Chapter 30 #2
There was a host of different stalls, and I realised how much more of Otterleigh Bay I needed to explore.
A stand for the Walking Tour society, which had half a dozen different sets of maps, and a healthy glow to their cheeks.
Lola had a stand where she signed up new people for the library, with books piled on her table that were no longer needed, and on offer for fifty pence each.
Eilidh had the most delicious-looking cake stand, complete with the coffee machine pulled out from inside.
There was a stand from the current artist-in-residence, Emma, with beautiful local landscapes.
The Tipsy Otter set up a host of outdoor games and a bouncy castle to entertain the kids, while having beer and cider on tap for the grown-ups.
The school had a bottle stall, and one selling wonky-looking pottery that was as odd as it was sweet.
There was a rather dishy-looking blonde man with a table that heaved with local produce, and beside him stood a tall woman with a host of jars of honey.
‘He already did,’ I groaned.
Isla stopped beside us and scowled. ‘Right, Owen, you need to change, and Claire, we’re short two extension reels. There’s a heap in the pub. Can you grab some and take them to Jeff? Please?’
‘I can do it,’ Jim said.
A wooden stop held the pub door ajar, and I slipped through to locate the extension cables. Ten minutes passed before I located them, under a table and in a box marked Lights.
‘There you are.’ An English voice met me as I stepped outside.
Marty.
He stepped in close as I turned, sandwiching me between the brick wall and his chest. ‘Time to come home, I have my car waiting.’
‘Excuse me,’ I said, stepping to the side and acting like his domineering presence didn’t faze me. ‘I’m working.’
‘We fought.’ He put on an earnest expression that made me want to hurl.
‘Couples do that. I need you to stop this village girl cosplay and come back to London. Things are falling apart at work. I didn’t realise how many clients wanted you specifically.
I can give you a pay rise. I can make you pant in bed.
I can do whatever that skirted loser is doing.
’ His mouth twitched. ‘I need you to stop this nonsense. I won’t even hold you shacking up with that…
man… against you. It’ll be like none of this ever happened. ’
‘Wow.’ Never had I been so close to twatting someone. ‘So far, you’ve given me an excellent list of reasons you need me. I haven’t heard a single thing that suggests you actually want me.’
He blinked like such a request short-circuited his one-track brain. ‘Kiluna Skinwear just signed as a major client. You worked so hard to convince them to come on board. If you come back, it’s yours. Your strategy. Your client. Come on, Claire. Be sensible.’
‘Kiluna?’ My heart skipped. I’d been working for months to convince them to use us as their PR agency.
Marty was offering a swift step back into the person I‘d strived so hard to be. With the pay increase, I’d be able to get a decent place of my own.
It would silence the haters if they saw me being begged back into the company.
‘Think about it, back in the city. No longer working beneath me, but as an equal. Not…’ He flicked a glance at the square, the bunting, and my matching trousers. ‘This twee nonsense.’
Marty leaned in and placed a hand on my head, closing me in.
‘Everything all right here?’ Owen’s voice was low and threatening. He slid an arm between us, not exactly shoving Marty, but freeing me all the same. His green eyes raged.
Marty stepped back half an inch, and he took a slow look from Owen’s kilt up to his face.
‘Just having a chat with my lady,’ he said. ‘Claire knows she’s wasting her time here. Don’t you, Claire?’
‘She’s not your lady. And she’s working,’ Owen said, his voice was soft, but his tone sounded like ‘Touch her and I’ll staple your arse to the gazebo’.
‘I’m okay.’ I met Owen’s hard gaze and handed him the two extension reels I carried, mostly so he didn’t throttle the idiot. ‘Promise.’
Marty smoothed his jacket. ‘Think about it, Claire. You could have everything you’ve ever wanted. The job. The apartment…’ He paused for effect, ‘…and the ring.’
I’d begged him for a public acknowledgement of existing as his partner.
For years. And a few weeks away, he’s offering a ring.
I’d have been thrilled pre-Otterleigh. Marty offered everything I’d craved on a platter.
Owen put both cables in one hand, and the other found the small of my back to steady me.
‘We’re done, Marty. If you keep bothering me, I’ll get security.’
‘There is no security,’ Marty scoffed.
‘Morag would give you a run for your money, city boy.’ Owen’s fingers flexed against my spine.
‘Enjoy your silly little fair,’ Marty said. ‘Call me when you’re tired of playing house with your skirted plaything.’
He walked off, every step cockier than the last, and Owen watched him go, jaw ticking in quite fury.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ he asked.
‘Yes. All the better for you being by my side. Now let’s play house, you… skirted plaything.’
‘Mmm. I bet I can make you scream in my skirt better than he ever did in trousers.’
‘Trust me. I never screamed with him. Trousers or no.’
‘Good,’ Owen placed a slow, wicked kiss on me. ‘Because I’m more than happy to be your plaything, Claire.’
We stepped back into the breeze and the noise.
As tempting as his offer had appeared, for about three seconds, I’d found the part of me that wanted the city and the ring and the perfect job had gone a little quiet since I’d ventured north.
Maybe because other things had grown so much louder.
Mainly my orgasms, to be fair.