She might write him off as one of those white boys who assumes black girls are allergic to rock—but he was there with her tatted, pierced, very punk rock and very black best friend. So perhaps he just thought Jennifer was a dickhead. Maybe it was the leggings. Or perhaps the bed socks, with their fluffy pink bobbles?
Oh. Maybe it was the unicorn T-shirt.
Whatever.
“What was your name again?” Jennifer asked, purely to see if Aria was still listening. She was; this rudeness was rewarded with a dark glare from heavily kohl-lined eyes. This guy’s dick must be incredible.
“Simon,” He of the Incredible Dick said, his smirk falling, replaced by a nasty little glower. Simon didn’t like being forgotten, it seemed. Happily, Jennifer forgot him again.
“Right. Sorry; I’m terrible with names.”
“No worries, no worries.”
“And what do you do?”
Aria perked right up at that question. “He’s a plumber,” she slurred fondly. “Housing association. Did you see his van outside?”
“Can’t say I did.”
“He’s very handy.”
Simon gave what he probably thought of as a charming smile. “I try,” he demurred. It fooled no-one.
Jennifer had long suspected that Aria might be slightly deaf, thanks to a youth spent sneaking into clubs that played the 'devil music' her father wouldn't allow at home. She was almost positive now, because for the next half an hour, the boyfriend proceeded to talk absolute wank about the housing tenants he’d seen to that day, and all Aria did was sip her wine and smile dreamily.
Well. Perhaps she hadn’t been around him in company yet. Perhaps she needed to hear him speak with another set of ears around to truly grasp depths of his unoriginal, tepid conversation and smug air. Yes, that must be it. That was why she had subjected Jennifer to this awful meeting. Most definitely.
God forbid Jennifer should come home on a Friday night and relax, to chill out in her living room unbothered by irritating men and maybe—maybe—confide in her best friend about the fact that she almost kind of sort of slept with her boss today. That would be too much to ask.
Ugh. Bitterness didn't suit her.
She downed the rest of her drink before blurting out her confession, interrupting some rambling work complaint of Simon's without remorse.
"I met one of the partners yesterday. You know, at work.”
Aria widened her dark eyes, not in surprise, but rather chastisement. Aria thought it was rude to interrupt people. Ordinarily, Jen would agree. But really, who gave a damn about the flooded boiler Simon had seen to that morning?
"He kissed me," Jen blurted out.
Aria's jaw dropped. It was a gratifying sight.
“You hadn’t met him yet?” She asked. “What is he, like, a creep?"
Jen couldn't help but smile at that. "No. He's not a creep. He’s just... Antisocial. And very handsome." She cleared her throat. "But it can't happen again."
Aria snorted. "Why the hell not?" Simon remained blessedly silent; in fact, he looked as though his head might burst at any moment, like a balloon.
"Because," Jen frowned. "I need this job. You know that."
"Oh, stop stressing. All you do these days is worry. Kiss your boss! Shag him on your desk, even." She ran her pierced tongue along her teeth. “You never do anything fun. Slut it up for once..”
“Slut it up? How do you come up with this nonsense?”
Aria rolled her eyes. Then Simon leaned down to whisper something in her ear, and she—horror of horrors—giggled. He kissed her neck. Jen thought she might be sick.
"Listen," Aria said. "We're gonna go to bed. But you shouldn't worry. He kissed you, right?"
"Right," Jen admitted.
"So, worst case scenario, sue him for sexual harassment and make bank." Aria shrugged. "Use your head, sis."
"Right," Jen said wryly, watching as Simon tugged Aria up off the sofa. He was so... Creepy. That was the only word for it. But clearly, Aria didn’t see that. Or maybe she was into serial-killer chic.
"Anyway, we’re off to bed. Night love!" Aria called. The pair scurried off towards the door like naughty teenagers.
"Night," Jen replied.
Aria’s bedroom door shut with a decisive click. Flirtatious giggling commenced. Jennifer checked her phone. Just gone 11 on a Friday night: town would be heaving. And she shouldn’t go, anyway. She had a real job now. She was a responsible, professional woman. She couldn’t go out and get drunk whenever she had a crisis, no matter how blissful it would be.
