I shake my head. "I just want him to like me."
"No shit. You could've got your face bitten off."
But I didn't. The relief feels amazing.
"So," I say, before my confidence burst fades. "Tell me everything about Mr Henley."
She smiles. "Everything?"
I nod. "Everything."
"I'll talk as we work," she says, gesturing to the kitchen.
I wipe down Mr Henley's gorgeous granite worktops as Cindy cleans out the inkwell. One solitary cigarette butt. That's all there is.
"He really is magnificent," she says. "If you get to see the corporate suite reception on floor ten, you'll see all his legal awards lining the main corridor, Mr Henley senior's, too."
"He's the best," I say, "I mean, I know that. I wanted to be a criminal lawyer myself."
She raises her eyebrows. "Shit. What happened?"
I shrug it off. "Life."
She shrugs back. "Cool beans. Anyway, he's incredible. He's smart, observant, totally demanding of perfection. For real make sure you do a good job in here, because if there's so much as a fingerprint on a candlestick he'll notice it. Well, he would have done."
"Would have?" I slow down my scrubbing to look at her, and she's dithering, weighing me up. "Please," I say. "I need to know this stuff."
Her eyes are so pointed. "Everything?"
"Yeah, everything. I want to know everything."
She stops cleaning and I do too. "I've been doing this nearly four years, and it was a whole different gig when I started, believe me. The kids were here then, and Claire, his wife. She was nice, the kids were cool, it wasn't this stealth operation we have now, I'd knock on the door and she'd let me in, and we'd have a coffee sometimes while I was working."
"And then the divorce?"
"Yeah, she took the kids."
"Why?"
She grins. "You're hot on him. I know. Sonnie told me, like it needed pointing out. It's written all over you."
I'm so embarrassed I feel sick, so far from professional that I wish the ground would open up. "Sorry, I just … "
She shrugs. "He's beautiful. Talented. Smart. Driven. I get it."
"You do?" Of course she does.
"Yeah, I get it, but if you've got any sense in that pretty head of yours you'll steer well clear of him. The guy's damaged. Broken."
"Broken?" The thought seems ridiculous. Alexander Henley seems anything but broken. He's the most together person I've ever laid eyes on.
"He used to be careful," she says. "He still is. His passwords and security codes change monthly, like I said. He's got a shredder in his study, and that gets plenty of action, but he's not … "
"Not what?"
She pauses. "Not like he used to be. It's like he's careless on purpose, leaving loose ends hanging, like he wants to be caught somehow."
My heart is thumping. "Caught doing what?"
She laughs. "Jeez, girl. Sonnie really did keep her mouth shut, kudos to that one."
I just gawp. Mute.
She sighs. "Mr Henley has some issues. Not just the weird little habits he has like only using one set of cutlery, and smoking one cigarette before bed, none of that crap. The guy likes … pornography."
I smile.
"A lot," she adds. "He used to lock everything down. You'd never even get into his TV without a twenty digit passcode. Now he doesn't care, let's it all hang out, his browsing history sometimes still glaring on screen when I come in in the morning."
"So he likes porn." I shrug it off. "Show me a guy who doesn't."
"Not like this. You'll see, that's all I'm saying."
I want to ask her more, but she goes back to cleaning.
I squirt some cream cleaner into his Belfast sink. "Ok, so he likes pornography. Anything else I should know?"
"He has cases full of sex toys in his dressing room, all lined up ready to go."
"Ready to go where?"
"It's none of our business. I'm just telling you so they don't shock you too much. Some of them are … yeah, you'll see."
I decide to chance my luck. "Harley's Tavern," I say. "What is it?"
She smirks. "Maybe not so much kudos for Sonnie's big mouth after all."
"She told me to ask you."
"Seriously, you don't want to be getting any ideas."
