Chapter 15
Calla
“Itruly thought he’d back out. And then when I started on the rules—”
Carmen frowns. “So, you we’re testing him? Or trying to find out how far you could push him?”
“Not testing him, as such.” I stab a coin of cucumber hiding behind a leaf of lettuce, with the prongs of my plastic fork.
Finally, after a mind-numbing day at the office yesterday, most of which I spent in back-to-back meetings vehemently trying my hardest not to fall asleep but instead take notes (see: mainly doodles) and appeared interested.
Plus, a busy morning first thing, lunch time is proving the perfect time to fill Carmen in on the details of the plan that transpired between Blake and I on Monday night.
“Then what, Cal?”
“I’m just… I’m just so desperate to find out what makes him tick. Don’t ask me why. I just am. Blake’s a rule follower, a good boy. Almost to his own fault, I think he let his hair down twice; once at the club and again in the apartment.”
Carmen blinks owlishly; like butter wouldn’t melt. “When you fucked on the kitchen counters, you mean?”
I give her shin a swift kick under the table and glance out of the corner of my eye to make sure we’re still the only ones in the sterile staff room.
Not that it really matters. The large blinking eyes of four cameras, one in each corner of the room, keep watch over us.
“Lower your voice, Car. I don’t need every Tom, Dick and Harry knowing my business. ”
She hums into her second cup of coffee. “It’s about to be everybody’s business when you bring Blake to one of the work functions.”
Carmen isn’t wrong.
“Anyway.” I flip my hair to one shoulder, ignoring the prickle of heat dancing over my skin, the one I get every time I remember the always watching eyes of my boss. And his nephew. “I’m more surprised that he offered, than anything.”
“So, you said yes, right?”
A girlish giggle bursts out of me. “What do you think?”
Carmen grins at me before she takes a bite of her sandwich.
“I mean, what’s there not to say yes to? Blake’s gorgeous. It’s not like it’s going to be a chore to hold his hand or kiss him, for God’s sakes. Plus, it’ll get Thomas off my back.”
“And when it ends?”
I wave a hand between Car and me. “I’ll deal with that bridge when I come to it. There’s no point in worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet.”
“Do you think he feels the same way?”
I pop my shoulders, spearing a juicy cherry tomato onto my fork. “I hope so.”
“When are seeing him again?”
“Friday.”
“Does this mean you’ve heard from him since Monday? I—”
“Ladies.”
So caught up in chatting with my best friend I missed the squeak of the staff door opening and closing. It’s only the cloying scent of Thomas’ aftershave, and the closeness of his voice, which tells me he’s within touching distance.
I drag my eyes up to him, taking in the amount of gel in his slicked back hair and the quiver of his second day stubble coating his upper lip. Ugh.
Blake looks so much better with a beard than Thomas, who simply looks as if he’s cosplaying at being a man old enough to grow hair.
“How are we?” He uses a broad term to include Carmen in his question, but Thomas’ eyes never stray from mine.
In front of me, Car babbles a polite greeting, echoing the question back to him. But I don’t bother answering and neither does Thomas. We’re both stuck still, staring at each other.
He narrows his murky brown eyes, a flash of something predatory running through them that doesn’t seem to be leaving in a hurry. I manage to repress a shiver as Thomas glides his fingertips along my shoulder before he stalks towards the coffee machine tucked away beside the microwave.
“Don’t you have a fancy drip coffee machine in your office?” I ask, tasting the slight acidity of my words.
The droning noise of the coffee beginning to brew fills the small space as Thomas leans against the counter, crossing his feet at his ankles.
“I fancied a change.” He shrugs, but I don’t buy it. Not for one fucking second. “Maybe if you ever fancy trying something different you can step into my office, Miss Becker, and give my machine a spin. I must warn you there’s a fee, though.”
Grimacing, I swallow back the bile rising in my throat.
God, he is such an entitled twat.
It doesn’t matter that he preys on women while making inappropriate comments, because I know nothing will ever come of it.
In fact, the last woman who reported Thomas McAvoy to HR – i.e.
his own uncle – was never seen again. A security guard was charged with packing up her belongings from her cubicle and I even heard through the grapevine that she was made to change her phone number so nobody she worked with could contact her.
Thomas might be a fucking sleaze, but he doesn’t scare me.
Not in the slightest. If that’s the route he’s going for, then he’s going to have to try a lot harder than that.
