Alice After Hours

by Galia Ryan

  “So why bother? You know how it will end. Why not live a little? Do something completely out of character for once.”

  “Such as?”

  “Take a risk.”

  And we’re back on that subject

  “Isn’t that why you’re really here? The only issue I have is that you are still trying to avoid the obvious.”

  “How so?”

  “Because when the conversation goes in a direction you find uncomfortable, you leave.”

  “And you blame me?”

  “No. But I’m curious as to what you are hiding.”

  “That’s easy. Nothing.”

  “Everyone has something to hide.”

  “Not me.”

  “So why leave your location blank?”

  “You checked out my profile?”

  “Of course. Just as you checked out mine. So where in the world are you?”

  If her intention had been to provoke him, it didn’t seem to be working.

  “Not far from you. If you live where you say you do.”

  “London’s a big city.”

  “That’s all you get.”

  “For now,” he typed.

  “You’re expecting more?”

  “You may not enjoy a challenge, but I certainly do.”

  “Is that how you see me?”

  “You’re not exactly forthcoming. Even your conversation tonight is missing the social niceties. We should meet.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You might enjoy it.”

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Really? Not even the slightest bit curious?”

  “Not the slightest. I’m logging off now.”

  Chapter 7

  Alice managed to stay away from her laptop a whole two days. Eventually though, curiosity got the better of her.

  He’d left a message.

  “Thursday. 7pm. Grain and Grapes, Pimlico.”

  Just the one line. This was taking things too far.

  Shocking, agreed the voice in her head. Too short notice, and not very well thought out. How would they recognise each other, for a start?

  Not that she had any intention of going, but he clearly hadn’t thought the whole idea through, and that was disappointing, since she’d credited him with a certain level of intelligence.

  Oh well! It was a lesson he would learn.

  She ran a search on Pimlico Grain and Grapes. She still had no intention of going, of course, but thought it might be interesting to at least have a look at his choice of venue. It was just a she’d expected. Wedged between a bookstore and an old-fashioned gentleman’s outfitters, the pub had an exterior that when viewed from the street cam was a trendy restoration of purple and green paintwork overlaid with a lavish amount of Victorian gilt. And inside? No doubt trendy microbrewery beers and on-tap Prosecco, all served up with potato wedges and a side of aioli.

  She could see it now.

  He must think she was stupid! The very idea of meeting up was foolhardy in the extreme. What if he turned out to be a sad and lonely individual? Or he’d lied on his profile, and was eighty-five? Or sixteen, and a school kid?

  Then he would hardly suggest meeting in a pub, would he? her little voice pointed out reasonably.

  Then there was the question of what to wear. Definitely not a date, but nor was it a business meeting. So nothing overly casual, but nothing too formal either. And certainly nothing that would give out the wrong signals.

  She considered her wardrobe.

  Obviously heels were out, as was anything too revealing or close fitting.

  No, what she would wear—not that she was going, of course—would be black pants tucked into leather riding boots. She had exactly the right pair—madly expensive, and from an exclusive store in Milan. She’d complete the look with something long and silky and a few pieces of statement jewellery, and then throw her cashmere coat over the lot. That would show him who he was dealing with.

  He would choke on his beer when she walked in. If indeed he was a beer drinker.

  Alice smiled.

  Really, it was a shame she wouldn’t be going.

  Chapter 8

  If it hadn’t been for the fact the door was being held open for her, Alice would never have made it over the threshold. But given that the gesture was both polite and expectant, she could hardly retreat. She eased her way inside thinking—a little belatedly perhaps—that anyone with a modicum of sense would have made a preliminary visit to get the lie of the land, so to speak. Other than the odd glance, most of the clientele were too involved in their own conversations to worry about her, leaving her to wonder if her online buddy had even bothered to show up.

  Or was that him? She made her way to the bar. The weird-looking guy in the corner staring into his pint? Please God, no!

  But didn’t he say he was over six feet tall? Not him, then. What about the one down at the end? The oldish guy with the jacket? But then a very attractive girl appeared from a door at the back of the room and eased herself onto the barstool beside him. Well, not that one, either.

  “Bourbon on the rocks,” she said, smiling at the bartender. Even he would fit the bill, since he definitely had the height. But watching him reach for a glass, she dismissed that idea as a non-starter too.

  Perched on a stool and cradling her drink, she eased one leg over the other and flexed her foot in order to admire her boots. God, they looked the part. Take-no-shit authoritative. So where was he? Or had the sight of her, a self-possessed woman, frightened him off? For apart from two separate groups of men enjoying after-work drinks, there were no other candidates.

  Perhaps he’d been held up.

  Alice turned back to the bar and repositioned her glass until it was exactly centre of the coaster.

  Or of course, he could be a no-show. Maybe that was how he got his kicks, by arranging to meet up with online hopefuls, and then sitting back at home to laugh at their gullibility.

