by Lucy Alice
The phone rings. It’s diverted from Mr Marks’ so I put on my professional voice.
“Mr Mark’s office, Amber speaking, how can I help you. “
“Oh, uhm. Hi, Is Jackson there, please?”
“No, I’m afraid he’s not in at the moment. Is there something I can do for you?”
There’s an exasperated sigh on the other end.
“Look, honey, woman to woman, please, level with me. Is he avoiding my calls?”
My mind runs through the mental Rolodex of women who’ve been calling for Mr Marks lately. I recognise the voice, actually, but the name eludes me.
“I’m sorry, I can’t say, but he really hasn’t been in the office since Monday.”
“Has something happened? I’m his girlfriend, and I can’t get hold of him, and I’m really worried.”
“... his… girlfriend?”
“Yes, Elizabeth. I think we’ve spoken before?”
The librarian. The phone call. Friday night. My mind flashes back to the photos on his computer, and I remember the petite blond, but the details are sketchy. Her voice matches her boobs though, high pitched and fake.
“Oh, of course, yes. I’m sorry Elizabeth, I actually don’t have much to tell you. He was here on Monday morning, then he said something came up and I’ve not seen him since. I don’t even know when to expect him back, so I’m kind of just fielding all his calls at the moment, waiting on further instructions. I take it you haven’t heard from him either?”
She clears her throat and lowers her voice. “No, not since we had a minor disagreement on Friday night.”
Friday night? When he went to the Ice Ball and harassed me.
“I see. Well, I have your number here from yesterday’s message. If I see him, I’ll ask him to call you?”
“Please. Tell him I have exciting news.”
“Sure, should I saw what it’s regarding?”
“No, it’s a surprise, I want him to be the first to know.”
Her conspiratorial tone is a little weird, like we’re old friends and she really wants me to press but won’t tell me anything either way, so I don’t.
“No worries. I’ll pass on the message if I see him. Goodbye.”
Poor woman. There are a lot of other women on Mr Marks’ hard drive over the last three years. Hopefully she doesn’t think they’re exclusive.
A few hours later I receive a phone call from Jodie, Mr Anville’s secretary. She tells me he is on his way to the office to see me. I’m a little anxious because I’ve never actually spoken to the main man in the firm before.
He walks into the office with only the briefest knock on the door - I guess since he owns the building knocking is really only a cursory courtesy.
“Miss Evans?”
I almost quip something like “That’s what it says on the door” because apparently being a jerk is a trait in this office, but I hold my tongue and just nod.
“I’m Jason Anville. I understand from Mr Blythe that you are aware of what’s being going on with Jackson?”
“Some of it, sir, but I guess not all of it.” Then I realise that’s not true, I probably know more than the rest of them do. “Or maybe more than most, but I’m not really sure how much anyone else knows.”
He quirks a bushy eyebrow at me, suggesting I should go on.
“Well, sir, after Aiden”, heat rises in my cheeks as I catch a glimpse of surprise on his face, “... Mr Blythe, came in on Monday and mentioned something about documents and money, and Mr Marks stormed out of here, I began going through all our files on the server, and I found a few things.”
I lick my lips nervously.
“I also…” I clear my throat and shift in my chair because I know it’s a breach of company policy, and he interrupts me with a ‘Go on, Miss Evans’. “I also accessed his personal folder - his password was really easy to guess, but it’s not a word I use, myself” and I blush a deep red as the memory of Aiden licking mine for all of London to see this morning flashes before my eyes. If Mr Anville’s eyebrows go any higher, I expect he’ll need surgery to remove them from his hairline.
“And what did you find in his personal folders, Miss Evans?”
“Honestly sir, it’s probably better if I give you the memory drive and you just look for yourself, but sir, it’s not comfortable viewing.” I open my drawer, remove the hard drive and hand it over to my boss’, boss’, boss. He holds it in his open palm, like at least this way, if it explodes, it’ll only be surface burns.
“Is it enough to fire him?”