Not to mention, how much I’ve actually come to enjoy my job, my other co-workers and the payment amount I see sprawled across my monthly payslips.
I use a third of it to pay my rent and utilities.
Another third I bank for spends. And the third I bank into my savings account.
Because, as much as I like my job, I don’t want to be working in an office forever.
I want a husband and big farmhouse out in the country, somewhere I can raise a handful of animals and children, homeschool them if I’m lucky, and spend the rest of my days free from the confines modern society has bound us in.
Maybe, if there’s enough money, we could go travelling too. Someplace hot. Someplace cold. Someplace I can teach my children about other cultures in a respectful manner.
I’ll be damned if I allow someone like Thomas McAvoy to take this job and that dream away from me.
When I don’t answer, he simply smiles like a shark. “Don’t let me interrupt your conversation, ladies. I was just coming in to make a coffee and ask if you’ll be joining us for after dinner drinks on Friday at Asado’s?”
I shake my head, feeling the curls I styled my hair into today, bounce about my face. “I can’t. Sorry. I have a date.”
“A date?” Thomas chuckles lowly. “I don’t remember us penning anything in, but—”
Whatever else sits on his tongue is stolen away by Mark, another of my co-workers, sticking his head through the door. “Have either of you seen—” His eyes glide across Carmen and I, settled on Thomas. “Oh, there you are. Mr McAvoy, your uncle is looking for you.”
“Tell him I won’t be a minute, Matt.”
Mark blinks and then disappears without another word.
“The devil calls,” Thomas utters, grabbing his freshly brewed cup of coffee. “I better go see what he wants now. Enjoy your date, Calla.”
My entire body feels as if crawling with ants as I focus on my salad in front of me, straining my ears to hear Thomas footsteps fade away and the final squeak of the door closing on its metal hinges.
“Calla—” Carmen starts.
I raise a hand to stop her in her tracks. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Then, when I’ve got her wide-eyed attention, do I cup my hands around my lips and silently mouth. “The. Cameras.”
Blinking, she nods rapidly and then gives my hand a quick pat. I know what she’s trying to convey – sisterhood and solidarity.
Picking my fork back up, I rummage around to find a piece of grilled chicken. “I was thinking of wearing a pair of heels and jeans for Friday. But I don’t know what top. Any ideas?”
My best friend rolls with the change of topic, nibbling at the crust of her brown bread sandwich. “What about that black strappy one to match the shoes? Where is he taking you again?”
Feeling more and more like I’m performing beneath the bright lights, I force my lips to move and my throat to constrict, swallowing down my food. “Asado’s. You know the one with the fairy lights strung out in the garden?”
As soon as I get home that evening, I pull up Blake’s contact name in my phone. I debate just texting him, my thumb hovering over the icon before I jab my finger onto the screen and press the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” he answers on the fourth dial tone, sounding breathless. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I kick off my heels, sinking back into my sofa cushions. “Are you?”
“I’m not sleeping too good, but other than that I’m fine.”
“You should take some melatonin, or wine.” I lick my lips, imagining the sharp taste of grapes and berries staining my tongue from the half full bottle in my fridge.
For a split second I think about standing to go get it, but my laziness wins, keeping me on the sofa. “Wine always works well for me.”
Blake’s resulting laugh, low and deep, rumbles through me, creating sparks of warmth in my chest that travels down to my stomach.
“It sounds tempting, but I don’t have any wine in, so I’ll have to settle for running.”
I swallow back the urge to invite him over to drink my wine, together, instead forming my tongue around a single word. “Running?”
“Mhm.”
I guess that explains his slightly breathless tone, although if it were me running, I rather think I’d be wheezing and unable to talk.
“Are you running right now?”
“Yep.”
I stretch out further on my sofa, ignoring the way my blouse rides up, allowing the cold bite of my skirt’s zipper to kiss my now bare lower back, in favour of soaking up the sound of Blake’s voice on the other end of the line.
My core clenches when I close my eyes, an image of him running, sweaty and shirtless, abs on full display, forming in the front of my mind.
“Where?”
“Around the track field near the school I work at. I, um—shit.”
“You alright?”
“Yeah, tripped over a tree root,” he huffs out a laugh. “I did hit the gym this morning with my brothers, but my mind is still racing so I don’t think it’s quite done the job.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Why your mind is racing?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Because of you, Calla.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Why? What have I done?”