by L. C White
She flaunts by the kitchen worktop, holding a Filofax. I stay very still, inanely looking up, hugging my jacket like a comfort blanket. I chew on my cheek and sigh. She pulls open the door of an immense black double fridge.
“Where’s my bag?” My tone unsettles.
“Here.” She clops toward me, holding out a small bottle of green liquid.
I reluctantly take it and glower. What is this strange substance; what am I supposed to do with it? It looks alcoholic. Does she think I require a hair of the dog? Because the thought of anymore alcohol nauseates me. In fact, after this catastrophe, I shouldn’t be allowed to drink ever again.
“Mr Knight is dealing with a client; he will see you soon.” She take the Filofax under her arm, and disappears into the bedroom.
“Oh shit,” I mutter faintly.
Sara returns within seconds, holding out a bale of white towels and two tubes. One shampoo, and the other conditioner. Oh my god. I’ve seen this stuff in one of Cate’s hair magazines: Phillip B’s Russian Imperial. One wash with that stuff is the equivalent to a day’s salary at Aroma.
“Mr Knight thought you would like to shower first.”
She’s similar to a robot, still, and lacking in any expression. Has he entered this message into her body, so he can boss me around through her?
She stares, waiting for me to free her hands. I hum timidly. I do need to wash. I stink of last night. Stale beer, mixed with the faint tone of Hugo Red. And my hair, well, I dread to think. But this is crazy. I can’t possibly get naked here.
I place my jacket over my forearm, and aversely reach out for the towels.
“Ah, Elizabeth.”
Good god. Breathe in Liz. He’s here, all fresh and fine, but more casual than usual. Black jeans, grey V-neck t-shirt, and Lacoste sneakers.
“Sara,” he says, as I stand like a rabbit in headlights. “I need you to pull up the spreadsheets for the Rome division, and cancel my eleven o’clock.”
“Yes Mr Knight… would you like me to rearrange it for a later date?” Sara stands to attention.
“No, schedule a conference call for tomorrow with Mr Angelino, I’m busy today,” he adds.
He’s staring right at me, and my skin starts to boil. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol coming out from my pores, or his presence that’s affecting me this way. Most likely both.
“Elizabeth, I’ll speak with you soon… go grab a shower,” he says, nonchalantly.
He turns before I have the chance to ask where my phone is, and disappears through a door at the far end of the apartment.
I remain on the spot, cradling the plush soft cotton towels. My brains mushy and I’m so damn muddled up right now. I have options. I can just leave my phone, escape through what I can only presume might be the front door. But he’s just left my airspace, and for some screwed up reason, I want him back in it. Indecisively, I head back into the bedroom.
After listening to my angel and demon, pointing out the pros and the cons of me sticking around. I sided with my demon. It wasn’t difficult. My angel wanted me to be sensible and safe, and all my demon had to do was place the fantasy of Knight’s hands on my body in my mind. It was game over for goodness after that.
I remove my smelly clothes, and I turn on the lever in the wet-room. The jet stream emerges instantly. It’s so powerful and warm. I turn my back to the water, slanting my neck. I pour a blob of Russian Imperial into my palm, and lather it through my hair. It smells so sweet and foams perfectly. I rinse and wash away the moisturising froth, then give my panda eyes a quick scrub.
Steam floats around me as I unfold one of the massive towels. I’m not going to leave this wet-room until I’m dry and fully clothed. I rub down my top half, and towel dry my hair.
“Come on!” I grit, dancing side to side, trying to pull the skin tight dress up over my damp body.
I tidy and mop up the water the best I can. Then pick up the used towel that is now stained with my mascara.
I look around the bedroom for a hairbrush, cautious as a cat burglar. Surely there’s a comb or something. If I had my bag, I wouldn’t have this damn problem. I open a small top drawer in a long dresser. Perfect, there is a brush, not just one, but a set of fancy hairbrushes in a red velvet case. All look brand new.
Your fury teeth Liz.
I quickly dash to bathroom and look to the sinks. Not one toothbrush. There’s paste and mouthwash in the white cabinet, but nothing else. I can’t speak to him with rancid breath. Oh sod it. I squeeze a small blue blob on my finger and rub the best I can.
