“You’ll have to count me out,” I said, aiming for cool but not unfriendly. “I don’t think I could top ‘Trash at the Bash’ even if I tried.”
True, my mind agreed snidely.
Greg’s eyes rested on his favourite part of my anatomy. “Then you could think of a shocker for the Christmas party at the end of the year. We always go to a hotel and I could be available for—what was it you said in the video? Oh yes,” he said, pausing to lick his lips. “Ramming into your cunt until you spurted all over my cock.”
It was time to antagonise the office psycho.
“I’ll let you do that when paradise becomes a desert of despair.” I gave his paunch a derisive once-over to hammer home the message. Men like him don’t understand anything else and he got my meaning loud and clear.#p#分页标题#e#
Greg slammed his mug onto his desk. “I can make your life at Flintfire a living hell, Lisa.”
“Sexual harassment is illegal, Greg.”
“Once I show Lemane ‘Trash at the Bash’ he’ll see what a lying slut you are. And James won’t believe you either. So, you see, Libby, it’s not worth your while to make a fuss, not when you need a good reference to take into unemployment.”
My eyes popped as wide as my mouth. “Unemployment?”
Greg went back to smiling at me. “The senior partner’s niece, Patricia, will fill your position from January. She works for our biggest client in Valencia but the little fool has fallen in love and wants to live in London. It’s all been arranged but nobody besides myself knows, not even James. I’ve got the inside scoop and...”
I didn’t listen to his sickening voice, feeling battered by the news I wouldn’t have a job after Christmas. Dismayed. No more seeing James every day, smelling that tantalizing mixture of musk and spice, or—Crap! I was dismayed at my dismay. I should be thinking about Ryan, not James. What did seeing James matter? Spending time with Ryan was my goal and now I had only four months to convince James to let me reach it.
“... So think about it, Izzy. You can strike back at James and we can enjoy it. A win-win situation.” Greg puffed his chest out. “Sex would be an added bonus.”
“Don’t make me puke.”
He considered trying to force the sex issue but I saw the moment he decided I wasn’t worth the hassle. What Greg wanted more than anything was to destroy James’s career, any way he could. I should have felt relieved I wasn’t his prey, but I didn’t. I was distracted when James came back from his meeting. He didn’t like it and I got snarky. And all the while Greg sat there smirking at me.
I wanted to tell James about his spiteful plans, but I was afraid he would accuse me of lying. Whenever we had a moment alone Greg tried to convince me to insult James at the party until I was forced to insult him. After that his face became as hot and angry as James’s was cold and indifferent.
Nothing like a happy work environment.
Chapter Thirteen
Trash at the Bash II
I’d like to say that my relationship with both of my bosses improved but that’s one lie I won’t add to my tally. However, we settled into a modus operandi that enabled us to work together effectively. It wasn’t the friendliest of environments but it wasn’t a battleground either.
The following week Mr Lemane held his annual birthday and “pat on the back” party on the top floor of our building, in the social functions suite. All of the employees were invited up after work and Greg, James and I made our way promptly at five. Flintfire staff and Mr Lemane’s family and friends were either chatting and mingling or dancing to corny love songs. I declined a glass of bubbly and looked around for an alternative.
Greg made a disgusted noise. He told the waiter to come back and picked up a glass for me. “It’s after hours, Betty. Go ahead.”
James was a few feet away talking to Mr Lemane. He turned his head to watch me accusingly, making me want to take the drink just to annoy him. Not that I didn’t want it anyway. Once an addict, always an addict in my book. There’s no magical pill that will ever take away the craving for a high. The only thing that had rivalled the need had been one long, passionate night in Brighton. I shoved the memory aside and glared at James, angry with him for making me remember.
“Drink up,” Greg insisted, trying to push a glass on me.
I sucked in a long, annoyed breath and let it out, uncaring whether Greg noticed or not. I hate it when people don’t get the message. I suppose I should be used to it by now, but fielding insistent urgings to drink is bloody annoying when you’re an alcoholic. I toyed with saying I was on a diet but the chocolate éclairs on the buffet table looked sinfully delicious. My sweet tooth is the size of an elephant’s tusks.#p#分页标题#e#