Chapter 18
I set a mug of coffee in front of Jean, pulling out the office chair beside her and sank down into it.
‘Two sugars?’ she asked, picking it up and giving it a suspicious sniff.
‘And two teaspoons of milk.’ She took a sip, her lips turned up in a satisfied smile. ‘Thank you, dear.’
My mug of black coffee cupped between my palms, I propped my feet up on the reception desk, ignoring the scolding tut Jean gave me, and let out a long sigh.
It was Tuesday night. The clinic was already closed up for the evening.
Nearly everyone had gone home apart from Jean, who stayed later to finish up some paperwork and organise the client schedule for the following day, and Lawrence.
He was holed up in his office doing the budget.
And I was on the night shift.
Rain came down in a steady shower, hammering against the window in a soothing rhythm. I loved storms and from the looks of it; it was gearing up to be a good one.
I picked up my phone when it buzzed, my heart picking up speed until I saw it was Fallon. She was reminding me about the weekend—for the fourth time this week. Clearly, she hadn’t quite forgiven me for forgetting about her plans.
A part of me secretly hoped that George was the one texting me.
Yesterday, I had lunch with him and his dad in one of the most surreal moments of my life.
Peter Blake, as it turned out, was hilarious.
We all walked over to a local cafe and as we ate, he recounted several stories of George and Oliver as children.
Each one turned his son a different shade of crimson.
I hadn’t smiled that much in a long time.
By the time my lunch break ended, Peter drew me in for the biggest hug, saying how much he loved getting to know me.
I pulled away quickly, feeling the backs of my eyelids grow hot.
George had watched on with a growing smile.
My fingers were all set to type out a passive aggressive message back to Fallon about which karaoke song I’d decided on, when the front door burst open.
‘Need a fucking towel, right now.’ Alistair barrelled through the door, droplets of water cascading down his face. His coat was drenched, sticking to every part of his body. Blood streaked across his hands. That’s when I noticed a ball of fur cradled in his arms.
I shot to my feet. Jean grabbed my mug quickly, stopping it from spilling over the computers. Without another word, Alistair stalked through the clinic to the treatment room.
‘What happened?’ I asked, following him, snapping on some latex gloves.
Carefully, he laid the unmoving animal down on the table, keeping his head supported. I got closer, noticing the marks on his face, the swell of blood pumping out of his stomach from a wound I couldn’t properly see. He was a terrier of some sort, if I had to guess. Barely bigger than a puppy.
‘I was on my way home when I heard some fucking kids in the alleyway near my flat. They had him chained up and were kicking him, the little fuckers.’ Malice clear in his tone.
He shrugged off his wet coat, tossing it over a chair and went to grab all the supplies we’d need.
‘They ran when I started yelling at them.’
I shoved all the anger I felt towards those kids to one side and focused all my attention on the poor creature.
‘He’s gonna need X-rays.’ My fingers pressed gently over the dog's chest. His ribs were an accordion.
So thin I could almost see his heart beating.
From his injuries, it was obvious that someone had been keeping him tied up in a collar for a long time.
A ring of dried blood contrasted with his fresh wounds around his neck. His sores were deep and oozing.
For the next hour, Alistair and I worked seamlessly. Lawrence came in halfway through. He’d been doing the books in his office when Jean told him what had happened. Seeing we had it handled, he went back, checking in on us periodically.
The wound on the dog's stomach had turned out to be superficial, which I fixed with some stitches. From the x-ray, he had a few broken ribs and was severely emaciated. His poor body had been so badly beaten and he’d been denied the proper food to grow properly. His bones were brittle.
I cradled him to my chest as I carried him over to a crate. The painkillers we pumped through his system had knocked him out. His head flopped on the blanket and I double checked the bandaged areas before stroking a hand over his head.
‘Reminds me ‘o Roxy.’ Alistair grabbed his waterlogged coat, slinging it over his arm.
‘She was worse than this little guy,' I muttered. Alistair had been there that night as well. Someone had dumped Roxy on the clinic’s doorstep late one evening. Her front leg was broken, and she’d been half dead from dehydration.
The guy who dropped her off hadn’t stuck around, not wanting to get lumped with the vet bills, or charged with cruelty or neglect.