Okay. Now I’m as ready as I can be. He seemed pleasant enough earlier, and like he once said, he doesn’t bite. I draw in a breath as I timidly move through the wall panel.
Oh good. He’s not here. It gives me time to arrange the questions in my head. Sara trots across the floor. She smiles. It’s a strange, I know something you don’t smirk. She takes the wet towel from me between her thumb and finger, holding it at an arms-length like I’ve just wiped my ass on it.
“Mr Knight is waiting for you.” She gestures her head. “Straight on and through the door.”
Oh hell. Why does there have to be a slow walk and a door? I suck in my lip, and begin the long journey. My pulse quickens and blood warms my cheekbones as I stare at the solid oak door ahead. My bare feet sweat, leaving nervous prints on the marble. I stop, and stand with my nose practically touching the wood. I’m so close I can smell the varnish. I lift my hand and make a fist, but clam up.
“Elizabeth, come through,” he says, before I knock.
I hope there are no cameras observing my pathetic reaction outside this door. I quickly scour above. No camera in sight. He can probably hear my freaked out mumbling.
I gradually pull down the handle. I tell myself not to look at him. Just get in there and close the door. I hobble through, and now I have my face against the wood again with my back to him. My chest swells out to full capacity.
“Nice view, but I’d like to see your face.” His husky tone tempts to the point of ignition.
I turn with the aim of appearing resolute, but end up a clumsy twitching mess. And now, a large bump has formed in my throat, repressing my speech. I can’t do this. I’m going to pass-out at any moment.
He’s sitting at his desk. It’s old, with a large green leather writing mat in the centre. It’s very dim in here with no windows, and only one gold down light on his desk. He sits in his green chesterfield chair with a dainty grin, studying me over the rim of his designer frames. Even the glasses don’t mask his turbulent gaze.
I swallow, looking at the tall bookshelf behind his head to give my eyes a brief break. It’s full of thick black and red volumes.
“Why haven’t you drunk this?” He holds out the bottle of green liquid that Sara gave me. “It’s a simple tonic to help alleviate your symptoms. It won’t kill you,” he says firmly.
I have a better remedy that will alleviate my symptoms right now, and it is not that tonic Mr Knight.
“What’s in it?” I utter.
I take the bottle, unavoidably gawping at a small section of his skin beneath his V-neck. I take my eyes away to see his breath-taking lips pout. God, he knows. It’s so obvious. I may as well be standing here with my tongue hanging out.
“Come Elizabeth, drink your tonic, and I’ll fix you coffee.” He stands, beaming shrewdly, placing his glasses on the desk.
He waits for me to drink as I swish the fluid around. I don’t want to think this way, but I’m wary of it. His eyes scold, unimpressed.
“Here, hand it to me.” He waves his fingers.
I place the bottle in his hand and his skin brushes mine, delicately. His accidental touch, sends a tidal rush of desire throughout my body.
“I’ll drink some first, then will you trust it is exactly what I say it is?” I nod, biting my cheek as his thumb glides seductively across my wrist.
He unscrews the small cap and tips a quarter into his mouth. His lips cover the rim in slow-mot
ion; lips that I want on me. I’m incapable of blinking, what I’m seeing cannot be disturbed. Submerged in a state of utter need, I imagine him caressing me tenderly with them, like what he’s doing with that bottle right now.
He hands the tonic to me, glistening wet around the rim. He watches with great interest as I place it against my bottom lip and pour. It’s quite warm and syrupy. Tastes like Crème de menthe, and coats my throat pleasantly.
“See, if I wanted to harm you Elizabeth, I’ve had ample opportunity to do so.” He opens the door for me, and I follow him into the living area.
“Please, sit.” He pulls a chair out from under the excessively big dining table, and goes into the kitchen.
“Do you entertain often?” I ask, quite normally.
“Yes, of course.” Great. I’m so hopeless at small talk. “Do you take sugar?”
“Yes.”
