Chapter 8
CHRISTIAN
It really wasn’t too bad at all if you didn’t mind the stickiness.
Christian dipped his mop into the bucket and ran it along the bathroom floor.
Somebody had spilled what had to be three gallons of strawberry milkshake by the sinks, and it had stuck to the tiles like glue.
But it was coming away easily enough, and there was almost something therapeutic about the work, the rhythm of the mop and the meditative quiet.
Besides, Christian had worked on much dirtier jobs.
Once, when he’d been building his first school in Rapu-Rapu, he’d pickaxed the main sewer pipe, the geyser of filthy water soaking him from head to toe.
It had taken him and two more guys the better part of an hour to seal it, and the smell hadn’t washed away for a week.
Back then, he’d just set up FutureWorlds, and he had plenty of staff who could have taken over the physical jobs, but Christian liked getting his hands dirty.
Well, maybe not as dirty as that, but he liked to be the one out there with a hammer and tacks, or a saw, or a paintbrush.
There was something amazing about being able to create a school with your own hands and not just pay for it.
Even when you ended up covered in filth — even when you were drenched in sweat and blood and mud. It was almost spiritual.
That’s what his dad had never understood.
Lewis Carroll had inherited the store from his own father, Cornelius.
Although he’d transformed the little shop into the behemoth it was today, Lewis had never really had to build anything from scratch.
He’d always sat behind his desk and given the orders, like a general.
He’d never had to go on the buyers’ trips to Africa, to Asia.
He’d never seen the workhouses and the mines that created the beautiful fabrics and jewellery and gadgets that filled his store.
Christian preferred to be a soldier. He’d never forgotten his first trip to the Philippines, to the cramped and noisy factory that supplied the bedsheets and duvet covers for Carroll’s.
After that day he’d vowed to dedicate himself to helping others, rather than simply adding more wealth to his own pockets, or those of his father.
So what are you doing here? he asked himself.
He squeezed the mess out into the bucket and ran the mop along the last stretch of floor.
He wasn’t going to be here for ever. Until New Year, maybe, then he’d fly home.
The honest truth was he should have said no to his dad straight away, but seeing the old man so frail, so ill, had been shocking.
As ruthless as Lewis was, he was still Christian’s father, and amid all the bad memories of his childhood were a few sparkling, wonderful ones — occasions when his dad had taken the afternoon off and whisked him to the zoo in Central Park, or the library.
There had even been Christmases where his dad had given Christian the best present of all: his time.
The least he could do was see this through and be there for his dad when he needed him.
Christian stuck the mop back in the bucket and washed his hands — hands that were already rough and scarred from years of hard work. He dried them on his blue overalls, glancing at his reflection in the mirror.
There was another reason he was glad to have stayed, and that reason had kept him awake all night — not Merry personally, he was sad to say, but thoughts of her, dreams of her, gallivanting through his mind until the early hours of the morning.
Man, the dreams. It was so unexpected, mainly because he hadn’t been looking for anyone at all.
He’d had a couple of dates overseas, but never a relationship, because nothing was as important as the work and there was simply no time to fall in love.
He scrubbed harder at the taps, trying to push the image of her from his mind. Maybe taking a break from FutureWorlds and coming home had given him the chance to breathe, to rest. Maybe that’s all it was — a momentary breath in the chaos.
But still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d looked at him in that changing room and the way he’d wanted her to give in to whatever the voice in her head was telling her to do.
Those green eyes, dangerous in their sparkle, like they could see through him and still want to linger.
Her cheeks were always rosy, freckled like something out of a dream, and her mouth lit him up in places he was trying very hard to ignore right now.
Even just thinking about it made his pulse thrum and his overalls feel snug.
It wasn’t lost on him how tempting it would be to lean into his feelings.
He’d caught himself more than once wondering what it would be like if the store was shut for the night, just the two of them locked in, him kissing her breathless beside the fake tree and baubles.
Maybe more than just kissing. Maybe a hell of a lot more.
But he couldn’t go there. Not when he was keeping secrets and when he’d be gone by January. Merry deserved more than a holiday fling with a guy passing through, so he was keeping his thoughts on a short leash. Or, at least, he was trying to.
The restroom door opened, making Christian jump and empty of all his thoughts into the bucket. A well-dressed older man walked in, looking at Christian like he was a rat that had scurried out of the toilet.
“Careful, sir,” Christian said. “The floor is a little wet.”
The man ignored him, marching into a cubicle.
Christian put the bucket back on to his janitor’s trolley and wheeled it outside.
The store was heaving, even though it wasn’t even ten yet.
He politely weaved his way between the groups of customers, but nobody looked at him.
He was invisible in his janitor’s overalls, and as much as he hated Margot, he knew she had been right — this was the perfect role for him to investigate what was happening in the store.
