Dirty Bad Secrets(20)

“For the week,” I pointed out. “It’s hardly a win.”

Faye looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen her. Exhausted and agitated. She rose from her seat like a woman defeated. I scooped the coin up and into my pocket.

A niggle inside, something brewing. “What’s going on today, Faye?”

“Nothing.”

I reeled through her known family. A mum and dad on the south coast, one brother and three sisters, mainly living close to home. “Everyone ok?”

“Everyone’s fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

She picked up her mobile from my desk, and it buzzed in her grip. I couldn’t miss the flinch, the wide eyes. She didn’t check the message. “I’ll get on and sort that drink delivery when it arrives.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t look at me again on her way to the door, and I was glad she missed the warring emotions on my face. I felt myself caving, guilt and fear making me weak.

“Faye, wait.” I dragged her stupid old empty desk back into the centre of the room. Her chair, too. I even chucked a load of biros on there, and a notepad. “I’ll have to sort you out a phone extension, I think I have a handset downstairs in the storeroom.”

Her eyes were guarded. “Is this another game?”

“No game,” I said. “You can work here until you get too big for your boots or we argue to death before the week is up.” I gestured to her chair. “Just don’t push your luck.”

She sat herself down and arranged her pens in some rudimentary kind of order, then shot me the only genuine smile I’d seen from her in days.

It was a beautiful smile, but not nearly so beautiful as the words that followed it.

“So, what are we doing today, sir?”

Oh, the fucking ideas.



***



Faye



He sorted me out a telephone extension, as promised. A laptop, too. I watched him the whole time he set me up, waiting for some chink in the veneer. But none came.

My mobile buzzed repeatedly in my pocket, until finally he fixed me in a steady gaze.

“Who is that, Faye?”

I shook my head. “Just junk.”

“Right.” He didn’t believe me, and I didn’t expect him to.

My hand was shaking as I took out my phone, the strange magnetic pull still strong from overseas. I couldn’t bear to look at my notifications, couldn’t bear for all the open-mouthed comments as Facebook went Vincent Blackthorne crazy. “I’ll turn it off.”

His fingers grabbed for my wrist as I held the power off button, and the touch was electric. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, it’s just junk.”

“If he’s bothering you, Faye...”

I changed the subject, pasting on a smile. “This is great. To have my old desk back, it means a lot. Thanks.”

He couldn’t resist the snipe. “It’s not a marriage proposal.” Despite the snark in his tone he squeezed my wrist just a little bit tighter. The urge to unravel stretched its limbs, the need to be consumed by a force stronger than me, stronger than Vincent.

I took a breath, pushed it aside. “Still, thank you.”

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that at the end of the week.” He let go of me, and walked away, only to return with a pile of mail. “Today’s,” he explained. “Accounts paperwork can go in the tray, cheques can go to be banked. He handed me a paying in book. “Down the road, same place it used to be.”

“I remember.”

“Good.” He leaned over me to sort the envelopes into piles. His hand on the back of my chair, his shoulder against mine, and the scent of him, like a desert breeze, hot and oriental. “You get a feel for this without even opening them. Start with these, they should be the cheques.”

I found I was touching him, gripping his arm, fingers tight around the solid flesh beneath his shirt. His face was so close to mine, much too close. He swallowed. Dark eyelashes fluttered. “…Don’t do this, Faye.”

My fingers traced their way up to his shoulder, until they were ghosting along the tender skin of his neck. He closed his eyes. “...Don’t.”

“…I want to thank you. I want to feel like I belong here again.”

“Then sort the mail. Take those cheques.”

I let out my breath. “Ok.”

He retreated to the safety of his own desk, where he buried himself in his laptop and barely looked at me. I organised the cheques, recorded them on the incoming spreadsheet, and tallied them up for the paying in book.

“I won’t be long.”

I picked up my mobile, but thought better of it. I left it on my desk, instead.