble turned to Matt’s, and I tasted Coke on his lips instead of earthy heat. A voice murmured, I don’t care how knackered we are on Sunday–I’m going to make love to you if it kills me and then I was in another hotel room where Matt stood beside the bed. He unpacked slowly, solemnly. Dark circles ringed his eyes. He had not expected to be doing this alone.

  I pulled away from Joseph without quite realizing, and he tightened his fingers against my scalp.

  “Don’t tease me,” he muttered, “not now. Not after that flight.”

  I jerked my head to the side, avoiding his mouth. I needed a few minutes to collect my thoughts, but I wouldn’t be allowed the luxury. “I’m not.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Could we…um…could we maybe not do this tonight? Just tonight,” I added quickly. “Tomorrow’s good, tomorrow’s fine.”

  In a slow tease, he drew a finger over the nipple that stood stiffly beneath my shirt. “You want this as much as I do.”

  “Yes, but…”

  He cupped my breast and I had to fight the urge to arch my back, to push it further against him. “I was meant to be with Matt tonight.” I lowered my eyes. “I’d feel awkward and he’s really upset.”

  Did he suppress a smile or a glare?

  “Do you think he’ll be any less upset tomorrow? Do you think a few hours will make a difference to how you feel?” He still touched me, his hand shamefully hot, and I felt small beneath his bulk and his words.

  “Probably not…but I feel like I owe him this.”

  “Technically, you owe me, what with our little arrangement.”

  I wanted to weep at the
absurdity of it, the hired girl trying to wriggle out of her obligation. The reason men paid in the first place was to avoid this type of emotional crap–I don’t know why I expected it to be any different with him.

  “You can say no, of course. Just thought I’d ask,” I mumbled.

  He released me and I was suddenly very cold.

  “No, no…you do what you please, Leila. I hardly want someone unwilling.” He touched my wrist, my pulse soaring to meet him. “Though I don’t think you are.”

  “Thank you. Tomorrow, then.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me as he walked to the bedroom. “Perhaps.”

  We headed down to dinner separately. The last to arrive–I’d been on the phone to Mum and Dad–I took the only remaining seat...next to Matt. Yves sat opposite and he blinked at me as I sank down, evidently still half unconscious. Hello, I work for you, moron! Matt shifted, pulling his legs in so we wouldn’t touch.

  I eyed Joseph on the other end of the table and he smiled back innocently. He had done this on purpose…charming.

  “Are you okay, Leila?” asked Sadie, leaning over to nudge me.

  “Oh…of course. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

  “It is nearly eleven, technically,” said Poppy. “On home time.”

  “Glad I’m not the only one,” I said, ducking my head to scour the grill menu.

  “If I have any wine, I think I might pass out.” Sadie smiled as her eyes darted to Yves. I stifled a giggle.

  We skipped starters and I followed suit with the men, ordering a rare steak; I needed the fuel. Endlessly patient waiters poured wine, and though they had better things to do than chat to Yves about region and vintage, they answered his queries with polite smiles. Yes Sir, yes Ma’am. In England, staff made that kind of address with such irony.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Joseph said, looking pointedly at the trainees’ side of the table. “You’ll be down in the conference room for nine AM sharp for your pitches.”

  “Can I go first?” Poppy asked.

  “We’ll decide at random, though your enthusiasm is duly noted, St. Clare.”

  “Does it matter if it isn’t very long?” Matt’s voice was monotone.

  Joseph narrowed his eyes. “Depends what you mean by not very long. There’s a fair amount to get through if you’ve done it properly.”

  “Right.” Matt’s shoulders slumped. I had done this. Must...not...crawl under the table.

  Please, please don’t screw up because of me.

  “I’m sure you’re just very concise,” I said weakly, trying to catch his eye. He shot me a look: you can fuck right off.

  Ouch.

  The food arrived then. I glanced around at Poppy and Sadie’s grilled fish and felt like a glutton with my bloody meat and shoestring fries. I didn’t have the energy to care, though. The serrated knife sank through my steak as if it were butter.

  “We go in to greet Redfish on Tuesday morning,” Joseph went on. “It’s on the itinerary–the breakfast meeting. We pitch in the afternoon and negotiate on Wednesday. All going well, we close it up on Thursday and take them for lunch on Friday, before we fly.” He paused for a gulp of wine. “In the evenings, it’s likely you’ll be invited out–go. Befriend them, get under their skin. It’s a lot harder for them to say no if you get that right.” He glared at Yves over his glass. “Just don’t get shitfaced.”

  “I’ve got expenses cards for all of you,” Sadie added. “You’ll get them on Tuesday.”

  Ooh.

  “And don’t buy them Champagne,” said Joseph. “It’s too presumptuous. You want to impress someone, you get a good single malt–if the place you’re in doesn’t have Scotch, you need to go elsewhere.”

  “What about Champagne cocktails?” I asked. The flavour of the one he’d made in that hotel flooded my tongue, and the pomegranate was tart and sweet.

  “Don’t ask stupid questions.” The words were firm, but a smile poked beneath.