People who abused animals deserved the worst kinds of pain. Nothing ever excused that kind of mistreatment.
‘You okay?’ When I snatched the crate closed, Alistair was staring at me, lips pressed together in concern.
‘You’re the one who found him. Are you okay?’ I pointed out, slumping down onto an office chair in the corner. Jean had brought in my coffee whilst we’d been working. I picked it up, but it was stone cold.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Ay, I’m fine.’
The door pushed open. Jean’s head peered around the corner. ‘The little fella okay?’
We both nodded. It wouldn’t be easy and he’d need a lot of love and care, but the dog should make a full recovery. Alistair told her as such. A visible wave of relief washed over her face. ‘That’s good to hear. Well, I’m off for the night. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.’
‘I’ll walk you out, Jean.’ Alistair said, giving me a two finger salute before the two of them headed out of the treatment room.
‘Night,' I called.
‘You sure you’re gonna be okay tonight?’ Lawrence stepped into the room right as I let out a loud yawn. His bag was slung over his shoulder and he had an umbrella clutched in one hand.
‘Yep, I’ll be fine.’ I gave him a thumbs up when another yawn overtook my ability to speak.
His eyes narrowed. ‘I could have got Alistair to cover your night shift for you.’
‘I’m fine, boss. And I think if you made Alistair do any more night shifts for a while, he might lose his shit.’ Alistair had been on night shift duty for the past few months after an incident involving Lawrence’s brand new office rug and a cat with bowel problems.
Lawrence readjusted the bag on his shoulder. ‘It’s good for him.’
‘He’d strongly disagree, but honestly, I’ll be good.’ My smile obviously did nothing to appease him.
‘You need a holiday.’
Slumping down into an office chair, I rolled my eyes. ‘I already put in some leave for the weekend.’ Something I’d done right after Fallon reminded me about the trip away.
Rather than look pleased, Lawrence’s eyes narrowed even further. ‘A weekend. That’s not a holiday, Rosie, that’s what most people have. I’ve extended it to a week.’
My mouth dropped open. ‘Lawrence—’
He held up his hand, not interested in my arguments. ‘Have a good night, Rosie. Call if you need anything.’
‘Like a boss who appreciates his employee’s dedication?’ My arms folded over my chest.
‘Your dedication is crossing over to insanity.’ He flashed me a soft smile before turning and heading towards the door. ‘Goodnight, Rosie.’
My lips curled in annoyance at his dismissal. I couldn’t be upset. Realistically, I knew that being given a week’s holiday was a good thing. But the thought of twiddling my thumbs at home, staring at my flat’s four walls sounded like my idea of a nightmare.
I called Mum, checking in on Roxy, and finally got round to answering Fallon’s text. I deliberated on how to respond, settling on sending her a YouTube video of the karaoke version of ‘Defying Gravity’ from Wicked. Feeling very satisfied with myself, I got back to updating some charts.
An hour later, my phone vibrated on the desk next to me. Figuring it was Fallon, I picked it up and answered, eyes fixed on the computer as I updated a few charts.
‘Could you please tell me how stalking someone is supposed to be an attractive quality?’ A deep voice rumbled down the line.
My hand froze on the keyboard. ‘I-uh—’ My brain was struggling to form words.
George continued, not noticing he’d caught me off guard. ‘Because he’s currently standing outside in the dark and instead of calling the police, she’s commenting on how hot he is and wondering how his cock would feel inside her. This feels like a major red flag.’
My mouth opened and shut several times before it clicked. When it did, my eyes nearly bulged out of my head. ‘Are you reading one of my books?’
‘Yes, now please tell me what is so appealing about someone stalking you?’
George Blake was reading a dark romance book. Of all the things I’d bet good money on witnessing, that wouldn’t even make the top ten.
‘Why are you reading a dark romance book?’ The incredulity thick in my tone.
‘You said it’s your favourite genre.’ Like it was the most normal thing in the world to find out someone’s favourite genre of book and pick one up.
‘So?’ I baulked.
‘Can you answer my question? Because so far, I’m halfway through and this guy needs some serious psychological help.’
Was this real life? What the hell was happening right now? Was this some kind of sex starved hallucination my brain had conjured?