He’d spoken to several other members of the janitorial team already and they had all agreed that something strange was going on.
For a start, three of the team had been laid off in the last month, as well as quite a few other people from different departments.
The store was chronically understaffed, and customers were starting to notice.
Nobody knew why it was happening, though.
He was just entering the aisles of the kitchen department when he heard his radio bleep. He unclipped it from his belt, hearing a short hiss of static then the gruff Brooklyn accent of Harvey, the senior janitor.
“Anyone on three?”
“I’m on four,” Christian said. “What’s up?”
“Spillage in the watch department,” Harvey said. “They’s freakin’ out ’cos it’s on the Rolexes.”
“I’m on it,” Christian said. He returned the radio to his belt, wheeled the trolley through the staff doors and down the bleak back corridor to the new freight elevator.
It was a short ride down, and when the doors opened he pushed the trolley out on to the third floor.
It was even busier there, and it took him an age to get through the mob of customers.
It was weird, because there were only three staff members in sight — way too few for such a busy day.
They were all flustered, fighting off impatient customers like they were under attack.
It was only as he walked past Jewellery that he recognised Merry.
He quickly realised he was grinning like an idiot and forced the smile away before anyone noticed.
He turned his attention back to where he was going, before he accidentally wheeled into somebody, but something drew his gaze back to Merry.
She looked as stressed as the other members of staff, but there was a desperation to her expression that made him think it was more than just being overworked.
She looked worried, her mouth a grim line, her teeth clenched.
Christian stopped walking, studying the people she was talking to.
One was a well-built man in his fifties who looked like he was ready to coach a high school football team.
The other was a glamorous woman dressed for a wedding — or maybe a funeral.
The man had his arm possessively around the woman, holding her like he was worried she was going to run away.
But it was the way he was looking at Merry that made Christian feel like his blood was simmering.
There was something cruel in his expression. He had the face of a bully.
The Rolexes could wait. Christian edged the stubborn trolley around and walked into the jewellery department, making his way slowly towards where Merry was standing.
Nobody paid him any attention, apart from to step warily out of the way of his slopping bucket, and it didn’t take him long to cross the room.
“. . . though with the way she looks I wouldn’t trust her to wrap a sandwich, let alone something expensive,” he heard the man say. “Don’t they have any standards here anymore?”
“Sorry,” Merry replied, a tremor in her voice. She was facing away from Christian, so he edged a little closer, running a cloth over the glass face of a cabinet to wipe away an imaginary mark. “That’s fine. A diamond?”
“Obviously,” said the man. “A big one. We’re not here to mess around with cheap tat. Though by the looks of it, that’s all you’re selling.”
The woman next to him gave a sharp laugh. “Honestly, I’ve seen better displays at a yard sale. And the staff . . .” She eyed Merry’s uniform and freckled face with a sneer. “Well, I guess it’s festive if you’re going for thrift-store elf.”
Christian’s hand clenched more tightly around the cloth, wishing it were the man’s smug, over-moisturised face. They didn’t even know Merry, and yet they were treating her like dirt beneath their designer shoes.
Merry, to her credit, didn’t flinch. “We have a range of diamond cuts,” she said calmly, pulling open the case behind her. “If you let me know your budget, I’ll be happy to show you a few options.”
The man gave a smirk. “Oh, we’re not worried about budget. I just want something that’ll make every woman in the room jealous. Not that you’d know anything about that.”
That did it. The only thing Christian wanted to do was punch the man’s lights out, but that would only land him and Merry in trouble.
Instead, he pulled the stinking mop out of its bucket and walked up to the couple.
The floor was immaculately clean, but he slapped the mop down at the man’s feet hard enough to splash water all over his brogues and her ridiculous heels.
“Excuse me!” the woman yelled, stepping back so clumsily that she almost fell. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry, lady,” Christian said. “Just trying to get rid of a nasty mess.”
He flicked the mop over the man’s shoes again, and he stumbled away.
“What’s your problem, buddy?” the man roared. “You’d better be more careful with that.”
Christian glanced at Merry, whose mouth was open in surprise. He winked at her, then swept the mop around again.
“These irritating stains just won’t get the message,” he said, jerking the mop across the floor, dirty water splashing over their shoes. The man and woman were retreating fast now, other customers moving out of their way with astonished smiles on their faces.
“You’re going to pay for this,” the man yelled, jabbing a finger at Christian. “I’m going to make sure you never work here again, you hear me? You stupid, good-for-nothing janitor.”
Christian flicked the mophead up, a spray of brown water splashing over the man’s face. He finally turned around, grabbed his wife by the arm and marched her towards the elevators. Christian waited for the door to close behind them before turning to Merry.
A smile danced over her face, and he almost had time to return it before it vanished and Merry turned and bolted for the staff door.