Blood Red Roses

by S. J. Coles

  Gerrard-Hanson’s sharp eyes fixed on him. “Cess hired you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  Rick raised his eyebrows and sipped of his drink. “Why not?” he asked, keeping his voice friendly.

  The older man’s jaw worked again. “I’ve never heard of you. Where’d you come from?”

  Rick schooled his expression with an effort, reaching inside for long-practiced patience. “London, friend.”

  “Okay, I’ll rephrase. Where’d Cecily find you?”

  Rick took another drink, not breaking eye contact. “I’m not sure geography is relevant. S&G needed a new JA working on the merger and I studied both your firms at business school.”

  “None of the other JAs got invited here tonight.”

  Rick went for his most ingratiating smile. “I guess Miss Swanson thought I’d benefit from getting to know both sides of the family personally. You can never have too little information for a deal like this one.” Gerrard-Hanson’s expression became an open glare, and Rick silently thanked handsome strangers again for allowing him to stay cool. “If you have anything you want to say, now would be a good opportunity,” he said, straightening so he was looking down at the other man. “On behalf of Egerton, Baines and Russel, obviously,” he added, smoothly.

  “I’m not an idiot, son,” the man said, lowering his voice. “Think I can’t see when my fiancée hires herself a bit of rough?”

  Rick didn’t have to feign his shock. “Excuse me—?”

  “You’re kidding no one,” he went on, round face flushing red. “Keep it zipped, right? Or you’ll answer to me.”

  “Because there’s no way someone like me could get a job like this otherwise… Is that what you’re saying?” Rick managed to say it steadily but heat flooded his face. The slow up-and-down look the other man gave him was all the answer he needed. “Say it out loud, sir,” Rick said coolly. “You’ll feel much better.”

  “Harry, dear.” Cecily suddenly appeared between them and Rick seized the opportunity to take a calming breath and a step back. “There you are.”

  “Just been getting to know your new friend here,” Gerrard-Hanson went on, his eyes still on Rick’s face.

  “Really,” Cecily said, glancing between them. “That’s nice. But, darling, it’s almost midnight. We’re all over here getting ready to count down.”

  Gerrard-Hanson’s gaze lingered a moment longer then he moved to where the Swansons were gathering next to the piano.

  “What did he say to you?” Cecily murmured.

  “Nothing,” Rick said, smiling. “Just welcoming me to the fold. That’s all.”

  “Is that right?” The look on her face said she wasn’t fooled. She hesitated then leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Don’t listen to him. Just listen to me. You’ll find that far more rewarding.”

  “I think I can do that,” Rick managed.

  “Now come on. We have to welcome in the New Year together,” she said, holding out her hand. “I just know you’re going to change everything, Rick.”

  “For the better, I hope,” he said, allowing her to lead him back towards her family.

  “Oh yes,” she said, her face looking, for a moment, almost wild. “I’ve no doubt of that.”

  * * * *

  “So? How’d it go?”

  “You’re still up?” Rick admonished without any heat while filling a glass with tap water.

  “I couldn’t go to bed without wishing you a Happy New Year, could I?” Ella said and kissed him on the cheek. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep, wondering what drinks at The Savoy are really like.”

  “They were…expensive,” he noted, loosening his tie and lowering himself into a kitchen chair.

  Ella blanched. “Did you pay?”

  “No,” Rick answered, suppressing a yawn. “But I could tell just by the smell that the cocktails were twenty quid a go if they were anything.”

  Ella smiled a relieved smile, wrapped her dressing gown tighter round herself and sat opposite him. “So, how’d you do?”

  Rick stared at his water, trying to figure that out. “Good, I think. I’m more shattered than after my first-year exams, though.”

  “I bet you smashed it,” she said squeezing his hand.

  He couldn’t help but smile. “The fiancé doesn’t like me, though.”

  “Big surprise there.” Her expression was knowing.

  He sighed and drank more water. “So you may not have been entirely wrong about Cecily Swanson.”

  “Always listen to big sis,” she told him. But then her expression became solemn. “How’re you gonna handle it?”

  Rick shrugged. “I’ll figure it out,” he said, yawned again and rubbed at his temples in a futile attempt to dispel the gathering headache.

  “Was it really that bad?”

  “No,” Rick replied softly. “Not all bad.”

  Ella’s gaze narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing,” Rick replied, turning away and putting the glass in the sink.

  “Rick,” Ella said, and he could hear the grin in her voice, “did something happen?”

  “Ella, it’s late.”

  “I know that look,” Ella noted, spinning him to face her. “Did you meet someone?” Her face fell. “It wasn’t someone from the firm, was it? You said—”

  “It wasn’t someone from the firm.”

  A grin split her face. “So there was someone.” Rick made and impatient noise and pushed past her towards the hall. “Come one, Rick. You ain’t gonna tell me?”

  “Aren’t we a bit old for kiss and tell?”

  “We would be if I didn’t know for a fact there’s been no kissing or telling of any kind for you in forever. He musta been hella fit.”

  He shrugged out of his suit jacket with a heavy sigh. “He was just a guy…”

  “Cute guy?”

