Chapter 6
MAYA
On Friday Lunchtime we lie entwined together in the hotel room that’s become our regular haunt for the last few days.
Ben decided he didn’t want to risk us being seen together at the office and, while I have no problem having sex on his desk, I have to admit the super-king-size bed is a far more comfortable place to fuck.
To my surprise, the thing I’ve particularly come to like is lying together in bed afterwards and talking.
It’s not something I’ve really done before – usually I’m up and out before the condom’s even off.
But not with him. I want to stay. Which is beginning to make me nervous.
I know from experience that good things don’t last with me – I always manage to wreck them somehow – and it’s going to be so much harder to finish this thing with him if I start getting emotionally attached.
Which is why I’ve tried to keep the chat frivolous and upbeat till now.
‘I have to get back soon. I have a lot of calls to make this afternoon,’ Ben says as I run my fingers across his taut belly and then lower, to trace the delicious V-shape of his hips. The guy has an amazing body, considering how much time he spends behind a desk.
‘No, don’t go back yet,’ I wheedle, unwilling to relinquish the feel of him under my hands and the sense of calm I have with his strong, powerful body close to mine.
‘I have to,’ he says with a wry smile. ‘I’m the boss. I’m supposed to set a good example and actually do some work.’
‘What turned you into such a goody-two-shoes workaholic?’ I groan, annoyed that I won’t be getting my second orgasm this lunchtime.
‘Need,’ he replies, sitting up and pulling away from my touch. ‘I didn’t start out with the same privileges in life you’ve had. I’ve had to work bloody hard to get to the position I’m in today.’
The hint of agitation in his tone sends prickles across my skin.
‘Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,’ I say, my stomach turning over as I see the tension in his face.
‘Yeah, well, it’s a bit of a sore point,’ he says gruffly.
I sit up and put a placating hand on his arm, deciding my determination not to get emotionally attached is pretty much null and void. It’s happened anyway, despite my attempts to avoid it.
I guess I just like him too much.
‘Tell me about it. I want to know more about what your life was like before I met you,’ I say gently, suddenly realising that the last thing I want is for him to leave here feeling like I don’t give a shit about him. ‘Please. Stay and talk to me.’
For a moment I think he’s going to refuse, but then his frown softens and he sighs and drops his head back against the headboard, rubbing his hand over his face.
‘It’s not a particularly entertaining tale,’ he says with a grimace.
‘That’s okay,’ I say, shrugging, fascinated to know what it is that drives him so hard.
He sighs and stares up at the ceiling. ‘I grew up in a pretty poor household, because my father pissed away all our money on booze and gambling, and I spent all my spare time in my late teens working to earn enough money to try and get my mum and I the hell away from him. Mum couldn’t work because she suffered with agoraphobia – probably brought on by the physical and mental abuse he dished out when he was drunk. Which was all the time.’
‘Oh, Jesus, that’s awful,’ I say, my eyes wide with horror and my heart in my throat.
He lets out a low breath, as if he’s trying to get his residual anger about it under control.
‘When I was sixteen my father hit her so hard he broke her jaw. I was just getting back from work and I caught him doing it. I was bigger than him by that point, and I was so angry I kicked the shit out of him. He promised never to do it again, and at the time I thought he’d keep his word.
But I found out later that my mother kept any beatings he dealt out after that a secret from me.
She didn’t want me to get involved again in case things went too far and one of us killed the other.
She’d wanted to leave him for years but she was too scared, because he told her he’d kill both of us if she ever did. ’
I put my hand gently onto his arm in a gesture of support and I’m alarmed by how tense he is.
‘I felt so fucking impotent for so many years,’ he bites out, ‘which is why I work so hard now – so I never have to feel that powerless again.’
My heart aches for the scared, desperate little boy I imagine he used to be.
No wonder he’s so controlled in everything he does now if he had such an insecure, violent upbringing.
It must have been horrendous to have to deal with all that from such a young age.
Especially if he felt responsible for his mother’s wellbeing.
This sentiment makes me go hot, then cold, as I think about my own mother and the awful way I treated her.
No. This is not the time to dwell on that. This is about Ben.
‘So where’s your father now?’ I ask, attempting to get my racing pulse under control before he notices how shaky I’ve become.
