Chapter 22
Calla
Work is the last place I want to be right now.
After riding such a high with Blake on Saturday night, I can’t believe how quickly everything feels like it’s coming crashing down around me.
Everything but Blake and I.
I know I’m not the only one feeling the uncertainty.
It might be a Monday, but I don’t think that’s the only reason that the office floor is unusually quiet.
Usually it’s a hubbub of chatter, outrageous stories from the weekend traded over steaming cups of coffee. Groups crowded around one cubicle, laughing and joking, faded stamps still etched onto the back of their hands – evidence of the notorious London bar hopper.
But today, everybody appears to be sitting alone in their cubicles, heads bent, shoulders hunched over their pixilated computer screens. The whole energy field appears to have changed, as if the whole place is holding its breath, waiting for the next unwelcome surprise to drop.
Moulding my hand to my computer mouse, I refresh my inbox.
Three emails later, I flick my eyes to up to check the time. Almost lunch.
Usually, I’d be trading gossip with the reception girls, right about now.
They’re always the first in the know about anything; probably because they get to answer the phones and chat to people all day, gathering intel.
But even they, I notice with a quick glance over my shoulder, are unnaturally quiet.
“Why aren’t you working, Miss Becker?”
I nearly jump out of my skin.
Flattening my palm to my racing heart, I turn to find Thomas watching me, the leather-like skin around his eyes tight.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“Careful, Miss Becker. I’m feeling lenient today, but profanities in the workplace warrant a strike and you’re already treading a very fine line.”
What the hell is he talking about?
I furrow my brow. “Strikes?”
Thomas nods. “Haven’t you heard of the saying? Three strikes and you’re out.”
My heart drops somewhere past my stomach.
“I don’t remember that ever—”
“That’s because it’s new.” He smiles, sending an uneasy shiver through my body, causing the fine blonde hairs on my forearms to raise. “As of today, in fact. It’s in the new contract I’m creating.”
I blink, my mind racing with so much information at once.
I peer around to see if anybody else is hearing this bullshit, but nobody meets my eye.
“Strikes?”
“Yes, Miss Becker. You’re already up to two.”
“Two?!”
Thomas nods. “Fraternising with a client and sloppy double checking of your paperwork.”
A sudden burst of anger rising to the surface of my cheeks. “What are you talking about? I—”
From inside the depths of my handbag, which is resting beside my computer monitor, I hear my phone vibrate with a text message. I forgot that I’d turned it up loud to hear it ring when I entered one of those radio competitions yesterday morning.
I reach for it only for a cold, tight grip to crush my fingers painfully. Thomas cocks his head at the sound, narrowing his eyes at me. “Are you asking for a third strike, Miss Becker?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
For what I think is the first time in my life, I’m speechless. No witty remark. No vitriol. Nothing.
I snatch my fingers back, watching the skin mottle as blood flow returns and when I look up again, it’s to find Thomas striding away.
He doesn’t stop at anyone else’s desk, instead heading straight for his glass prison; probably to continue hatching his awful contract plans to make everyone’s life miserable.
Sinking my top teeth into my bottom lip, I sniff, realising just how close to tears I am.
Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure none of my co-workers are watching.
I don’t want them to see me cry. Most of them live in Thomas’ arsehole and could only dream of finding some dirt on me to get me in trouble or telling him just how effected I am by his actions.
Pushing back from my chair, head still spinning, I pick up my handbag and step out of my office cubicle.
I try my upmost to keep my gait steady as I walk, my heels clicking against the white marble flooring, bypassing the reception desk.
Marie looks up from behind her computer as I do, her eyes red raw, a smudge of mascara on her cheekbone. She sends me a small, sad smile before putting her head back down. Another burst of anger fizzles in my veins, but it’s quickly smothered by shock and my wavier of unsurety.
I wobble on my heels, not sure if to head out of the door, never look back and deal with the consequences of my actions later. Or, if to head to the bathroom for a breather before I make any rash decisions.
In the end, I decide to make a beeline for the ladies, finding it thankfully, empty. Ducking into the last stall on the far right, I lock it behind me, tipping down the toilet seat and perching upon the lid with a muffled cry.
What is Thomas getting out of making my life a living hell?
Ripping off a wad of toilet paper, I blow my nose and wipe the tears gathering at my waterline. I refuse – re-fucking-fuse – to cry over that prick and allow him to make me feel tiny and shitty and worthless.
With shaky hands, I dip my hand inside my bag, pulling out my phone and keying in my code.
I’m thinking of ringing Blake, or maybe even Carmen – even though it’s her day off and she’s probably out doing last minute wedding shopping with Jake – just so I can hear a friendly voice, when I spot the notification splayed across my home screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Who is Grey Millen?
A hyperlink follows the message, boasting a newspaper page.
Frowning with confusion, I tap on the link, watching the blue line trawl across my screen as the page loads and then I begin to read.
Love is in the air!
Here at TALK! we can exclusively reveal that supposed Olympic swimmer, Grey Millen, has proposed to his long-term girlfriend, Delilah Clark.
We just know these two are going to make beautiful babies one day!
At the age of just twenty-one, Grey Millen, a top champion in his swimming stroke, the butterfly, was already a household name.
