Blood Red Roses

by S. J. Coles

  “Thanks,” he said, sitting in one and making an effort to recline with ease. “I emailed some draft clauses and I have some projections here.”

  He handed over the papers and iPad, which she skimmed, her eyes suddenly serious. Her computer and phones beeped and buzzed with notifications, but her attention remained focused on his reports. He stopped himself from fidgeting with an effort.

  “Looking good,” she eventually said, her face oddly still. “Very good, in fact.”

  Rick tried and failed to read her expression. “You sound surprised.”

  “No, not at all. I…” She laughed softly, raising her eyebrows. “I knew you knew your stuff, Rick. But I do have to confess I was expecting to have to do some heavy re-writes, at least of the primary terms. But it looks like you’ve got it all well in hand.” She gave him another bright smile, and he wondered if she was looking at him differently than normal, but then her focus returned to the report. “I see you’ve decided to lead with the consolidation proposals and revenue alignment?”

  “I think it offers the most obvious short- and long-term benefits for both parties,” he said, “especially considering the rise in value of the property portfolios.”

  She nodded, turning to the last page of the report. “Are the subsidiaries going to be a problem?”

  He froze. She raised her eyes to meet his.

  “You’ve not mentioned them—or not in detail. But I know you ordered the archive files when you first arrived.”

  Rick searched her eyes for a long moment, wondering what, if anything he was reading there. His instincts buzzed again and, after a brief internal debate, he smiled and said. “No problems that I can see at this time.”

  Her smile told him he’d given the right answer and relief cooled the nervous burning under his skin.

  “Excellent,” she said, tapping the papers back into order and coming round the desk to hand them back. He stood and took them, but when he moved to leave, she stepped into his path.

  “I had a good time on Saturday.”

  “So did I,” he said, truthfully enough.

  She appeared pleased. “I know I’m your boss, Rick, but I want to think we can be friends, too.”

  “I’m flattered,” he said with his best smile. “Though…Cecily, your fiancé seems to think—”

  She sighed. “Rick. Harry and I—”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  She pressed her lips together and her eyes hardened. “Harry will become my husband on Valentine’s Day,” she said, flatly. “It will be a profitable partnership. But it’s not a friendship.” Her eyes flicked out to where her PA was sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen so fixedly that it was obvious he was listening to every word. Cecily shut the door and leant on it. “It’s hard to have friends in this business. I know that better than most. But sometimes you need them.” For a moment, her eyes held a hint of sadness. “You’re different from the rest of them, Rick. That’s why I like you.”

  For the first time, Rick found himself unsure of how to play the situation. “I’m not interested in being the same. Just better.”

  She smiled, warmer this time, and moved closer. “You’re already better.” She leaned in. Her warm, mint-scented breath brushed over his jaw. He stopped her with a hand on her elbow. Her face, too close to his, flattened.

  “Cecily,” he said softly, hoping he was displaying just the right mix of temptation and fear on his face, “this is too risky. I’m too new, the deal too vulnerable…”

  “That’s not—”

  “Real friends are in it for the long haul. Right?”

  She blinked. Her face was still. Panic began to swell in his belly, but she smiled. “Maybe you’re right. Business before pleasure. And, besides, waiting could be…fun.”

  He managed to make his smile just this side of suggestive. “I think it’ll be worth it.”

  “The long haul it is,” she said. “But not too long, okay? Have a good weekend, Rick.”

  * * * *

  He woke far too early on Saturday morning, his brain still buzzing from Cecily’s words. Even the welcome tingle of anticipation at seeing Kim later that day wasn’t enough to distract him from trying to decide how long he could play this game—and what would happen when the game ended.

  After trying and failing to get back to sleep, he got up, dressed in his tracks and went for a run. As his heart pounded and the freezing air cooled the sweat on his feverish skin, the stranglehold on his mind began to loosen. He was starting to feel like himself again when he spotted the attractive jogger from the week before approaching from the other direction. He smiled but then slowed, stopped and stared.