I’m surprised by the question. I’m an assistant to an associate. No one asks me to make decisions like that.
“I wouldn’t like to say, sir.” But that’s not the truth. I would like to say. I think he should be thrown into a deep hole and not be let out again, but less so because of his thefts and more because of the catalogue of gathered porn I’m sure the women involved don’t know he keeps.
Mr Anville stands up and begins walking to the door.
“Thank you Miss Evans. You’ve been most helpful and your discretion has been noted and appreciated.”
“Sir.” I stand up, and inhale as big a breath as I can. He stops, turns to me with his full attention and raises that eyebrow again.
“If it were my company, I wouldn’t let him back through the door.”
Mr Anville looks at me for a long moment, nods in acknowledgement and walks back down the corridor and I sink back into my chair with an almighty sigh. Between Aiden and this work drama, my heart is getting a thorough workout these days.
-_-
It’s just gone 6pm and I should have left the office an hour ago, but I’m meeting Sarah at 7pm and didn’t see the point in going home first, so I’m killing time where at least it’s warm. I’d much rather be going to Aiden’s tonight, but maybe a little space would be a good thing, and besides, I’ve hardly heard from him today.
There’s no one else around. With just days to go till Christmas, everyone is winding down, so I jump when my office door swings open to reveal Mr Marks flanked by two security guards. He looks the same, if a little ruffled and smirks at me the way he always has but it’s the pretence of a desperate man. I wonder if he knows my part in sealing his fate.
“Amber, gorgeous, what are you doing here?” He walks into the office and barks at the two security guards to wait outside, but they follow him in. He turns on them and angrily says, “I can collect my things on my own!”
Joseph, one of the night security guards I don’t see often as they start after my day ends, normally, coldly looks at him. “We’ve been instructed not to take our eyes off you, and to make sure you only remove personal items. Get a move on.”
He sneers at Joseph, then turns to me. “Help me out, Amber darling? You come into the office and keep an eye on me instead, eh?”
I look from him to Joseph and back to him before looking back down at my computer.
“No thank you, Mr Marks. I’ll let these guys do their job.” I can feel his eyes on me for just a moment before he storms into his office and slams the door behind him.
Undeterred, Joseph follows him in and I hear him say,“No, you’re not allowed to touch the computer. Step away,” before there’s a clattering of drawers and cabinet doors before, minutes later, they come back out. Mr Marks is carrying a box with a few personal items - his diplomas, a framed photograph of himself, and a few other things I can’t see - which he puts down on my desk.
He comes round to my chair and goes down on his haunches, resting his hands on my thighs. I look down at him with disdain, not even listening to his words as I look towards Joseph, who reaches out to grab Mr Marks by the scruff of the neck and ushers him towards the door.
As I see him retreating down the corridor, I remember Elizabeth, so I yell out, “Mr Marks” and all three men stop. He turns and looks at me with a smirk, like he thinks I couldn’t resist coming to stroke his ego.
“Your girlfriend, Elizabeth? She keeps calling
for you. Apparently she has big news.” His smirk falters and he mutters “whatever” loud enough for me to hear before being escorted for the final time off the property.
I’m about to turn around when I see Mr Anville standing at the end of the corridor, watching the whole spectacle go down.
“Miss Evans. It’s Christmas next week. Why don’t you take a few extra days off? Paid, of course. We’ll see you in the new year.”
“Th...thank you, sir,” I stumble through my words. A week ago I had to take an afternoon unpaid, and here I’ve just been given three whole days.
I return to my office to collect my handbag and as I turn off the light to what used to be Mr Marks’ office, it hits me: I felt nothing. Not when he looked at me, or when he touched me. Not a flutter, not a jitter, not a good feeling or a bad feeling. Whatever it was that once drew me to him, Aiden had touched, and stroked, and fucked and kissed right out of me.