He takes a selection of sugars in a crystal bowl out from beneath the green granite, and places them on the island. I’m kind of awestruck. I’m sitting in some multimillion pound penthouse, and Mr Knight is making me coffee. Suck it in Liz.
“So” I try not to shout, but he’s a good fifteen feet away. “What’s Washington and the Big Apple like? I mean, is it as chaotic as London.”
Jeez Liz. Shut up. If all that’s going to come out of your mouth is verbal diarrhoea, be silent. I inhale, hoping he doesn’t find me as ditzy as I find myself.
“Why Miss Lovell, I do not believe I have discussed such details with you yet.” He smirks wickedly, and I sink into the chair.
Oh that’s it. I throw in the towel. This is a freaking nightmare.
“Elizabeth… calm down,” he beams. “I told you I don’t bite.”
Full of shame, I glance through the wall of windows. Each one is coated with a tint. The view is stunning. I can nearly see the whole city from here. Tower Bridge. The river Thames. The old and new London across the horizon.
“Where am I?” I finally ask the question I should have asked long ago.
“It’s one of my pit-stops in this country. I travel frequently, and like my own place,” he says.
Okay. He’s boasting now. Of course he has several of these properties all over the globe. He probably owns a castle somewhere too.
“So, I’m where exactly?” I ask again, peering at the grey sky.
“You can’t work it out from the view?” he sounds surprised. “Look,” he orders. “We’re on the sixty-third floor of the Shard.” He glides his hand from window to window.
Sure we are. What a silly question Liz. I do apologise Mr Knight. Liz, you’re in the penthouse in one of London’s most famous buildings, get a grip.
Slyly, I watch him. He pulls down one of the handless cupboards to reveal a state-of-the-art, the whole shebang coffeemaker. He takes out a tiny espresso cup, and a cappuccino style mug.
“What would you like?” he asks. “I think espresso.” Okay, that’s dig number one for our Aroma encounter. “After last night you’ll need a pick me up.” There it is, dig number two.
I won’t tell him I’m not a fan of espresso. I guess I do deserve those jibes.
He brings my coffee and sugar over to the table. I’m hung-over dehydrated, and don’t think espresso will help. But I do need fluids, so rummage around the crystal bowl and take out a sachet of demerara. I rip, tip, and stir, then lift the cup to my mouth.
“Aww.” I burn my lip.
“My-my-my Elizabeth… you are impatient aren’t you.”
Oh, you have no idea of my impatience Mr Knight.
He takes his cool thumb and strokes it across my lip. I close my eyes for a moment, melting into the back of the chair with a sigh. He smirks, then sits back, as though touching me in such a sexual way was a normal thing to do. But it wasn’t. I now have the need to throw myself at him. Hell, my self-control is fading fast.
“Are you feeling okay Elizabeth?” He’s toying with me. God. Please stop Mr Knight.
“Hmm yes… I’m fine.” I notice he hasn’t made himself coffee. “Do you not like coffee?” That was a suitable question to dampen my lusty instincts.
Our knees nearly touch as he adjusts position in his seat, and I unintentionally flinch. Why is it so impossible to hold a conversation with him? I’m right back to square one here. Eyes fleeting in all directions, trying not to quiver and drool. My temperature is soaring dangerously high. And there’s this hellish desire that needs to be put into action, but I haven’t got the nerve to do it.
“Not really,” he says. “I require something with a bit more substance,” he adds, his face completely unreadable.
What does he mean: normal substance, or naughty substance? Hmm, he’s not giving me nothing to go off. Jeez. What the hell is going on here?
“Soup?” I almost squeal.
He sniggers. “I like soup, if it contains the right ingredients.”
He gazes curiously for a time with his head resting against his hand.
Okay Liz. Time to find out where your phone is now. Then you can leave and get back to reality. This can never work if you can’t function around him.
“I’ll have Sara fetch your bag in a moment,” he says as though he can read my mind. “First, I would like you to tell me why you behaved that way last night?”
I shut my eyes, shamefaced. I don’t want to think about it. Some things I remember, and some things I don’t. I’m going through the morning after the night before humiliation, and want to forget the whole thing.