The sound of bouncing springs began, squeaking through the small flat.
Ah, screw it. Might as well end her day of bad decisions with a bang.
Moving quickly, Jennifer got up and hurried off into her own room. It was just down the hall, separated from Aria’s by the bathroom. Usually, Jennifer would put in her headphones and settle down for the night. But tonight, she needed to blow her eardrums out, the way she used to. Tonight, she would go to Rock Palace.
Shutting her door, Jen stripped and chucked her clothes onto the armchair by her bedroom window. Goodbye leggings and unicorn top; hello tube skirt, band tee, and old, battered Converse. The tight skirt was a touch too small; she’d gained some weight since switching to a desk job. But she didn’t have anything else appropriate, and if her arse fit into it then, technically, she could wear it. That was Aria’s mantra, anyway, and it worked for Jen tonight.
Shoving a wad of cash into one bra cup and her phone into the other, Jennifer checked her reflection in the mirror by her wardrobe. She looked… fine. No time for more makeup, but her smudged mascara would pass as purposeful grunge under the dark lights of the Palace. Her hair was still in its neat, braided crown, and it would have to stay that way; she didn’t have time to be re-doing it in the morning before work.
But she wouldn’t think of work tonight. She wouldn’t think of work at all.
◆◆◆
She’d meant to catch a taxi, but the minute that the cool, night air slapped her skin, Jennifer knew she would walk. It wasn’t far, anyway; she lived in the city now. Now that she had a real job, now that she’d moved out of Grandma V’s. She should call Grandma, actually. She’d meant to call at lunch, only…
Only she’d spent her lunch hour worrying over a certain meeting. Cursing herself, Jennifer fished her phone out of her bra. It wasn’t that late; Grandma might be awake. But, just in case, Jennifer dialled the number for the assisted living home's reception, rather than her private room. Wouldn't do to wake her up.
“Harper’s: Home From Home. How may I help you?”
"Hi. It's Jennifer Johnson. I was wondering if my grandmother, Violet Campbell, was awake?”
"Oh, hello Ms Johnson! It's Glory. No, I'm afraid Mrs Campbell is resting now."
"Hey, Glory. How was she today? Do you know?"
"She was already asleep when I started for the evening. Around eight."
"Ah, I see."
"It's good for her," the nurse said. "To sleep. You shouldn't worry."
"Of course," Jen murmured. "No, I won't worry. I'm coming to visit soon. Maybe I'll see you."
"Alright, Ms Johnson. I'll let her know you rang."
"Thanks. Could you tell her I'll call tomorrow, around lunch?"
“Of course."
"Alright. Bye, Glory."
"Goodbye, Ms Johnson.”
Jen thrust her phone back into her bra, irritated. She had only herself to blame. She passed by a bustling pub, scowling at the drunks in the beer garden. They whistled and cat-called regardless. She kept on walking. It only took fifteen minutes before the sounds of the city were pushed aside by a low, insistent, thumping beat. The rapid rhythm of Jennifer’s feet against the pavement picked up, drowning out the shouted comments of the drunken men she passed.
Five minutes, and she’d be there; just around this corner, and up the hill. The music grew louder.
Ahh.
There were no lines outside Rock Palace. Those
who knew were always in by 11, and those who didn’t, weren't there. Its old-fashioned, Hollywood-style sign glowed red above the grimy steps that led up into its hallowed halls. Three girls, all dressed in black, young and giggling and holding hands, stumbled out together in short skirts and sturdy boots. The sight reminded her of good times with the friend she’d just left, and soothed the frown from her brow.
She deserved this one night. She’d been good for so long.
Jennifer made up her mind and climbed the steps.
Chapter Five
Some things are meant to be.
See, Theo had never gone to Rock Palace in his life. Truthfully, he'd never even heard of the place—until his little sister, Yen, had called him up demanding that he bring her some cash. Apparently, she’d spent all hers. And God forbid the leeches she called friends would help out the birthday girl.
Ordinarily, he'd tell her to fuck off—only tonight was her 21st. So, like the dutiful brother he was, he'd found his way to this loud, disorientating, sticky-floored hell-hole and ventured inside to find his annoying little sister.
