by Sara Forbes
I'm so tempted...
But what would his anger do? He almost lost it earlier. I could get fired. I can't do that to Martha. I just have to grin and bear it.
Slowly, I head up to the second floor again. I go past his desk with my vacuum cleaner in tow, like I'm walking a dog. Although he appears to be focused on his screen, I feel him watching me. It's just a weird sixth sense thing until I bend down to retrieve his wastepaper basket and I catch him checking out my ass in the mirrored surface of the far window.
Hah. He's not as straight-laced as he wants to let on. I straighten suddenly but fail to catch his gaze to let him know he's busted. He's too fast.
I'm pulling off my gloves ready to plug in the vacuum cleaner when he calls out to me. His voice is low and rough from fatigue. Because, you know, sitting in front of a screen all day is so damn hard.
I walk over expecting him to ask me not to turn on the vacuum cleaner because of the noise it'll create.
"Hi." He greets me with a sunny smile that displays his perfect teeth and leans back against his chair. "Jess."
At the sound of my name, my hand goes slack and I drop the hose of the vacuum cleaner.
"It's clean enough here already. I was wondering if you'd like to go grab a sandwich or a coffee or something?" he asks.
He sounds adorably shy. I cock my head just to make him confirm it because I can't quite believe his rapid recovery. Whenever I transgressed with Jake, it took days for him to get out of a sulk.
"I'm sorry," he says, rubbing his forehead. "I was a bit pent up this morning. Can we start over?"
"Uh...sure." I keep staring at him. It's a strange admission that deflates my annoyance with him.
"Truly," he continues, "I let the stress get the better of me, as I do sometimes...often." He shakes his head as if dispelling a thought. "Let's get out of here. Please?"
The plaintive note in his voice is what finally decides it for me. And I do love the way my name sounds coming from his lips.
Which is how I end up sitting in his car—the silver Jaguar.
He's sitting at the wheel, dark suit, a gaberdine coat thrown on over his shoulders. Despite having done nothing, he looks a million dollars. And I'm dressed like a cleaning woman off-duty, I guess. Jeans, woolly jumper.
"This can't take long, I'm getting the food to go, but it's nice to get out," he says as he swings out of the gate onto the road.
"That's okay. I need to get home soon anyway."
"Good. I saw this cute little new café on Meadow Lane."
"Oh yeah, I've been meaning to try that out too." That's a lie. I mean, I have seen it, but I can't afford to eat out anymore.
We park outside the café on Meadow Lane. The clientèle seems to be all well-dressed office types looking for a quick bite for lunch and the prices have been hiked up to match.
As we're waiting for our house-made sandwiches to be made, a voice carries over the background chatter. A voice I know all too well. My heart stops. I swivel in the direction of the voice, behind and to the left. There, joining the end of the sandwich queue is my ex, Jake.
He's wearing his usual trench coat and on his arm is a slim, dark haired woman with very red lipstick, listening intently to his every word. Eloise, my replacement.
My gut twists, So they're still together.
"...we should try that out too," he's saying, loud enough for the whole sandwich line to hear.
I flick my head back to Egan but it's too late, he's seen my reaction.
And Jake has seen me, too.
I breathe a deep breath of sheer misery as I sense my ex making his way over to where we're lounging against the counter. Oh God. Who'd have thought after two years of carefully avoiding all my old haunts I'd meet him somewhere I've never been before, at a sandwich counter no less?
"Jess?" he laughs, spreading his arms wide so that his clutching girlfriend has to let go. "It is you! What a surprise."
I glance into his shiny, smiling face. "Hi Jake."
"Eloise, look it's Jess," he says to the raven-haired woman. As I catch her narrowing eye, I wonder if she knows he still texts me now and again. Something tells me she doesn't.
Jake's gaze shifts up to Egan. I feel compelled to say something. "This is, uh, Egan. I'm his—"
"Business associate." Egan offers his hand for Jake to shake.