  “Kim?”

  “Rick,” Kim said, coming to a halt, his face flushed, his long hair sweat-dampened and tight hoody sticking to the toned lines of his chest and belly in a very distracting way. “Hey there. Couldn’t wait, huh?”

  “I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?” Rick said carefully. “Last week?”

  Kim frowned slightly, staring round the shadowed park. “Could have. I’m here most mornings.”

  “You live in Morden?” Rick asked, not quite able to keep his disbelief out of the question.

  “I drive down from Islington.”

  Rick blinked. “You drive an hour for a morning run?”

  Kim shrugged. “The parks near me are always crammed, day and night. And the scenery’s not nearly so appealing.” His smile was teasing, but Rick couldn’t shake the unpleasant tickling at the edges of his mind.

  “Why didn’t you say?” he asked carefully. “At the bar? Why didn’t you say we’ve met before?”

  Kim frowned slightly. “You didn’t say anything either.”

  “I couldn’t think where I knew you from.”

  “Well, maybe I couldn’t either. I can’t claim to be at my most alert at this time of the day. Have I done something wrong?”

  Rick examined his face but couldn’t read anything more than bewilderment in the bright, ice-blue eyes. “No. Sorry.”

  Kim’s smile warmed again. “You’re well worth getting up at four-thirty for, believe me. But, sorry to disappoint you. It wasn’t intentional.”

  Rick smiled. “Sorry. It’s been a long week.”

  “Yeah?”

  Rick nodded, taking a swig from his water bottle. “Yeah.”

  “Well, maybe I can turn it around, if you’re still up for meeting later? Three o’clock?” The hopefulness in his voice sent a shiver of anticipation down Rick’s spine.

  “Sounds good.”

  Kim glanced around then stepped closer. Rick’s senses filled with the smell of his citrusy skin and clean sweat. “I told you I can do discreet,” he said, the look in his eyes making Rick’s cock twitch, “so I’ll restrain myself from groping you in a public park. But I’d like to think you’ll wonder about what that might have been like in between now and this afternoon.”

  “You would, huh?”

  “I would,” he replied, leaning just a little closer so his mouth was centimetres from Rick’s. “You never know… If you think about it enough, you might agree to it next time.”

  He stepped back, and the heat that had been building in Rick’s skin cooled in the frigid air.

  “Later, yeah?”

  “Later,” Rick agreed, keeping his smile cool and easy. Kim jogged on. Rick watched until his lithe form was out of sight then turned to continue his own run, his spirits considerably lifted.

  Thankfully, by the time he was back at the flat, Ella had left for work, so he didn’t have to explain his too-good mood. He spent the rest of the morning searching through his clothes, trying to find something that wasn’t faded or ripped. He passed over his new shirt, thinking it would look like he was trying too hard and, besides, Kim might recognise it from the weekend before. He cursed under his breath. That bonus couldn’t come soon enough. He settled for a clean polo shirt—the fake Ben Sherman logo not too obvious—and his best jeans. His trainers we
re old and battered and his jacket had a thin patch worn into both elbows, but he would just make sure he took the coat off before Kim saw it and hoped he would have better things to do than check out Rick’s footwear.

  Rick then double-checked the address of the cafe on his phone and winced when he caught sight of the price list.

  With a pang he opened the battered tobacco tin on the mantelpiece and fished out two twenty-pound notes and the scattering of coins, telling himself that after he got his bonus, they would no longer need an emergency fund.

  He stepped out of Camden Underground station with the intention of heading straight to the Sokoto Kitchen but found himself standing on the pavement and staring round at the familiar jumble of mismatched buildings, painted storefronts, the surging, multicolour-headed crowd and breathing the mixed smells of a hundred street-food vendors. Memories smote him but he shook himself and moved into the crush of people, heading for the canal.

