Chapter 36 #3
He sat down next to Mum, pulling her into a tight embrace.
"Karen, they want me to start on the first of March. Next week. They’re emailing over the contract and everything.
" He looked back at me, a bit sheepish. "You’ll need to help me with that part.
They mentioned signing it on the computer, but how the hell do you sign a screen? "
I let out a wet laugh, my mind reeling. "Yeah, don't worry, Dad. I'll handle it."
Everything was changing. Every bit of weight I had been carrying for them was suddenly lifting.
"Darl," Dad cleared his throat, looking out the window at his battered old van. "They also said the job comes with a new van. A company one."
I dropped onto the sofa opposite them, rubbing my face. This was too much. It was too perfect.
Mum wiped her eyes, her voice full of fierce pride. "You're incredible, Phil. It’s about time someone recognised how hard you work."
"So, the guy—Clive—he said there’ll be a couple of people working under me. Can you believe that? He said—"
"Wait," I interrupted, my heart skipping a beat. "Dad, did you say Clive?"
He nodded. "Yeah, that’s his name. Clive. The bloke who did the interview. Why?"
I blinked at him, the name echoing in my head. Clive. Clive was Carrie’s long-standing estate manager. The man who handled all her properties. The man who only answered to one person.
I needed to see her. Right then.
I scrambled to my feet, pulling both of them into one last, crushing hug. "Look, we need to celebrate properly, but I have to go see Carrie. She’s going to be ecstatic."
"Go on then," Dad said, his face splitting into a grin. "Maybe we can all go out for a proper dinner this week. We can actually go out for dinner."
Mum nodded happily as I practically sprinted out the front door.
I finally made it to Carrie’s after a torturously slow bus ride and a frantic sprint that had my lungs burning. I reached the front door, my hand shaking slightly as I used the key she had given me. The lock turned with a satisfying, heavy click.
"Carrie!" I called out, my voice coming out in breathless, ragged spurts.
Carrie emerged from her office to the right of the hallway. She looked bewildered by my sudden, disheveled appearance, but a wave of undeniable warmth washed over her face. She started walking over, her arms already beginning to open.
"Alex? What on earth—"
"How many Clives are in this city?" I blurted out, doubling over to catch my breath.
Carrie stopped in her tracks. A small, confused chuckle escaped her. "Have you been drinking, darling?"
Suddenly, Richard appeared at the top of the stairs, peering down at the commotion. I didn't even think. I didn't have the patience for an audience. I looked up and yelled, "Richard, can you just lock yourself in your room?"
He froze, visibly taken aback at being ordered around by a woman twenty years his junior.
He looked to Carrie for back-up, but she was just standing there, looking both amused and slightly turned on by the authority in my voice.
She gave him a pointed look that said You heard her, and he grumbled, disappearing back into his room with a huff.
I turned back to her, stepping into her space. "I’m serious. How many Clives?"
Carrie's lips twitched. "My darling, I have no idea. A few, I'd imagine."
I stepped closer, poking a finger at her chest, my heart hammering against my ribs. "How many work in estate management? How many handle high-end construction deals? How many possible Clives are there in this city that would have interviewed my dad today?"
Carrie didn't answer immediately. She just looked down at me, that dangerous, shimmering glint back in her eyes—the one that said she’d been caught and she was enjoying every second of it. She slowly reached out, her hands finding my waist and pulling me flush against her.
"I suppose," she murmured, her voice dropping into that rich, velvet tone, "that the number would be exceptionally small. One, perhaps."
"You did it," I whispered, the anger I had tried to fake vanishing into a sea of overwhelming love. "The suits, the job, the van... you gave him everything."
Carrie’s breath hitched. "Did he get the job?"
"Yeah," I breathed, the word almost a sob of relief. "He got it."
Carrie bit her lip, a rare flash of uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "Are you mad at me, darling? I know how much your independence means to you, but I couldn't sit back and—"
I didn't let her finish.
I crashed my lips against hers, the impact almost painful, fuelled by a week of longing and a lifetime of gratitude.
Carrie let out a sharp gasp of surprise as I used my weight to drive her backward, pinning her against the hallway cupboard door.