He'd met Yen and her screeching girlfriends on a balcony level within the place, where clusters of VIP seating sat, and deposited almost all of the cash he'd had on him—a few hundred. He'd given his sister a shouted lecture about responsibility and carrying emergency credit cards, which he was almost certain she hadn't heard a word of. He'd winced at how precariously low-cut her dress was, and then he'd decided to get the hell out of there before he was moved to do something embarrassing, like throw his suit jacket over her.
But then, while he was heading for the stairs, pushing past a few of Rock Palace's heavily-tattooed patrons, he glanced out onto the dance floor below...
And he saw her. Amidst the heaving throng of black-clad, screaming clubbers, by the sci-fi-green light fracturing into the darkness, he saw her.
Jennifer fucking Johnson.
Some things were meant to be. It was the only explanation.
Keeping his eyes glued to her thick, braided crown, Theo fumbled his way down the stairs. He was certain that more than a few people swore as he shoved through the crowd, but he gave not one single fuck.
What the hell was she doing here? This was the last place he’d expect to find an angel.
But then, she didn’t look much like an angel tonight. She looked like a vixen.
He sliced through the screaming bodies like a knife, straight to the heart of the room—straight to Jen. The heaving throng interrupted his view of her every so often, but he saw enough as he shoved his way through.
She looked fucking amazing. Her skirt was tight, so tight it seemed to be straining at the seams, and it rode high on her dimpled thighs as she danced to the thrashing guitar music. Her upper body was mostly hidden by a loose T-shirt, but a ragged V cut into the front exposed the tops of her plump tits, bouncing as she moved to the beat. He wanted that body under his again; and this time he wouldn’t let her disappear on him.
But as he moved closer, she seemed to get farther and farther away. She stopped dancing and wound through the crowd so quickly, he had to hurry to keep up. Had she seen him? Was she avoiding him? No; worse. She was trailing after a man, some greasy guy in a hoodie who kept looking back to check that she was following. Theo set his jaw and kept his eyes glued to the pair. He didn't know who this guy was, and he sure as shit didn't care. He had to speak to Jenny.
They led him out into the smoking area, which was only half as packed as the club itself. Theo took a moment to breathe in the fresh night air, then coughed when he got only a mouthful of smoke for his trouble. Was that weed he could smell? Whatever. Shaking his head, he made a beeline for the cosy corner where Jenny stood far too close to the weirdo in the hoodie.
"Hey! Hey, you! Asian guy!"
Theo stopped, stiffened. With robotic precision, he slowly turned his head to find a drunken girl with short, silvery hair stumbling towards him. Apparently oblivious to his mood, she draped an arm around his shoulders.
"You're hot," she slurred. “Daddy as fuck.” With each syllable, a wave of alcohol-scented bad breath hit him. She fumbled around in the pocket of her leather jacket, producing two cigarettes and a plastic lighter. She put both the cigarettes to his mouth, and he was so surprised by the action that he actually closed his lips around them.
She giggled, then flicked the lighter until a little flame appeared. "Pretty," she murmured, staring wide-eyed at the fire. A silver lock fell forward as her head slumped, and she was lucky not to set her damned hair on fire.
"Alright," Theo muttered. "That's enough of that." He took the lighter from her, pulled the cigarettes out of his mouth and shoved them all in his pocket.
"Hey!"
"No lighters for you." He turned to his right, found a group of sober-ish women. "Excuse me; I don't know this girl, but I think someone needs to look after her."
The women blinked at him, then at the girl, and then, as though choreographed, they smiled all at once.
"Hey, honey," one said, reaching forward to grab the girl’s hand. "You come over here with us. Who are you with? Do you have a phone?"
The blonde stumbled into the group, and they closed ranks around her like a gaggle of mother hens. Theo sighed with relief. And clearly God was on his side, because Jen was still in the corner; she hadn't disappeared. Determined this time, he strode across the uneven concrete slabs towards her.
The man noticed him first. He had shifty eyes, and they settled on Theo with panicked suspicion. He jammed his hands into his pockets.