  He found the cafe and was able to snag a table by the window, ordered a coffee and waited. He drank the rich, hot espresso, appreciating the deep mix of flavours but was unable to stop checking his phone for messages. Three p.m. came and went. When Kim still didn’t appear, the disappointment was so heavy that Rick wasn’t sure what to think. But then the door jingled, and he met an ice-blue gaze across the busy room and his chest clenched.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Kim said, smiling broadly and shedding a smart overcoat to reveal an understated but figure-hugging jersey and jeans. “Traffic was mental.”

  “No worries. I hope you like coffee.”

  “Live off it, more like,” he said, sliding into his chair and signalling for the waitress. She came over, took their order and vanished again. “So, this place is nice.”

  “I’ve been meaning to come here for a while. The owner’s Nigerian and has his own coffee plantation out there. It’s in the top-ten rated places in London.”

  “And does it live up to the hype?” Kim asked, indicating Rick’s empty cup.

  “See for yourself,” Rick said as the waitress returned with their drinks.

  Kim raised his, sniffed then drank. Surprise followed by pleasure warmed his face. “Wow.”

  “Ain’t it?”

  “Okay, yeah, that’s pretty bloody good. Long way to come, though, surely? Even for one of the top ten cups of coffee in London?”

  Rick shrugged and dropped his gaze to his mug. “Sometimes you have to go the extra mile for the best experiences.”

  Kim didn’t answer right away, and when Rick raised his eyes, the younger man was watching him in a way that made his toes tingle.

  “You know what? I believe you’re right,” he said softly but then leaned in and added in an even lower voice, “with the added bonus that there’s basically no chance of anyone from S&G seeing us here, right?”

  Rick clenched his jaw. A number of replies rose in mind but not one of them was willing to come out his mouth. He was relieved to read understanding in Kim’s eyes.

  He put his hand on Rick’s. “Honestly, it’s fine. I get it. Besides, who doesn’t like Camden?”

  Rick smiled out of the window. “I spent a lot of time here as a kid.”

  “Is that right?” Kim smiled at Rick’s guarded look. “You don’t have to pretend around me, remember? Tell me more.”

  “I came for the gigs,” he replied, tracing a finger around the rim of the cup, smiling at the memories. “Every Saturday night. Saved all my money for tickets and Tube fare.”

  “Sounds like a sensible investment. What sort of music?”

  “Oh, anything,” he said. “Blues, soul, jazz. Rock. Cover bands. Literally whatever was going.”

  “Rick!”

  Rick started. A middle-aged woman, all dangling earrings, swaying beads and long, raven-black hair tied up in a bright headscarf, was weaving her way through the tables towards him. Her arms were outstretched, her smile wide. A slightly harried-looking man stared after her while attempting to juggle an armful of shopping and a toddler to an empty table. “Ricky Bennett, Lord above. That is you, right?”

  Rick stood to meet her rib-crushing hug. “Liyana. How long’s it been?”

  “Too long,” she said, stepping back and grinning. “I’ve managed a divorce, another marriage and a whole human being since we last met.”

  “I see that,” Rick said, smiling over at her husband, who was trying to wrestle the child into a highchair. “Congratulations.”

  “Real life comes knocking for us all eventually,” she said, waving over to her family before looking him up and down. “So…you aged well, huh?”

  “As have you.”

  “Still full of shit too, I see,” she laughed then her eyes landed on Kim and widened. “Oh. Am I interrupting?”

  “This is Kim,” Rick put in, and Kim rose and offered his hand.

  “Lovely to meet you.”

  “Pleasure’s mine,” Liyana said, drinking him in. “Hope you’re treating our Rick well? He only deserves the best, you know.”

  “Li—”

  “I haven’t had much of a chance yet,” Kim said with a disarming smile. “But I fully intend to treat him any way he wants.”

  Something rushed in Rick’s belly, but luckily Liyana was talking again and he didn’t have to try to think of how to respond.

  “You know, it’s mad, running into you like this. Just the other day I was thinking of you. You know Marcus is getting The Crazies back together?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Kid you not. He’s planning a comeback show next weekend. Bet he’d kill to have you on guitar.”

