Chapter 17
Gen
I’m sitting at my desk, processing new membership applications and barely being able to read them because I’m so preoccupied by the events of last night.
I may have got myself a good seeing-to, but the only image in my head is that of Anton, his eyes fixed on mine, dark and desperate as he rammed home inside somebody else.
Over and over.
Sometimes your life choices really do come back to bite you in the arse.
When the boys pitched the concept of Alchemy to me, I was sceptical, to say the least. The commercial side of me was hooked, but the uptight, good girl, sex-is-something-for-behind-closed-doors side was actually quite shocked.
Horrified, even.
It was Cal who got to me in the end.
‘As long as we’ve known you, you’ve complained about men not having a clue in bed,’ he pointed out. ‘And I’m sure that’s true for some guys, but let’s not bullshit each other. We all know you’re a lot kinkier than you let on, so for fuck’s sake, here’s your chance to do something about it.’
He sold me on the concept of a beautiful, exclusive space where I could come and be me. The real me. Not the me I’d always been at such pains to project.
Not the former head girl.
Or the netball captain.
Or the JP Morgan associate who got promoted to VP a year ahead of all her peers.
The me who had an itch no guy could ever scratch.
And look at me now. My itch has become, figuratively speaking, a full-body rash, and there’s only one person who I want to scratch it.
Fuck my life.
It’s only when the doorbell rings and Maddy returns from answering it that I snap out of my stupor. She’s standing in front of my desk, holding an immaculate bouquet of camellias out to me.
They’re stunning. I didn’t even know you could get camellia bouquets. I guess you can if you’re Chanel, which is what these seem to be, given the black square logo-ed carrier bag they’ve come in. Does Chanel normally do flowers?
The bag is small and neat, perfectly sized for the bouquet, which features only the most flawless white camellias and a few of their shiny, dark green leaves.
Maddy holds out a white envelope bearing the double C logo and my name.
‘Who delivered these?’ I ask her.
She shrugs. ‘Courier.’
I break open the black wax seal and pull out the card. It reads:
I wish it had been you last night.
And if you think this is me playing games,
I can assure you I’m doing precisely the opposite.
A.
PS these flowers remind me of you
Fuck fuck fuck.