"Jess, did you sneak off and get a new job without telling me?" Jake asks. "I knew it." He throws Egan an indulgent look. "She is smart, you know."
There's a tick in Egan's jaw so small that only I can see it. Anyone would think he's just listening politely but I suspect he's trying not to laugh.
"It's actually the same job," I tell Jake.
"You're still a cleaner? " Jake booms. "No, no, no. You deserve better than cleaning toilets."
The other patrons in the queue have suddenly become very interested in their phones. Eloise clutches her Prada purse tighter, nudging into Jake. Her dagger eyes say it all.
"Someone's got to do it," I say.
"There are shittier jobs," Egan chimes in. "Buying and selling stocks, preying on little investors, eating them alive, down to the last juicy bone."
Jake shoots me a confused look. But this isn't on me. I never told Egan what Jake does for a living. I'm wondering how he knows myself. But it's fun to watch my ex squirm.
"Yes, I...well," Jake falters.
"Oh, here's our order, Jess." Egan nods at the server who's come out of the kitchen with a bag of our sandwiches and drinks. He hands the server a twenty-pound note with a casual "keep the change." The server beams at him.
"Well, nice meeting you, Jake," he says smoothly. Take care now." Then—glory of glories—he presses his hand between my shoulder blades, guiding me out in full view of anyone who might be watching. Am I'm sure Jake is.
I let out a groan of relief when the door closes behind us. "That was epic," I say. "But how did you know about him? The whole "preying on people" thing?"
"I wasn't talking about him. I was talking about me."
"Oh."
"You're upset," he says in a gentler voice. "You still have a thing for him?"
"No, no, it's just.... I hadn't seen her since that day. She's the one he dumped me for."
"How long were you with him?"
"Four years."
"Well he's an idiot is all I can say."
I smile. It's all I can do.
On the way back to the office, after two crossroads of complete silence, he parks the car in a spot overlooking a recreational park. He turns to me and asks, "Did it end badly?"
"Well..." I debate whether to tell him but one look at his face lets me know he's interested in a serious way. I fidget with the seat belt. "It was more that I was left in a bad way."
"How do you mean?"
"When I met him, he was such a hotshot economics student. And I wanted to support his career." I flush. It sounds so weak now, but at the time it all made perfect sense. And to explain why it all made sense means revealing personal stuff. But I suddenly want to justify why I gave up on a university course in accounting that my parents had to sacrifice a lot to let me attend in the first place.
"I really wanted a family," I continue. "I've always wanted one since I was eight. I couldn't ever admit that to my super feminist college-mates of course but that didn't make it any less true. So, when Jake hinted that his intentions were serious, it was sheer relief and an escape from the college dating scene."
"Filled with guys who had zero intentions of settling down?" he prompts, pulling out my sandwich from the paper bag and handing it to me. He takes his own and settles with it on his lap. Seems we're having a picnic in his car.
I unwrap and take a bite of my sandwich which is heavenly. After a few chews, I say, "Yeah, that played against me too many times. My fervent goals seemed to be tattooed across my face and it scared off most men. I was feeling very down on myself. But suddenly here was a good-looking guy who was devoted not only to me, but also to my goals i
n life. The fact that I fancied him rotten was the icing on the cake."
I take another bite. I don't tell people this stuff normally.
Egan nods. "Well I hope he appreciated you."
"For a while." I shrug. "Then he demanded I drop out of college to support him, which I did. Two years later, he dumped me for a chartered accountant, of all things."
He's shaking his head. "This may sound strange, but is it possible that, subconsciously, you pushed him away well before that point? Deep down, you hated putting your life on hold for him, even if you didn't admit it to yourself at the time?"
"No! Why would I push him away? I wanted a family. He wasted the best years of my life, deluding me that he wanted the same thing, but then when it came down to it, he discovered he needed more excitement, after all."
"The best years of your life are not over, you're what? Only twenty-six?"