  Rick glanced at Kim, who was sat, arms crossed and listening with a grin. “Thanks all the same. I don’t play anymore.”

  “Ah, it’s like riding a bike—”

  “Sorry, Li,” he insisted. “I don’t have time.”

  “Pity,” she said. “Like their Facebook page and sign up to the newsletter then. Maybe you can make it out to a gig sometime?”

  “Maybe,” Rick smiled.

  She hugged him again, winked at Kim then returned to her family.

  “You weren’t just watching the bands then?”

  Rick seated himself and sipped at his cooling coffee. “It was a long time ago.”

  “You didn’t want to stick with music?”

  “Oh I did,” Rick said, keeping the pain out of his voice with an effort. “Very much.”

  “But?”

  Rick hesitated then met Kim’s eyes, bright and curious and heard himself saying, “I tried to make it as a session musician after uni. It didn’t work out.”

  “Shame. Although, if it had, I guess we would never have met. So that’s a tick in the plus column.”

  Rick managed a smile. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You know a lot about me. Turnabouts is fair play.”

  “Fair play is so dreadfully boring though, don’t you think? And not something rampant in the finance sector as a rule.”

  “True,” Rick acknowledged and raised his hand to order more coffee.

  “Finance is a fair leap from rock’n’roll,” Kim said, still watching him a little too closely. “How did it happen?”

  “Not such a leap. My dad was a stockbroker. I did business studies at LSE. I always knew I was headed…somewhere. Somewhere music couldn’t take me.”

  “LSE, huh? Tough uni, that.”

  Rick concentrated on his coffee. The heavy flavours flooded his senses and it added to the caffeine already buzzing along his veins, but neither helped him come up with a reply.

  “What is it?” Kim asked when the silence stretched on.

  “Nothing,” Rick said, shaking his head. He met Kim’s gaze and looked out of the window, momentarily unnerved by how easily he seemed to be able to get him discuss things he never normally allowed himself to think about.

  “I’ve already said you don’t have to play a part around me, Rick,” Kim said, as if guessing his thoughts. “What happen
ed at uni?”

  “I dropped out.”

  “That’s not a crime.”

  “I know that. It just doesn’t always…look good. On the CV.”

  “I suppose not,” Kim said, swirling his coffee round in his mug. “But some might say there’s more to someone than their CV.”

  “Sure, plenty of people say that. They don’t usually mean it.”

  “You think?”

  “That’s my experience.”

  Kim’s gaze went distant for a while. Rick sipped his coffee, very aware of the shift in mood. “Why did it happen?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why’d you have to drop out?”

  “What makes you think I had to?”

  “Because your belief in the importance of appearances suggests it would be the last thing you would choose to do.”

  Rick chewed on several answers then heard himself saying. “My dad died.”

  Kim was quiet a long time. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Like I said…a long time ago.”

  “There’s usually allowances made for circumstances like that,” Kim ventured. “Did LSE not want to meet you in the middle?”

  Rick shook his head. “They wouldn’t…couldn’t,” he amended, a little bitterly. “Dad left us a load of debt. Credit cards, unpaid loans… You name it. He chased debts with other debts rather than let on anything was wrong. By the time he died, there was no way any institution was gonna give me the time of day. And my mum already needed care by that point. Early onset dementia.”

  “Christ,” Kim breathed. “Bloody hell, Rick. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Rick said a little forcefully. “It’s just life. It doesn’t always play out the way you planned.”

  “True.” Kim gazed out of the window, suddenly wistful. But when he turned back, his expression was sunny again. “Still though, you turned it round. Junior analyst at Swanson and Gerrard. That’s quite a comeback.”

  “I was lucky.”

  “Rubbish,” Kim chided. “No one lands a place like that by chance.”

  Rick face warmed and he told himself it was just the heat of the cafe and the third cup of coffee. He managed a shrug. “I worked hard, sure. Paid my dues slogging away in admin pools and post rooms after uni. But in the end, landing that job… It was dumb luck.”