But I'm getting plenty. Ideas of dashing into the TV room and scrolling through that browsing history, rushing upstairs and looking through all those toys. Rolling naked in his bedsheets and waiting for him to come home, and then begging him, begging him to –
"Harley's Tavern is a venue for upmarket room hire. The kind of room hire you rent by the hour, no questions asked. He buys women and takes them there," she says. "Fuck knows why, the guy could pick up whoever he wanted."
It really wasn't what I was expecting. The idea seems absurd. "He pays? For sex?!"
"Pays a lot of money for a lot of sex from what I can make of it. This isn't any vanilla shit, either. You'll see soon enough, just like I've seen. Pictures on his laptop, when it hasn't shut down properly. His bedside drawer has … paperwork … pictures of some of these women … what they'll do … "
"What will they do?" My eyes feel like saucers.
She sighs, then digs in the front pocket of her apron. "I gathered these up when we walked in, right before you saw them. See, this kind of shit, this careless shit, this is new. Six months max."
She hands over some folded paperwork. I hold my breath while I open it.
Five girls. Pretty girls. Really pretty girls.
My poor heart pangs.
There's a load of checked boxes underneath. Hard limits, the text says.
Anal. BDSM. Pain. Watersports. DP. Fisting. Multiple partners.
Jeez.
There really are skeletons in the closet. I'm tingling all over, and I shouldn't be. I really shouldn't be, but I can't stop.
"He keeps the ones with fewer ticks in the boxes, just so you know." Cindy holds out her hand. I give her the paperwork and she shoves it back into her apron.
I still absolutely can't imagine it, Mr Henley paying for sex. I mean he's … gorgeous. Perfect.
I tell Cindy so and she laughs, shakes her head. "He's gorgeous, alright. Gorgeous and talented and sharp as fuck. But he's broken, just like I said. The guy has some serious issues. His wife told me."
"His wife told you?!"
Cindy looks really pleased with herself. "Bits and pieces. I'm only telling you so you know what you're walking into. You signed some pretty hardcore non-disclosure shit, don't even think about blabbing this around."
"I wouldn't," I tell her, and I'm not lying.
"I've said enough. The rest you'll pick up for yourself."
She heads for the utility room and drags out a vacuum, and I feel bereft, desperate to crawl inside her mind and soak up every single thing she knows about Alexander Henley.
"You don't seem put off any," she comments, and I realise I'm still gawping at her.
"The guy has kinks … that's ok."
"The guy has more than kinks. The guy's seriously messed up."
Skeletons in the closet. The adrenaline is pumping, excitement fizzing, and I shouldn't be like this. I really, really shouldn't be. Because I'm just a silly cleaner who managed to bag a promotion, not one of these girls, I don't know anything, I've never done anything.
But I want to.
I want him, if I'm being paid for it or not.
"Seriously," Cindy says. "Stay away from him. He's bad news. I mean it's pretty tragic, losing his kids and all that, but he's … dark … "
"Damaged … " I repeat.
"Yeah, all fucked up." She sighs. "Such a shame, the guy is fucking gorgeous and fucking loaded. Guess he had to have some pretty major flaws to balance all that out, right?"
I'm not interested in loaded. I'm not even interested in gorgeous right now.
I'm interested in all fucked up. Damaged and dark.
Broken.
Like me.
But I don't pay for kinky sex in some weird pub on the outskirts of London. I don't have a closet full of sex toys and a browsing history bad enough to come with a warning.
And those girls on the pictures are so pretty … so perfect …
And I'm so … not.
Cindy groans. "Sonnie said you wouldn't give a shit about my warning. I guess she was right."
I stare blankly. "What do you mean?"
She eyeballs Brutus as he comes into the room, edges around the island to keep him at safe distance. "I mean that you're already thinking about it, how to get to Harley's Tavern. How to be one of those girls."
Even the thought jabs me in the ribs, because I'm not one of them. I couldn't be one of them if I tried.
I laugh it off, but my voice sounds pained. I tell her I could never be one of them. They're beautiful, with great hair, and perfect makeup, and manicured nails and … other bits. I feel a billion miles away from that in my crappy uniform, without so much a drop of foundation on my face.