"Twenty-seven," I groan.
"Eight years younger than me. You've still got it all to play for."
"Yes, but I get confused."
"You seem to have it pretty well under control," he remarks with such an admiring smile that I don't want to quench with the bitter truth. Certainly, if he could see how we're hanging on by a thread financially, he'd think otherwise. If he got a glimpse of what I was dreaming last night, he'd think otherwise. But I suppose, on one point he is correct—I have recovered from Jake. He was holding me back.
I'm about to ask him something when he speaks first. "Thanks for this, Jess. He indicates the space between us, making it clear that whatever we had here is now over. "I'll drive back to the office now. See each other on Friday?"
"Yes. So, was that your lunch-break?"
He nods and starts the engine. We're both silent as he drives the last stretch to the office. I'm trying to figure out why his lunch-break is so short and why it's in his car. What's the big rush?
When we're back at the office, I get out and start putting on my coat. My Honda is going to be a lot colder than his cozy Jaguar. Something catches my eye up in the building. Did I see movement? Somewhere in the second or the third floor. I peer up and scrutinize the row of square windows on both levels. Nothing.
But I know it's not nothing. I've seen this before. Is this the reason he eats his lunch outside? I'm not leaving until I find out about pink panties woman...or whoever it is that's up there.
Next thing, Egan's behind me, silently draping my coat around my shoulders. His fingertips graze my shoulders making me shudder. He's never been this close—close enough to feel his warmth, to breathe in his masculine scent, close enough to fantasise about falling backwards into his arms.
I turn to him, assuming a worried expression. "Egan, silly me, I forgot to set something on the thermostats. It's really important. I'll come in and fix that before I leave."
"Oh." He steps back. "Well, you'd probably better then."
14
EGAN
ON THE GROUND FLOOR, we stand in front of the thermostats. She lets out a sigh. So, this one here," —she taps the middle glass dial— "This is the master gauge. If that's too low, it thinks it has to heat up the building. Problem is, the sensor is placed near an air-vent which produces a constant draft so the thermostat thinks it's colder than it is and tells the heating system to kick in. So I have to re-set it periodically."
The problem is, I'm heating up, standing this close to you. She's soft and inviting, her scent wafting over me. I think it's rose, but it's subtle. Everything about her is pleasing. And yet, she seems clueless to the effect she's having on me.
"Can't we move the sensor?"
She grimaces. "You'll as good as destroy it. It wasn't built for dismantling."
"Buy a new one then?"
"Probably for the best, if you can afford it." She laughs. "I think you can afford it."
"Is that a judgement on my wealth?"
Her eyes are dancing. "Yes."
I lean my spine against the wall. "What makes you think I'm rich?"
"I said you could afford a new thermostat, that's all." She's chuckling.
"Nowadays, it's more expensive to mine Bitcoin than the reward you receive for doing so. So, this operation is actually running at a loss."
All of this is true. We're only mining Bitcoin because of the sentimental value for Paul. I've conveniently left out the ten billion that we accrued from clever investing over the past decade. She doesn't need to know that.
"Oh, I see. So, you can't keep going indefinitely, can you?"
I shrug. "No. But it'll soon be time to diversify into other things."
"Right." She nods. "Well, I hope it's successful for you. It's never easy to start new things."
I take a step closer. "But some new things, nonetheless, are worth starting."
She blinks and looks up into my face, her eyes wide and questioning. My hand gets a mind of its own and snakes around her shoulder. Then my other follows onto her other shoulder. I'm about to say something neutral, something businesslike, to diffuse the tension of this permission-less act that my body seems to have initiated all by itself, but all I come out with is, "like this."
We're chest to chest. She's heaving in breaths, but not moving away. She tilts her head up to meet my gaze head on. I'm filled with a heady rush of knowing she's into this too, otherwise she wouldn't be still standing there. I let my eyes roam freely over her face, her lips are calling to me, pouty and luscious and trembling. Oh God. She wants this too.