‘As far as I know he’s still living in the house I grew up in, getting shitfaced every day. To be honest, I couldn’t give a toss where he is as long as he’s nowhere near my mother.’
‘And where is she?’
He sighs. ‘Once I’d saved enough money, I finally persuaded her to leave him and paid to rehouse her. I bought her a place in the Cotswolds a few years ago. She’s happy living there on her own – or so she tells me.’
‘Do you see much of her?’ I ask. I realise I’d love to meet Ben’s mother, to get to know more about his roots. Not that I’d ever suggest it. That’s not the sort of thing you do when you’re only having a fling with someone.
‘Not as much as I should,’ he says with a frown. ‘I’m so busy with work I don’t get many opportunities to visit her.’
He looks uncomfortable now, though, as if this is something he’s been telling himself to assuage the guilt he feels about it. It makes me wonder whether he avoids seeing her because she reminds him too much of the horrors of his childhood.
‘I bet she misses you,’ I say quietly, wanting to reassure him in some way that he’s not alone in this feeling.
He looks at me sharply but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to; it’s all there on his face. The guilt and anger he must carry around with him every day, that he hides so well under the veneer of hard-nosed businessman.
‘You should be proud of yourself for what you’ve achieved. I bet she is,’ I say, gently squeezing his arm. ‘And you’re right – my father came from a wealthy background, so we all had a head start, but you’ve built everything you have from scratch. That’s truly impressive.’
He lets out a mirthless snort. ‘I was well incentivised. I promised myself I’d never go back to being on the poverty line, scrabbling to keep my head above water. Being treated like I’m nothing,’ he bites out, the muscle in his jaw jumping under the pressure of his clamped teeth.
‘Well, you won’t have to – not now you’ve made such a success of Ergo-i,’ I say with a supportive smile.
To my surprise he frowns and lets out a low, tired-sounding sigh.
‘If only it were that simple. Unfortunately, we’re facing some stiff competition from a new rival firm, so we’re going to have to watch our backs.
I’m trying to shore up our executive board at the moment, to give us as much reputational sway as possible. ’
A lightbulb suddenly goes on in my head. ‘Are you hoping to use my father’s influence on the board?’ I ask. ‘Is that why you’re so keen to get into bed with him?’
He gives a jerky nod. ‘If I don’t get your father on-side there’s a good chance we’ll start losing the contracts I’ve been counting on to keep us at the top of the market.
So, yes, I need him. Which is precisely why I shouldn’t be in bed with you.
I doubt he’d look very kindly on me fucking his daughter when I promised him I’d look after you. ’
He gets up and pulls on his trousers, his movements jerky.
‘I really have to get back,’ he says, not looking at me as he leans down to retrieve his shirt from the floor and tug it over his head.
I slump back against the headboard, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and drained of energy.
I don’t say anything as I watch him tie his shoelaces and pull on his suit jacket – because what is there to say?
‘See you back at the office,’ he says, his voice edged with tension as he strides back to me and drops a kiss onto the top of my head.
I’m suddenly intensely aware of the distance between us. I don’t want him to leave like this, frustrated and angry. I want to see him smile again before he goes.
‘Hey, are you busy tomorrow?’ I ask before he disappears.
‘I’m moving back into my flat now the electrics are finally sorted, so I thought I could make us a celebratory meal.
You don’t know this about me, but I’m an awesome cook – my lasagne is to die for.
Or there are plenty of great pubs in Primrose Hill we can check out. ’
I’m trying to keep my tone flippant, but I’m not sure I’m being very successful. I desperately want him to say yes, so we can get back to the cosy camaraderie of before.
There’s a heavy pause before Ben says, ‘I can’t. I’ve arranged to visit some friends this weekend.’
A horrible sort of heavy disappointment sinks through me, starting in my throat and moving all the way down to my stomach in one sickening lurch.
‘No worries,’ I manage to say, through a mouth that feels like it’s full of sand. ‘It was only an idea – in case you were bored and looking for something to do. Or someone.’
I can’t believe I actually said that. I sound like such a loser. A desperate one.
The sinking feeling gets worse.
He’s brought up his barriers now. Is it because he regrets getting too personal and telling me about his parents? Or has our conversation made him think a bit too hard about the dangerous position he’s putting himself in by associating with me?
Fuck. Why does everything have to be so complicated?