  “Just a guy,” Rick insisted. “We flirted a bit. That was all.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “El.”

  “Just tell me what he was like.”

  “Posh,” Rick said. “Too posh. You know the type.”

  “Yeah, which is not your type. But you still—”

  “Ella,” he said, firmly. “It’s four fucking a.m. Will you let it go?”

  She folded her arms. “Okay, champ. If it really was nothing, we’ll leave it. Just answer me one question. Did you get his number?”

  Rick gave her a scowl.

  “Nice one. A good night’s work, all round,” she said. “Now bloody well let me go to bed, will you? Some of us have work tomorrow. No, today.” She headed for the bathroom, chuckling under her breath.

  Rick collapsed on his bed without undressing, knowing it would crease his clothes but not having enough energy left to care. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, the evening’s events swirling in his head, not all pleasantly. He shook the doubts away. If he could just hold off Cecily’s Swanson’s advances long enough to prove he knew what he was doing, whether she’d hired him because he’d caught her eye or not wouldn’t matter.

  He told himself this several times and, eventually, was able to believe it. He closed his eyes. The alcohol thrummed in his veins and dulled his head. He removed the tie, grateful for the chance to breath properly in what felt like hours. He stripped out of his shirt and worked his shoulders, feeling like they hadn’t come down from around his ears since…

  He paused, glanced at his phone, then opened his Facebook app and typed in Kim Bailey. He didn’t appear under the ‘People You May Know’ list. After a moment’s deliberation, he decided that was a good thing. After some scrolling, he eventually spotted a familiar, blue-eyed face, smiling rakishly in a rather old profile photo.

  See Kim’s ‘About Info’…

  His heart thumping, Rick tapped. There was nothing there apart from a birthday without a year and Relationship Status…Single. He spent a few minutes scrolling the feed but Kim hadn’t posted anything in a wh
ile. What little there was just appeared to be pictures of him, alone, usually with drinks or food, that could have been taken anywhere.

  A quick search of Twitter and Instagram revealed that he either only had the Facebook profile or used a different name for his others. LinkedIn revealed so many Kim Baileys in the finance sector that his head started to swim. He hesitated then downloaded the Grindr app, did a quick search, found nothing and deleted it again.

  What am I looking for, exactly?

  He loaded a blank message and selected Kim’s number. His thumb hovered over the keyboard but he cancelled it and put the phone away, telling himself he wasn’t seventeen anymore, even if, for a short amount of time, Kim Bailey had managed to make him feel like he was. He got into bed, turned off the light and waited for his brain to start its usual dance—planning the next week, the next moves, the next strategy for his research, as well as reminding himself of what he needed to say and do to keep his act going. But none of that happened. All his mind wanted to focus on was a smiling, handsome face, a head of blue-black hair and the sharp, pleasing scents of citrus and sandalwood.

  He closed his eyes, reached for himself under the covers and allowed himself to get lost all over again.

  Chapter Three

  Rick spent Sunday chain-drinking coffee to dull the edges of his hangover and getting ahead on background research on Egerton, Baines & Russell and, more specifically, Harry Gerrard-Hanson’s connection to it. It was a tangled web for sure, him being first cousin to Mrs Baines and the nephew of a now-deceased S&G senior partner. He also held positions, mostly honorary, on the boards and shareholder panels of several of both the firms’ subsidiary companies, including some of the long-redundant ones that Rick had found accounts for in those dusty archive files. The more he read, the more he found himself shaking his head.

  “What is it?” Ella asked, probably taking in his expression as she shut the front door behind her.

  “Just marvelling at how much money someone can make for so little actual work.”

  “I think I enjoy knowing I’ve earned my money,” Ella said, hanging her coat then grabbing the last two cans of Stella from the fridge. “Makes the beer taste better anyway.”

  When, half a can later, she asked him what he was grinning about, he realised he’d been staring into space, his mind very much not on work.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Bullshit. You’re thinking about the fitty from last night.”

  “Jesus, El.”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  “So what if I am?”

  “Don’t mind me. Just give me a few weeks’ notice for the wedding cake, all right?”

  “Don’t be an idiot.”

  “Excuse me,” she replied hotly, “when was the last time you looked like that over someone you’ve only met once?”

  “Don’t get carried away. We don’t even have anything in common.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “He’s good looking, charming and loaded.”

  “You are two of those things already. And it won’t be long before you’re the third.”

  “Still. He’s from that world. Not ours.”

  Ella smiled again but then her expression faded and she gazed thoughtfully into her can. “I’m glad you’re being careful. I just wish you didn’t have to be.”

  “Me too.”

  * * * *

  For the first time in weeks, Rick was woken by his alarm the following morning. He hurried to get his shower in order to get out of the door on time. When he arrived at Harbour Tower, he made straight for his office, fired up his computer and began going through the weekend’s research. Most of it, anyway. He decided some of it might be best left off the company network.

  He was proud when he only caught himself thinking about the storeroom at The Savoy once that morning. He shook himself before his mental images could start their work on his body and ordered a strong coffee.