He was due to compete in the summer Olympics, held in Rio that year, only for a freak accident on a ski lift in France, in which he fell and slipped on a patch of black ice, sent his career diving into the deep end.
After months of being faced with accusations of drinking and taking drugs, Millen was eventually found to be in the clear and sober to boot.
But his chance at winning gold for Team GB couldn’t be salvaged.
He later announced his early retirement from the sport and was last spotted working as a lifeguard and swim coach as pictured below (see photo one).
Rumours started speculating that Millen and Clark when they we’re papped sharing an intimate lip lock outside of a bar.
Not exactly staying in theme with the low-profile Millen seems to be intent on keeping.
Now, two years later, we at TALK! can reveal their engagement. Get a look at the rock on Clark’s finger! (see photo two and three). Not too shabby, if we do say so ourselves.
Talking to an inside source, they admitted how smitten Millen is and they even managed to send us a rare, sneaky photograph taken inside the bar, Luca’s (see photos five, six, and seven).
Here we see Millen and Clark celebrating their engagement happiness with their nearest and dearest, including two of Grey’s brothers, both of whom keep an incredibly low profile.
See left to right: Unknown brunette, Hudson Millen, unknown female, Grey, Delilah and Blake Millen.
We asked for a comment from Millen’s PR team but didn’t receive any reply.
Written by Kayleigh McDonald.
Irelease a shaky breath, studying the photographs until the colours begin to blur together.
Why didn’t Blake tell me?
I bat that thought away as soon as it arrives. I can’t fault Blake for not telling me something so personal because we’re not together.
Not officially, anyway.
Before I can lose my gall, I click out of the link, bringing up the UNKNOWN NUMBER contact and jabbing my thumb into the call button.
The dial tone cuts through me, a ball of apprehension jolting in my throat with each second that passes.
“I’m sorry, but the number you have dialled is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone.”
Huffing, I disconnect the call. Of fucking course whoever is cowardly enough to send me anonymous text messages would also be cowardly enough to not answer the phone.
Apparently, they can dish it out, but they can’t take it. No surprises there.
Instead, I pull up Carmen’s number, pulling at a loose stitch on my skirt whilst I wait for her to pick up.
“What’s up, bitch?” she answers jovially. Why wouldn’t she be? She isn’t stuck in this shit hole.
Blowing out an unsteady breath I start right from the beginning, explaining the trail of the anonymous messages that leads us to today.
“Do you think they’re dangerous?” she asks, concern lacing her tone. “Like, threatening?”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s somebody who wants to drive a wedge between Blake and I—”
“By spilling dirt. So, the whole ‘he isn’t who you think he is’ is that referring to…?”
“The fact that Blake is Grey Millen’s older brother? Yeah, I think so. I think—"
“Hang on…” The line crackles, Carmen’s voice dropping in and out. “The service in this coffee shop is shit. Excuse me!”
The corners of my lips tug up in a small smile as I picture my best friend shoving people out of the way in order to step outside.
“Right, the reception better be good out here. Repeat that last bit.”
“I think… God.” I scrub at my lips. “I actually don’t know what I think anymore.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“His brother, Car,” I repeat in disbelief. “I remember his face being splashed all over the papers, how he was supposed to make the Olympics when he—”
“Fell off that ski lift, yeah I remember too,” Carmen huffs. “Holy shit balls with a capital H.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me through the phone. “Tell me about it.”
My best friend stays silent for a heartbeat or two before her voice crackles through the line again, softer this time. “What are you going to do now? Are you going to tell him you know?”
“No. Absolutely not. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m with Blake because I like him, not who his brother or his family are. And there’s obviously a reason why he didn’t tell me himself, I—”
“You like him!” Carmen sing songs, pulling a giggle from me at her ridiculousness. “You should invite him to the wedding! He can walk down the aisle with you.”
“We’re not really dating, Car. You know this.”
“Details, details.” She waves me off. “Ask him, Cal. I bet he says yes and then you can stop the charade, admit your feelings to each other and I’ll rig it so you can catch my bouquet. All I ask is that you thank me for the two of you getting hitched in your wedding speech.”
“That’s a lot to process…” I say aloud, warmth rising to the apples of my cheeks.
“You know I’m right. You like him. He obviously likes you. It’s a match made in heaven.”
My head spinning, I swallow dryly. God, I need a stiff drink.
Carmen makes it sound so easy, too easy.
I suppose for her it is. She and Jake have known they’re the one for each other since their first date almost ten years ago.
There was never any doubt in either of their minds. No games or miscommunication.
Not like Blake and I…
“One thing at a time, Carm. Tell me what I should do about the Thomas thing first.”
“Tell him to fuck off,” is Carmen’s answer, causing me to choke on my own spit.
“You’re so much better than this place, Calla.
Why don’t you look for somewhere else? With the experience and the qualifications, you’ve got, companies will be lining up around the block to get you on their team.
Then, you could report Thomas to HR without worrying you’re going to lose your job because you’ll already have left. ”
“Nothing will come of it,” I sigh unsteadily. “You know who his uncle is—”
“It might!” Carmen argues. “You don’t know if you don’t try, Cal. And that goes for admitting your feelings – your real feelings to Blake too.”