Kinky(12)

Dimitri is busy looking at a pinboard full of business cards and leaflets offering specialist services. ‘You see,’ he says. ‘This can work. Nearly all these are women. Dominatrix … dominatrix … submissive girls … girls need a spanking … I spank bad boys … so far no man advertise.’

‘That could be something to do with market forces,’ I point out gently, then a horrible, horrible thought knocks me for six. Markets. Business. Advertising. ‘Fuck!’

Dimitri turns to me. ‘That is an order?’

‘Tch. No, I mean, fuck! I haven’t finished the air-freshener campaign. I’m going to get it right in the neck. Look, I have to go. Maybe if I do a bit of work from home … but all the stuff is in the office – shit.’

‘Hey, calm, calm.’ Dimitri puts his hands over my arms, reining in some of my wilder gesticulations. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I have a presentation to give tomorrow, but when I saw the light coming from here, I left work before I was ready. I have to finish this work! But the office is closed until seven now. And the presentation is at nine. I’m doomed. Haven’t even got a slogan, let alone the PowerPoint.’

‘You panic, don’t panic. You work …’ He waves a hand in the direction of my office. ‘Right?’

‘Yeah. Over the road.’

‘Come on. I get you in there.’

‘What?’

He doesn’t answer and I’m reduced to trotting across the café and down the stairs after him, voicing questions to the air around me. ‘What do you mean, get me in there?’

It’s chilly on the street outside. I wrap myself in my coat and frown at Dimitri, who is standing, stroking his chin and staring at my office.

‘We go round the back,’ he says eventually.

‘Dimitri, we are not breaking into my workplace! We just aren’t. There’s a security guard!’

‘Oh, then it’s easy. You tell him you leave something up there. You have ID?’

‘Yeah. But –’

‘Go, go, talk to him. He let you in.’

‘But once I’m in, I have to stay in.’

‘Is OK, I make distraction.’

‘Dimitri! Don’t get yourself arrested for fuck’s sake.’

‘I never get arrested.’ He winks. ‘Never.’

I shake my head for a moment, then I think of my account manager Giles’s disbelieving narrowed eyes behind his super cool spectacle frames and I shudder. I don’t want to face them tomorrow. It has to be worth a try.

Mr Security is sitting at the reception desk, feet up, reading the Evening Standard while black and white CCTV footage flickers on the screens overhead.

I rap at the door and press my ID badge to the smoked glass.

He peers at me, then lumbers over. ‘What’s to do?’ he asks through the letterbox.

‘I left my house keys in the office. Just came out of the pub and realised they’re in my desk drawer. Can I come in and get them?’

‘I’ll get them for you. Where are they?’

I clench my fists. Is there any point in telling the truth? It has to be worth a try.

‘Look, I haven’t finished some important work. Would it be impossible to come in and do an hour’s graft at my desk? Please? It could save my life – it could certainly save my job. And we all need a job in this climate.’

The guard tightens his lips, puts his head to one side. Then, ‘Ah, go on.’ My heart leaps as he opens the door to me and lets me slip in. ‘Just for you,’ he says, with a rather unsubtle wink.

‘Er, thanks. Thanks a million. I owe you one.’

‘That’s right, love.’

I feel vaguely creeped out as I rush to the lift, grateful when its doors slide a barrier between us. All the same, it’s a bit of a triumph, and Dimitri won’t need to risk his liberty or his visa after all.

So what will he do now?

Reaching my desk, it occurs to me that I don’t have a number for him, or an address. What if that’s that and we never meet again?

Before switching on the light, I move over to the window and look down to the street. Kinky Cupcake is in darkness, even though I know that, somewhere in its upper roof space, slaves are being shared. As for Dimitri, there is no sign of him.

I sigh, flick the switch and sit down at my desk.

Air freshener. It freshens air. Four fresh fragrances. Fresh … fragrance … air … odour … aroma … I put my forehead on the desk and try to extract some coherence from these strands, but all I can think about is how Dimitri smells and how it felt to have his arm around me.

My mind dances away from scents and into sensations. Over his lap, he could have gone further, he could have touched me … right there, but I mustn’t masturbate on CCTV, mustn’t do that …