  She caught her reflection in the mirrored shelves behind the bar. Hair piled up on top of her head, gray eyes wide and alluring thanks to lash extensions, and a perfectly applied pout of glossy red lipstick.

  Okay, she might have overdone it a little. But she had a point to make.

  Unless she truly had been taken in, and was wasting her time.

  And then she saw him.

  Behind, and a little to the right, he was looking directly at her, and suddenly her heart was beating loud enough for everyone in the place to hear, for she’d never imagined for one moment he’d be that attractive.

  Locking his reflected gaze, she lifted her glass to her lips once more. It was a gesture of defiance. Of insolence even, and in response he raised an eyebrow and grinned.

  And then he was leaning an elbow on the bar and signalling to the bartender.

  “Hi,” he said to her, his voice warm and thankfully non-threatening. “Glad you could make it. Drink?”

  He was indicating the remnants in her glass.

  “Thanks.”

  “And it is …?”

  “Oh. Bourbon.”

  “Neat? I should have guessed.”

  “Why?” Alice was still bemused by his appearance. He looked nothing like she’d imagined.

  “Because you’re only here to prove a point.”

  Gathering their drinks, he led her over to the brick hearth and a couple of comfortable armchairs. After settling in and taking a mouthful of wheat beer, he placed his pint on the low table between them.

  “I would ask if you’ve travelled far,” he said, “but I doubt you’d tell me.”

  “You’re right,” she replied, “I wouldn’t.”

  “Well, my journey was relatively short.”

  “And no doubt why you chose this place.”

  “That, and other reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “A very good restaurant around the corner, for one.”

  Alice wished his eyes weren’t quite so distracting. And that his feature
s weren’t so strong and defined. Why couldn’t he have been balding and rippled with excess weight, or his skin blotchy, with a nasty sheen of sweat? Instead he was so darned good-looking it was as if the ground had shifted beneath her. She needed to reassert herself.

  “I see. So this is your local?”

  He shook his head.

  “Not particularly. Though I come here enough to be known to some of the staff. What about you? Any favourite haunts around where you live?”

  “Not really. A wine bar close to where I work in the city, but other than that, no.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  He didn’t look like a man who enjoyed dominating women, she thought. Though exactly what such a person should look like she had no idea. What had she expected? An overpowering persona, and conversation littered with barely contained demands and innuendo?

  Instead, Archangel was relaxed, and if she were to choose one word, she would describe him as engaging.

  “I almost didn’t come,” she said after a moment.

  He nodded, as if he expected nothing less. “And yet here you are. Taking a risk.”

  “Am I?”

  “Leaving your comfort zone to meet a man you don’t know and whom you met in a BDSM chat room? Yes, I would say you are taking a risk.”

  “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “It isn’t, is it? But you always have a choice.”

  “And what would that be?”

  His eyes were boring into her very soul, seeking and prying and searching for whatever might be hidden there.

  “Continue fighting. Or step into the unknown.”

  Alice had to look away.

  She wasn’t there to submit to any man, let alone a total stranger. In fact her aim was the complete opposite. She was there to show him that while some women—and by definition those who contributed to the website—might be weak-minded, the rest were not.

  “And what makes you think I won’t leave right now,” she said, needing the distraction of reaching for her bourbon.

  “Curiosity.”

  “You’re right. I am curious,” she said, “though perhaps not quite in the way you imagine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty certain. You see,” and she leaned back as if to give weight to her words, “I believe in equality of the sexes.”

  “And you think I don’t.”

  “No.”

  “Ahh. Then you’re here to justify your case.”

  “Only as a means to an end.” Seeing he was about to interrupt, she held up her hand. “If I may be candid, you don’t immediately come across as a chauvinist, but then I doubt that would be your public persona.”

  “Chauvinist?” He laughed delightedly. “Hardly. In fact, if you insist on buying the next round, I’ll happily let you.”

  “And there it is.” Alice’s eyes flashed. “You will let me. Let me. Have you any idea how patronising that sounds?”

  “And if I reversed it, and asked if you would let me buy the next round, would you see that as patronising too? Or would you see it as completely acceptable?”

  Before she could reply he had picked up his empty glass.

  “Either way, would you like another drink, or can I tempt you with dinner? If it helps, we can share the bill.”

  Alice glared at him. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Gabe. Short for Gabriel.”

  “Ah! That explains it.”

  “It does?”

  “Archangel.”

  Alice was weighing up her options. Leave now, though if she did, it would spell out defeat in vivid neon lights. Or stay a little longer.

  It didn’t need to go as far as dinner.

  Besides which, he was very attractive.

  “I’m Alice.”

  “Equally fitting.”

  “In what way?”

  “Alice. The girl who went down the rabbit hole.”

  Chapter 9

  At first Alice was dismayed by the wooden tables and guttering candles in coloured jam-jars. But she was soon drawn into the ambiance, and even better, wowed by the food.