  Sadie, Poppy and Joseph all ordered little custard flans for dessert. I had no room. Matt’s nervous twitches had spoiled my appetite. I didn’t want to belong to him, but I could have so easily rested a palm on his thigh under the table, would have relished the little sigh as I teased him. Like eating the steak, I hungered for the meat but barely bothered with the flavour beneath.

  Maybe steak wasn’t right for me. Just the most obvious thing on the menu.

  Or maybe I was shallow. Horribly so.

  Chapter 16

  As soon as we’d finished eating, I made my excuses and Sadie walked back to the lift with me.

  “Are you as tired as me?” she asked.

  A hot yawn rushed against my palm as I raised it. “Yep. I need my beauty sleep.”

  “I think I need a beauty coma.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I giggled. “Though you need nothing of the sort.”

  We stepped into the lift.

  “Ah, thank you, Leila.” She reached toward the button for her floor, hesitated, and switched to mine.

  She knew I was in Joseph’s room. She would have made all the bookings. Had she kept it a secret?

  “Have you got any plans for tomorrow?” I felt obliged to make conversation as the levels ticked by.

  “Mostly panicking that Joseph doesn’t have all his paperwork, getting Yves out of bed in time for their breakfast conference, and then panicking some more.” She nodded, as if to add a full-stop. “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Sounds stressful.”

  She shrugged. “I like to be busy.”

  “Very useful in this field, although I mostly like to be lazy.”

  “If you produce such good results when lazy, you’ll be a partner before you know it, Leila.” There was something knowing to her smile; I didn’t know what to make of it. “He thinks a lot of you.”

  “Uh…thanks.” The bell rang and the doors slid open. I stepped out. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Hope you get some sleep.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  I spent a moment wondering why the door didn’t work until I realized my key card was upside down. Back in the bedroom, I kicked off my heels and slid out of my dress, stumbling toward the shower. Nineteen hours of wakey-time made for a very dull head.

  My phone shrieked as I sank on to the bed in a swathe of black towels.

  “I’m here, Lei-Lei!” Aidan cried. “The Big Apple, the metropolis, Gotham, the city that never sleeps–except that everyone’s sleeping with everybody–woop woop!”

  I winced. “Good flight, hmm?”

  “Fucking awful. Not everyone gets to go Geronimo tosspot class, you know. I sat next to a drug mule who smelt like wet dog.”

  “You wish.” I grinned. “Are you checked in?”

  “No, I’m still at the airport. Just about to get a cab. You’re at the New Pearl Hall, right?”

  “Yep. In my suite,” I added smugly.

  “Ahh. Sex with a super villain.”

  “He’s not a villain!”

  “Oh, he so is. We have to meet for drinks tomorrow and you can tell your lairy fagfather all about it,” he demanded.

  “I thought you weren’t a fag. You’re bi,” I chided.

  “Yeah, but you have to make it work for the line, Lei-Lei.”

  “If you say so. I’ll let you know when I’m free, okay? I might be otherwise engaged if Joseph gets his way.”

  “How are you even free to talk to me? Shouldn’t you be impaled on his dastardly pork sword of destruction right now? Is he ill?”

  I laughed so hard that I let go of my towel and fell back on the pillows, still soaked. “He’s having drinks with his colleague, I think.”

  “Ooh. Get him. He ought to be banging you–he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

  I considered telling Aidan about my brief celibacy, but I didn’t think it was something he could ever understand. “Have you heard from Matt at all?”

  “In a fashion. He texts me one word answers,” he whined. “The poor guy needs cock
tails. Or maybe just cock. I’m thinking cocktails are a gentle introduction.”

  “Not everyone is broken by mojitos.”

  “And that is why we have Rohypnol.” He sighed. “It’s still worth a go.”

  “I have things to do, you know.”

  “Places to go, vegetables to insert? I know what you’re like alone in hotel rooms–”

  “This, coming from you?” I laughed. “Goodnight, Captain Cock.”

  I blotted my hair with a towel and slathered myself in body lotion. I’d have used oil, but God, those sheets felt expensive. When I crawled beneath the cool, silky covers, I wondered whether Matt had done the same yet. If he was okay.

  And I wondered what Joseph was doing down at the bar. He’d said he’d be late. I couldn’t imagine Yves staying upright for much longer. Joseph’s pillow looked strangely empty and I stroked it as I splayed out in the bed we were to share. It seemed sterile in his absence.

  He would be here soon enough. We would sleep next to each other, like lovers.

  Do I get something your clients don’t?

  You can come sleep next to me, if you want.

  I liked the idea more than I should.

  * * * *

  When the bed braced with Joseph’s weight the suite was black save for the light that bled through the door frame. I mewed sleepily as he tugged up the covers, the cold air rushed in, then I was wrapped in warm skin, his nakedness spooning mine.

  “What time is it?” I whispered.

  “Late, baby.” He kissed the back of my neck. “Well past midnight. Are we good, now?”

  “It’s like Christmas. It doesn’t count until you wake up.” I yawned.

  “Not sure that’d pass in court.” His arms went rigid around me. “I’m twice your weight, more or less. I could have you if I wanted.”

  There was a time when the way those words made me wet would have shamed me. Once. But not now.

  “What’s your point?”

  He bit into my shoulder and I gasped at the sting of his teeth. We lay in silence, the air heavy as we took shallow breaths.