Dirty Bad Secrets(88)

“Will you do it?”

He returned his attention to his screen. Smoothing down his tie and brushing creases from his trousers. “I don’t fucking know. I haven’t made up my mind.”

“When will you have made up your mind?”

“I’m not sure. When it suits me. You need to learn some fucking patience.”

“I don’t have much patience,” I said, teasing my toes up along his thighs until they were pressed in his crotch. He was hard, but angry, and made to swat them away. “I mean it, Andy, I want everything, remember. I want to be everything.”

“Piss off, Faye, I’m working.”

“You weren’t working a minute ago.”

“Yeah, well I’m working now.”

“Fine.” I poked my tongue out and left him to it.



***



Andy



Faye was more nervous than I’d ever seen her, even on our opening night. She was dressed to kill in thigh-length boots and a black latex miniskirt over fishnets, and her corset was tight, and curved and all but welded to her skin. She fastened up the remaining buttons of the cut-off blouse she was wearing over the top, and gave me a twirl. Her hair was loose and curled, splaying around her in perfect waves, and her lips were pouty and glistening and red. Red enough to bite.

“Does this look ok?” God, how her eyes wanted answers. She was stunning, absolutely fucking stunning, and yet her expression was one of abject disappointment. “You don’t like it, do you?”

She started tugging it off, and I had to still her hands with a sigh. “Are you fucking insane? You look gorgeous, Faye.” I leaned towards her but she took a step away.

“No!” she said. “Lipstick!”

“Fine,” I groaned, and straightened my tie in the mirror next to her. I was wearing black in the main, a tasteful tailored number with a black tie to contrast against my fitted white shirt. We matched, the monochrome couple, although it was highly unintentional.

“Show time,” I smiled. “Are you ready?”

“No,” she sighed. “Not really.”

“You’ll be great,” I said. “You know you will.”

“I wish I did.”

I breathed in her hair, and she smelled of toffee apples, a new shampoo. I’d seen it in the bathroom, amongst her other ever-growing collection of bottles and lotions. She was taking over the place, laying down roots all over my own apartment, all over me. I didn’t care. I was long past caring. If only she’d just let go of the need to have me at her fucking whim, we’d be just fucking fine.



I’d been banned from my own fucking club that morning, forced to work on my laptop down the street while Faye, Topaz, Cara and Demelza got busy with the decorations. I’d been nothing but a chauffeur, a nice suit in a set of wheels, only now as we stepped in through the main doors, walking up through Savage’s mural into the main bar area, I could appreciate why.

The lighting was different, neons no longer limited to the bar area. They’d spread to all four corners, and the place zinged with a blue metallic glow. There were UV balloons everywhere, massive displays rising from tabletops to ceiling, in turquoise and electric blue. Black balloons, too. So many of them.

My jaw was on the floor, not least when I saw the ice sculptures on stage. They were the same figures as our power coin, two couples, one on the left and one on the right, and they were perfect, crazily accurate in their detail and horny as hell. The clever bitch.

Every booth had a pile of Topaz’s glittery cards, and every booth also had an arrangement of orchids, the ones from the storeroom that Faye had so painstakingly rescued and put back together.

She’d done a great fucking job. An insanely good job. She’d done perfectly.

But it was bittersweet, so bittersweet. Three years she’d bailed for, three years she could have been at my side, mucking in, being creative, doing her fucking share.

“Do you like it?” she asked, and her dark eyes were so nervous.

I tried not to let the emotions show on my face. “It looks excellent.”

“Excellent?”

“Yes, Faye, excellent.”

Her smile was broad and genuine. “Thank fuck for that!” she giggled. “Jesus, Andy, you had me worried there.”

Cara was already warming up for her dance show. We watched her perform on the pole, twirling about the place in a tiny white tutu and black plague doctor mask. It was creepy as fuck, but strangely beautiful.

“Jason Redfern’s confirmed,” Faye gushed. “His girlfriend is going to be dancing later.”

“The redhead?”

“That’s her. She’s got a huge half-face of feathers, apparently it looks really something.”