  “Oh my God, this is just divine,” she sighed, licking and sucking at her greasy fingers before reaching down for her napkin.

  “I told you it was good here. Grab another rib.” He was already rearranging the platters and sliding another in her direction. “The jerk chicken here is the best for miles. Take it from one who knows.”

  In spite of her reservations—and there were still plenty—Alice had to admit she hadn’t enjoyed herself quite so much in a long time. As they ate, they talked, though not of the important things, such as the website and what lay behind their meeting. For as soon as her probing got a little too close, he’d turn the conversation back to more general topics, such as music she might have listened to or films she might have seen. The usual first-date stuff. Alice didn’t care. In fact, the relief was overwhelming. Had she been asked, she would have said that surprisingly enough she was having a great time. That is, until the last of the cast-iron serving dishes was finally pushed aside. Little more than discarded bones and smears of leftover sauce remained on their plates. Dropping his napkin on the table, Gabe leaned back to drape an arm over the back of a neighbouring chair.

  “So, Alice. What next?”

  Alice’s heart missed a beat. Not yet. Not so soon. She wasn’t ready. Toying with her wine glass, she went for delaying tactics.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Dessert?”

  His grin was infuriating.

  “I will if you will,” she retorted, as furious with herself as she was with him. Reaching for the menu, she concentrated on the selection.

  The most frustrating part of the entire evening was that after two hours of attentive and amusing conversation, she still knew nothing about him. Zero. Nada. Other than the fact that he appeared to frequent a website extolling the delights of domination and submission, of course. But as for anything else? It seemed that despite her best efforts, he intended to remain an enigma.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “If you must know, it was about tonight, and how it hasn’t quite turned out as I expected.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head.

  “Disappointed?”

  “Far from it.”

  “Then we must do it again sometime.”

  Clearly she’d not met his expectations; otherwise he’d have invited her back to continue the night in his bed, wouldn’t he?

  “Why that website?” she said, turning her head a little to hold his gaze.

  “Why not?”

  “It might be considered a little unusual.”

  “Yet you were there.”

  “Does it represent who you are? Or what you believe in?” she pressed.

  “You would have to find that out for yourself.”

  Alice’s smile barely flickered. “Do you ever give a straight answer?”

  “Occasionally.” He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table.

  He was close enough to touch her, if he wanted.

  And she wanted him to.

  “Perhaps I was looking for you.”

  Alice knew if she wasn’t careful she would drown in that gaze and never surface again.

  “It frightens me,” she admitted, and needing a distraction reached for the jam jar and candle and pulled it towards her.

  “What frightens you? The idea of relinquishing control?”

  His voice was surprisingly gentle.

  “I guess.”

  She was staring into the flame.

  “And yet here you are.”

  “Crazy, isn’t it.”

  Beckoning a passing waiter, Gabe wangled a pen and a business card from the restaurant.

  “This is my number,” he said, scribbling on the back of the card. “Call me. But,” he withdrew the offered card an inch or so, “if you do, then everything from that moment on will be on my terms.”
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br />   Suddenly the air was alive with tension. It buzzed and throbbed inside Alice’s head. White noise cancelling out everything else.

  But she was tired. Drained, even.

  “I’m not sure I’m that woman,” she said sadly, turning back to the candle flame.

  “Take a risk, Alice. Step into the unknown.”

  He tucked the card into her hand.

  Chapter 10

  The following day, Alice threw herself into her work, and in particular to producing the new set of variables requested by the operations team. That kept her busy until mid-afternoon, but from then on it was downhill, and for the first time in as long she could remember, she left the building ahead of five o’clock.

  Things didn’t get any better back at her apartment. Moriarty had chosen that very week to go adventuring and still hadn’t returned. Not that she was worried, since he was a creature of habit, and once he’d tired of exploring dark corners, he’d be back and with the expectation of food. But she could have done with the distraction of having him around. Instead she was the one who prowled. Sipping her Shiraz—the very same one that should have been a prelude to a night of passion with Daniel—she went over to her favourite spot by the window and stared out. Then she went into the kitchen to open the fridge. She wasn’t hungry, but had the shelves held anything for her to nibble on, she probably would have done so.

  Shutting the door with a sigh, she leaned back on it. She wondered whether to sort through her laundry. Then she plonked down on the sofa, and after lifting a cushion or two, found the remote control and flicked through the extravagance of reality television shows, all of which left her cold, and the equal excess of third-rate crime shows. Even the documentary on an archaeological find that had the scientific world spinning couldn’t hold her interest.

  She stood up, went over to her desk, and picked up her mobile phone. And placed it back down again.

  What had he said? If she called, after that it would all be on his terms.

  She had no intention of letting him—or anyone else for that matter—control her.

  Picking up the phone again, she looked at the darkened screen. Of course, he might be out. Worse, he might be with someone else. Wasn’t that what his lifestyle was all about? Men dictating when and where they would have sex, and women complying? He probably had a whole stable lined up and waiting.