I huffed out a broken laugh at that thought. Rubbing the tension from my forehead. ‘It’s not the act of stalking that’s appealing,’ I started, then sat up with a jolt, ‘Wait, which one are you reading?’
When he told me the title, I choked on a gasp. ‘That’s what you started with?’ He’d chosen possibly one of the darkest romances I’ve ever read. Some scenes even made me have to read through my fingers at points. Its trigger warning page was two pages long.
‘It was the first one that popped up when I typed in dark romance.’
Something unwelcome stirred to life in my stomach at the thought of him sitting at home trawling through the internet for dark romance books.
‘So why is it attractive to have a deranged man stalk you?’ he pressed.
I paused for a moment before continuing, ‘The stalking part isn’t what’s attractive.
It’s the fact that you have this man who is so utterly obsessed with the heroine that he can’t go a single day without her consuming his thoughts.
She’s everything to him. It’s the adoration in all of his actions that, yes, okay, might be at times misguided and extreme—’
‘He cut off the dick of a man who assaulted her and gave it to her in a box, wrapped like a Christmas present,’ George cut in, sounding slightly disturbed.
I burst out laughing. ‘Well, anything can sound ridiculous when you say it like that.’
The silence on the other end of the line went on for so long I pulled the phone away from my ear to double check we were still connected.
‘Uh, George?’
‘You have a beautiful laugh,’ came the soft reply.
A breath caught in my lungs. I didn’t know what to say. The reverence in his tone; like he’d never heard me laugh before now and he’d do anything to hear it again. Hit me straight through the chest.
‘So it’s not the act of stalking, but the intention behind it. That’s what’s sexy?’ He carried on like the last few seconds hadn’t even happened.
‘Uh, yeah, I guess,’ I said as I cleared my throat. ‘Were you calling just to ask me about the book?’
His silence on the other end unnerved me. ‘George?’
‘Would you tell me to fuck off and hang up if I told you I just wanted to hear your voice?’
The warning bells that I knew should be clattering loudly in the back of my head somewhere stayed mysteriously silent.
It took me a minute to get the words out, but eventually, I said softly, ‘No, I wouldn’t.’
Comfortable silence settled between us.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked when I heard several odd noises in the background.
‘Cooking. I’m making lasagna.’
My stomach, who I’d been staunchly ignoring all day, gurgled loudly. I let out a soft moan.
‘You good?’ I heard the laughter in his voice.
‘Yeah,’ I grumbled. ‘Just jealous.’
There was a long pause. ‘Sweetheart, please tell me you haven’t eaten noodles for dinner.’ His tone turned pleading.
Biting back a smile, I said, ‘I haven’t, don’t worry.’
He made a sound of relief. ‘Thank you. What did you upgrade to? Because anything else is definitely an upgrade.’
At my silence, George said my name in warning. My core tightened at how low his voice dropped.
Clearing the lust from my brain, I cleared my throat.
‘I’m on the night shift, I haven’t had the chance to get anything yet.
’ Usually I bought something from home, but I’d forgotten.
A running theme in my life at the minute.
Alistair sometimes had leftovers in the fridge, so I’d probably scrounge in there for something.
‘When did you last eat?’ he demanded. The authoritative note to his voice made me roll my eyes.
It took a while to convince George that I was actually okay and wasn’t going to fade away from hunger.
Given the concern in his voice, he thought that might be a genuine possibility.
When I eventually hung up, I tried to focus my attention back on work.
Doing my utmost to ignore the jittery feeling in my stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.
Forty minutes later, I unlatched the crate to double check the terriers bandage, making sure he hadn’t twisted them when my phone started buzzing again.
I frowned at the screen. ‘George, I told you I was fine—’
‘Open up,’ he said in a deep rumble. The soft patter of rain sounded in the background of the call.
‘What? Where are you?’ My heart thudded a merciless rhythm in my chest.
‘Outside the clinic.’ Without another word, he hung up.
My feet skidded on the slick floor as I raced to the reception area. Most of the lights were off except for a few lamps to light up the corridor.
The entire reception was dark, the only illumination came from the street lamps casting an okra glow on the pavement. Highlighting the tall silhouette of a man standing outside the glass front door.