  His control took a hammering when his personal phone buzzed with a message from Kim Bailey just after the runner had placed his Starbuck’s latte on his desk.

  Hey there. How’s your Monday?

  Rick swallowed and waited until the runner had shut his office door before picking up the phone. His thumb hovered over the answer button but then he put the phone screen-down on the desk, seized by the teenage desire not to reply too quickly and appear too eager. Besides, there were still twenty emails in his inbox to deal with and his desk phone was ringing. Melanie Fossbrooke’s extension appeared on the screen. He answered it, told her his progress report would be ready after lunch and replaced the receiver. Three more emails had dropped into his inbox, but he couldn’t make his hand reach for the mouse.

  He stared at his mobile then shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. No time for texting. Flirting. Certainly no time to have his mind anywhere else apart from on the task in hand.

  But then he was assailed by the memory of Kim’s hands on him and had to close his eyes a moment to regain his control. His desk phone rang again, this time one of the other junior analysts, but he didn’t trust his voice. He let it go to voicemail.

  He picked up his mobile again and opened the text message. He started typing a reply saying that the sender had the wrong number then deleted it, swallowing shame. He started composing another message saying he was sorry but he didn’t have time to focus on anything but work at the moment.

  Then he deleted that message too.

  Pretty good. You?

  Rick stared at the message for a long time, not entirely able to recollect typing it, let alone pressing ‘Send’. He stared at the screen, ignoring his ringing desk phone yet again. After a moment, dots indicating Kim was typing a reply appeared, making something prickle up his spine.

  Can’t concentrate, tbh. Can’t stop thinking about Saturday. Can we meet?

  Rick swallowed, blood rushing up and down his body.

  “Hey. Bennett.”

  Rick started and shoved his mobile into his pocket. Michaels, the JA from next door, all red hair and redder face, stood in his doorway with a frown.

  “You wanna answer your phone once in a while?”

  “Sorry,” Rick said, standing. “What do you need?”

  Michaels needed to talk, at length, about something deeply uninteresting and not relevant to Rick’s workload. Rick let him talk, nodding along and making encouraging noises, even as his mind composed and re-composed a hundred different replies to Kim.

  When Michaels paused for breath, Rick politely put to him that he absolutely agreed and if Michaels put his suggestions in an email, he would get right on it. Michaels, mollified, returned to his own office, and Rick sat and pulled out his mobile.

  I’d like that. When?

  The dots again, straight away this time.

  Tonight?

  Rick blinked. He glanced at his cluttered inbox and the papers drifted across his desk.

  Can’t tonight. This weekend?

  That works. Where?

  Rick sent the name and address of a cafe he’d been meaning to check out for a while.

  Camden, huh? Nice. See you then.

  Rick took a deep breath and another swallow of his cooling latte and made himself turn his attention to his computer.

  The week passed both far too quickly and not nearly quick enough. The concerns that had been gnawing at him since his encounter with Harry Gerrard-Hanson on New Year’s Eve began to loosen their hold as more of his colleagues seemed to start taking him more seriously, even if there was still a certain distance in their manner. The thing that made him sit tall in his seat, however, was the fact that the work he was pulling together outweighed the significance of everyone else’s put together and was therefore earning personal replies of approval from Lloyd Swanson in the email chain.

  If it weren’t for some fairly unusual brick walls he was still finding in the older records, he’d say it was coming together almost too easily. He fished out the envelope of old summary pape
rs from the back of his drawer and spent another afternoon going through them, if only to reassure himself that the tickle at his instincts was just in his imagination. But, if anything, the gaps in the old accounts seemed more obvious than ever.

  He returned them to the envelope and hid them again in his drawer, shut and locked it.

  On Friday morning, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer, he gathered his resolve and called through to Cecily Swanson’s office to ask her PA to set up a progress meeting. To his surprise and not-inconsiderable embarrassment, Bryce put him straight through.

  “Rick,” Cecily’s sunny voice rang in his ear. “I’m sorry I’ve not been down. Hope you’re having a good week?”

  “Great, thanks. I was just going to set up a progress meeting.”

  “You free now?”

  Rick blinked. “Sure.”

  “Great. Come straight up.”

  Rick stared at the receiver for a long moment then hung up, gathered his papers and iPad and headed for the lifts.

  Cecily’s office was three times the size of his, with a deep, spotless cream carpet dominated by a glass-topped desk on which sat an iMac, Macbook Pro, Windows laptop and several tablets and smartphones. There were no bookshelves, only several monochrome photographs of Tuscan landscapes and four matching pedestals on which sat four identical floral displays, heavy with peace lilies, white orchids and baby’s breath. The fragrance was at once heavy and light, fresh and heady. The half-dozen scarlet roses fed into each arrangement were like drops of blood on white sheets and weighted the overall scent to just the wrong side of sickly.

  Cecily stood from behind her desk, her black-and-white houndstooth suit, vermillion lipstick and auburn hair a perfect complement to the colours of the room.

  “Rick, so nice to see you. Please…” She gestured to one of the two ice-white lounging chairs in front of her desk.