I angle my head to take her, crushing the fabric of her blouse between my fingers as I tug her body closer. I so, so want this. Only three or four inches separates our lips, a distance I plan on demolishing. She's still, watchful, through flickering eyelids. I lower my head another inch, going in for the kill.
But then there's this awful, jarring scrape of furniture from the floor above us.
We flinch and spring apart.
"What was that?" Jess whispers.
"Oh, I'm sure it was nothing," I say, realizing how pathetic that sounds. What I should have said was, I didn't hear anything.
"No, it was definitely something. It sounded like a chair being moved across the floor."
"Maybe something fell off the wall? It happens."
"No, I know this sound."
"Jess, never mind." I take her chin in my hands with the intent to kiss her thoughts away. But she jerks her body away. "No, Egan."
I squeeze my eyes shut. That's what I get for trying to distract her with a kiss.
Her face is hard. "There's someone upstairs."
"No, Jess—"
She plants her hands on her hips. "Are you denying there's someone else here?"
I'm speechless. I shake my head.
"A woman, by any chance?"
I nod.
She points up to the ceiling. "It's okay, I won't tell anyone your little secret. I don't even want to know it myself. I don't want to lose my job over this. This isn't my style you know." She gestures between our bodies. "And I'd prefer you didn't lie to me." She makes a move to go.
I block her path. "Let me explain."
"No need, really. Not my business. I'll just go now."
Fuck. Fuck this. I stare her down. My heart is about to burst. I can't let this happen. This is my only chance with her. I have to come clean. And face the consequences.
"It's not just any woman," I say. The energy drains from me like wine from a bottle. I collapse into a nearby chair.
"Which is kind of the point," she says in a measured tone.
"Her name's Natasha," I say.
"Russian?" she murmurs. "Might've guessed."
"I didn't take you for a xenophobe." I snap.
"I didn't take you for someone who hides a woman in his office," she snaps back. "But do go on. This story really needs an act two."
"I've tried my best to make it comfortable for her," I continue.
"Oh," she laughs. "Well, that's just wonderful."
"If I tell you, it's going to change things. Everything."
She plants her hands on her hips. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to find out for myself."
Jess is the kind of woman who lives up to her word which is unfortunate for me at this point. "Then I just have to trust you."
"You can trust me," she says solemnly.
"I know. That's the weird thing."
If only trusting her was the issue though. I've spent years drilling into the Bitcoin Billionaires that we keep our business to within our inner core—no girlfriends or wives were allowed access to the information. It was a rule I upheld in the face of hard protests and pleas of the guys. I'm basically the world's biggest hypocrite.
"She's a dissident," I say.
Jess's face crumples in disbelief. "A dissident?" Slowly, it clears again. Her gaze flickers to the ceiling and back to my face. "No...you're kidding."
I shake my head.
"And you're protecting her or something?"
I nod. "From the FSB, among others."
Jess grips the back of a chair. Not taking her eyes off my face, she slowly sinks into it so we're at eye level again.
I tell her all about my friend, Sergei Ritensky, about how I found Natasha cowering in terror in her home, the flight back, the days in exile, and our living as basic prisoners in this godforsaken building. How we live, how we sleep, like prisoners. How I cart utensils and laundry over and back from my house in Kingston where I never sleep these days. I tell her about Natasha's depression and suspected eating disorder.
She's looking at me as if she thinks I'm crazy. I don't blame her. This has been going on for too long.
"I have to meet her," she says, slapping her knees and pushing her chair back.
I hold out my hand to stall her. "You will. In good time. But in telling you this, I've put you in a different position now. You can't tell anybody. I will need you to solemnly swear to that."
"Egan." She clutches my forearms and stares into my eyes. "When was the last time she talked to anyone but you? To a woman? Have you really covered her needs? I don't think so. This can't wait. I must see her!"