“Do you not remember Elizabeth?” He better not be enjoying this. “Asking me to kiss you?” I burn red, and cover my face. “It’s fine… it’s to be expected. I serve alcohol; alcohol and pressure don’t mix well.”
It’s not fine at all. Of all the people in this world, I didn’t want Mr Knight to see me paralytic. Nathan, fair enough. He’s got me home in the past, and I’ve done the same for him. But the gorgeous, smoking-hot bachelor of the city, does not need to be dealing with comatose hormonal messes such as myself.
“So…why did you bring me back here?” I ask, wetting my nervous bottom lip.
“Well, your friend and my employee disappeared… and I didn’t know your address.” He shrugs casually. “What kind of friend is this Nathan anyway?” he asks, with a crumpled brow.
Oh no. I really don’t know how to phrase it. He’s just a friend. He’s a friend who I used to sleep with. He’s a friend I lost my virginity to, so we’re kind of bound forever. Liz, don’t answer.
“Do you have a past together?” he asks in a demanding tone.
He’s extremely pushy, and his commanding side is kind of sexy. But still I don’t want to go into detail.
“Well?” he presses.
“Yes,” I sigh. “I have a past with Nathan.” I hang my head a little. “We’re just friends now though.”
One of his golden eyes widens to study me. “Fuck buddies… the most destructive kind of relationship there is.”
Well, that was a bit over the top, and damn right rude.
“Look, I have to call Cate, she’s probably called me in as a missing person by now.” I peer around the penthouse. “And I have work tonight.”
He curves over. Our knees clash and invisible sparks fly.
“I have taken care of everything,” he says, so close his breath tingles my cheek.
“What do you mean?” My voice fractures with sexual fear.
“I’ve let your friends know you’re safe, and will be returning home shortly,” he explains like it’s perfectly okay to do that. “I’ve also had a chat with your boss, Harry… nice guy.”
What the hell. He’s been in my bag. In my phone. Has he called my mother too?
“I’ve told him you’re stressed, and he’s given you some time off.”
“I’m sorry,” I scowl in astonishment.
He leans back in displeasure with a hard expression because I’m not being thankful. I see his athletic chest expand. My eyes are addicted to him, but shit, I should be furious. In fa
ct, I should be alarmed right now.
“I’m sorry if I have took things too far.” He curves over again. “I thought it was better to let them know where you were.”
He’s right I suppose. I’m just not sure where he’s going with this. I offer a faint smile. He’s managed to make me feel guilty. He’s a dab hand at this reverse psychology malarkey.
“It’s okay,” I sigh. “As long as they know I’m safe. Nathan?”
He whirls his pupils. “Yes, yes,” he huffs. “Sara explained everything… and he was ever so concerned for you.”
“Is that sarcasm?” I grin with a tilt of my head.
“No, I’m being serious,” he replies bluntly. “He was actually very concerned.”
“Oh.”
I fiddle with my hands on my lap. Out of the blue, he cups them with his. I peer down at them feeling and fondling my skin. Each finger taking a turn to run up to my wrist. He’s cool, like his circulation doesn’t function correctly. I should be thinking right now, is he ill or something? But the truth is, his skin on mine is making me seethe to the point of madness. I wriggle my butt on the leather, finding it difficult to keep my hips still.
“Elizabeth.”
Why does he call me that?
“Liz, please… you make me sound like I belong in a care home.”
“Elizabeth,” he says, adamant. “I need to discuss something with you; a matter that concerns us.” His eyes are so unforgiving. “Do you have a faint heart?”
My eyelids bat slowly. He’s being so mysterious. Yes, my heart’s faint right now, for him. Why won’t he just kiss me?
“Do you have feelings for me?” he asks. “Because I have for you, and I need to know if that’s mutual.”
Whoa. Mr Rich has just told me he likes me. I look like crap, have the hangover from hell, and he can, and probably has laid every bimbo in the city. I’m stunned. I’m so amazed, I’m totally lost for words.
“Elizabeth?” He wakes me from my stupor. “I have a very important role to play in the city. There’s a hell of a lot of people depend on me, and there is legality that must be complied with. Even in my personal life.” He’s making this all sound very business.