"What's up?" Jen was asking.
The guy nodded towards Theo silently, and she turned. It took her a good few seconds to recognise him; he watched as her expression went from irritation to shock. That pissed him off. A lot. But then shock turned into worry, and she looked down at her hands—just for a moment, just a flicker of the gaze. It was enough. He followed her line of sight, saw the tiny plastic baggie in her hand.
And now he was really furious.
“What the fuck is that?” He hissed, bearing down on the pair. The guy in the hoodie cowered, but Jen set her jaw.
“Nothing,” she bit out. Only she sounded slightly… Off. Her vowels trembled; her consonants dulled. He glowered down at her.
“Are you high?”
She rolled her eyes. “Not yet.”
“Listen, man,” her friend—dealer?—interjected. “I don’t need any trouble.”
“I’m sure,” Theo growled. Then he snatched the bag out of Jenny’s hand and tossed it on the floor, along with his last two fifties. The dealer dropped like he was on fire, grabbing the notes before they could blow away.
“Hey!” Jennifer snapped. Theo barely heard her; the blood roaring in his ears was too loud. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her away, shoving open a fire escape with his shoulder. The wooden door opened with effort, freeing them from the enclosure of the smoking area. They stumbled out into a darkened alleyway.
“What the hell?” She cried, pulling away from him. He let her go; he had to. He was too fucking furious to think, and he didn’t want to hurt her.
Theo swore under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. It didn’t help. And she was still glaring at him, arms crossed, clearly expecting an explanation. She’d be disappointed. His jaw tightened as he turned away faced the dark brick wall.
“Theo,” she said, and then she touched him. That was all it took; her hand on his shoulder. He spun around and grabbed her.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Jenny? Who are you with?”
“No-one,” she frowned.
“You’re doing this alone? Getting drunk, buying drugs—“
“I’m not drunk,” she insisted. “I’m tipsy. I used to work here. The guys won’t let anything happen to me.”
“Really? Because I just fucking abducted you and no-one lifted a finger.”
She avoided his gaze, her full lips petulant. Theo felt his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper arms
. Cursing, he softened his grip. “I’m sorry. But, Jenny, you can’t do shit like this. It’s dangerous. Guys like that are dangerous.”
Her brow furrowed adorably. “Who, Matt? He’s not dangerous at all! We went to school together. He’s a sweetheart.”
Theo had been calming down, but that claim had him halfway back to rage again. “A sweetheart who sells coke in nightclubs.”
“It’s not coke, it’s MDMA. You know I wasn’t buying, right?”
That pulled him up short. “But you—“
“He gave it to me. Because he hasn’t seen me in a while.”
Theo sighed, tried to keep his voice calm. “It doesn’t matter if you pay for it or not. You don’t know what they put in that shit. You don’t know what it might do to you. And if you want to get drunk, have a good time, that’s fine—but you have to be safe. You need someone to look after you. Don’t do this again.”
She just looked at him.
“Jen,” he said. “I mean it. Don’t. Because if I catch you again, I’ll put you over my knee.”
She rolled her eyes—but he didn’t miss the spark of curiosity in her gaze.
“Do drugs responsibly, hm?” A smile played about her full lips. He resisted the urge to kiss them. “This speech has changed a lot since I last heard it.” Then the smile faded away, and she sighed. “Look, I know all of that. Okay? I wasn’t going to take anything, anyway. I was just feeling…” She shrugged. “It’s whatever. I’m going home now.”
She turned and walked away. Of course, he followed.
He watched her closely as they travelled round the side of the building, ending up right by the illustrious front steps once more. He didn’t know what she’d had to drink, but she was handling it well. Still, he could tell she was drunk. Admirably steady, but drunk nonetheless. He followed unashamedly and she said not a word—didn’t even look back. He’d follow her all the way home, if necessary. But then she stumbled at the foot of the steps, so suddenly that he almost didn’t catch her.
Rushing forward, he wrapped an arm around her waist and lowered her gently the rest of the way down. She sat, suddenly docile, on the bottom step, and he sat too.
Bad for the Boss_A BWAM Office Romance Page 4