The wood rattled under the force of us, but I didn’t care.
I was relentless. My hands were everywhere—tangling in her hair, gripping her waist, pulling her closer until there wasn’t a single atom of air between us.
My mouth was demanding, devouring hers with a hunger that had been building since I last saw her.
I wasn’t the brat or the student right then; I was a woman who was utterly, desperately consumed by the person in front of me.
Carrie’s hands found the back of my head, her fingers digging in as she gave as good as she got. She groaned into the kiss, a low sound that vibrated through my entire chest.
"Alex," she gasped against my lips, her voice wrecked. "The office... Richard..."
"Fuck Richard," I growled, nipping at her bottom lip before dragging my mouth down to the sensitive skin of her throat. "And fuck the office. You have no idea what you’ve done for me. For them."
I felt her hands slide down to my hips, her nails digging into the denim of my jeans as she hitched me up, desperate to feel my weight against her.
Carrie guided us into the office with a sense of urgency, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet room like a starting pistol.
I didn't give her a second to breathe. My hands slid down her hips, hooking into the hem of her pencil skirt and bunching the fabric upward until I could find the smooth, toned heat of her thighs.
The air in the room was electric, thick with a week’s worth of repressed tension—until the sharp, digital chirp of her laptop cut through the silence.
We both jumped, the spell momentarily fractured.
Carrie’s grip on me tightened for a second before she pulled back just enough to check her watch.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a frustrated breath as the ringing continued.
It was a scheduled board meeting for one of the firms she advised.
"I have to," she whispered, her eyes darting between my mouth and the glowing screen. "I’m so sorry, darling. I’ll make it quick. Twenty minutes."
I groaned, the frustration nearly physical, but I forced myself to be an adult.
I let go of her, watching as she took three deep, stabilising breaths.
It was fascinating and maddening to watch her work; she smoothed her skirt, adjusted her hair, and sat behind that mahogany desk, her professional mask snapping into place so perfectly it was like the last five minutes had never happened.
She gave me one final, lingering look of pure guilt before hitting the 'Accept' button.
"Good afternoon, everyone," she said, her voice steady, cool, and utterly authoritative. "Let’s begin with the Q1 projections."
I rubbed my face, my fingers still tingling from the feel of her skin. I turned to unlock the door and leave, but my hand stopped on the handle. I didn't want to leave. I wanted her to know exactly what she was missing while she talked about profit margins and logistics.
I turned back around, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across my face.
Carrie was looking at the screen, nodding as someone spoke, but her eyes flickered to me as I moved.
I didn’t go to the door. Instead, I walked silently across the plush carpet and sank to the floor, disappearing beneath the edge of her desk.
I heard her catch her breath—a tiny, audible hitch that made the man on the other end of the call pause.
"Dr. Carter? Is everything alright with your connection?" the voice asked.
"Yes," Carrie said, her voice an octave higher than usual, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles turned white. "Fine. Please... continue."
I looked up at her from the shadows, my eyes full of heat and mischief, and reached for the hem of her skirt again.
Carrie tried to maintain her professional armour, but I could see the cracks forming.
Under the desk, she gave me a sharp nudge with her foot—a silent, desperate plea for me to behave—but I just caught her ankles and held firm.
I ran my hands slowly up the inside of her thighs, feeling the contrast of her soft skin against the cool silk of her underwear.
On the screen, a man was droning on about market volatility, but Carrie’s world was currently narrowing down to the dark space beneath her mahogany desk.
"I... I agree with that assessment, John," she said, her voice tight. She tried to push me away with one hand dipping out of the camera's view, her palm landing on my shoulder to shove me back. I didn't budge. Instead, I leaned in and playfully nipped at her fingertips.
Carrie’s back went rigid. A tiny, strangled sound hitched in her throat.
"Dr. Carter?" John asked, sounding concerned. "Are you quite alright? You look a bit... flushed."
"The heating in here is a bit... aggressive today," Carrie managed, her eyes fixed on the camera with a glazed, intense focus.
She knew I wasn’t stopping. I pushed her skirt up further, my thumbs tracing the line of her lace, and gently nudged her knees further apart. For a second, I thought she was going to end the call and kill me. But then, I felt the shift.