*AIDEN*
The clock on the oven door clicks over to 9:00pm and I am going out of my mind, pacing up and down the apartment like a bitch in heat, which I guess I am, without the bitch part. Every part of my body aches for Amber and I don’t know where she is. We haven’t talked or texted much today as I’ve been in and out of meetings and I guess she’s been busy too.
I rang up my favourite Italian place down the road - a tiny little family run place with only 6 2-seater tables in the whole restaurant. You have to book weeks in advance, and for occasions like Valentine’s day, bookings are taken on the 15th for next year to even stand a chance. They close between Christmas and New Year’s because they are, first and foremost, a family business. Alfonso, the chef-come-owner knows me by name now, so when I called and asked for a special take away order it only took a healthy dose of begging plus a generous contribution towards their annual family trip to a little village near Bergamo for the holidays for him to make and deliver a meal for us.
I found candles in the back of the cupboard under the sink and some fiddly china candle holders I’d bought for mum at a school fete a lifetime ago. They are actually hideous things, but she displayed them proudly for months before they found their way to one of those places things disappear to in a home. Every now and then she’d bring them out though, and I loved her all the more for it. I hope Amber will appreciate their value to me too.
Or at least I did, but know I don’t know where the hell she is. The creamy foraged mushroom pasta isn’t looking so good any more, and the salad leaves have begun to wilt. I can’t stand it any more, so I grab my phone and write her a text.
Me: Hey Kitten. Where are you babe?
I read it and reread it and re-reread it. It doesn’t sound bossy or possessive or overbearing, so I hit send. I watch the screen for a solid five minutes before I throw it - the second time in a week! - into the sofa. As it lands, there’s a ping as her answer comes through, so I scramble for it again.
Amber: Hey Aid. I’m out with Sarah. Is everything okay?
She’s out with Sarah? The same Sarah who ditched her last week? When I’ve gone to all this effort and am sitting here going crazy, wondering where she is?
Me: Oh. I thought you were coming home after work…
Amber: You didn’t ask me to? I didn’t want to assume and haven’t really heard from you today.
I stare at the phone for a long minute. She’s right. I assumed she was coming here after work, because I asked her to never leave. I never actually asked her to come over, or said I was getting us dinner.
I’m an idiot. A jealous, crazy, deeply in trouble, idiot.
Me: You’re right. I didn’t. Can I see you tomorrow?
Amber: Sure. I’ll come over when I wake up?
Me: Great. Have a good time with Sarah.
I type don’t drink too much, but I delete it. I type call me when you’re home but I delete that too. I don’t know where this crazy jealous possessive Aiden has come from, but I’m not sure I want him hanging around.
I empty our dinner into the bin and put myself to bed.
*AMBER*
I’ve had such a great night with Sarah. I don’t know why I’ve been anxious about telling her about Aiden. She couldn’t believe I was sleeping with him after less than a week, and she had a concerned frown a few times, but she didn’t say much about it, just that she was happy for me. She also couldn’t believe everything that I had said about Jackson Marks, but she did mention that the finance department were going through all his client invoices to see the extent of the damage.
When I asked Sarah how things were at home she was vague and dismissive. She did tell me that her brother’s new carer was actually male and that she wasn’t sure if he was going to work out. Knowing Sarah I asked if that was because she wanted to sleep with him, or didn’t want to sleep with him, and she got a really strange look on her face, but at that point the waiter came back around and she shifted her flirting into high gear. Once he left the table our conversation went somewhere else, so I haven’t gotten to the bottom of this carer business, yet. We drank too much, laughed a lot, and when I eventually stumbled back into my freezing cold flat in the early hours of Saturday morning, I was really glad I’d gone out with her and sorry I’d been avoiding her.
Aiden’s text had been a surprise, as I didn’t realise he was expecting me at his place tonight - and I didn’t miss his use of the word ‘home’ in his text. I reread it now “I thought you were coming home after work”. Home. Not ‘my home’, not ‘going home’, just… home. Like it’s a place we share. My stomach does another flip flop at the thought of sharing a home with him and my breath immediately comes quicker when I once again think of how we christened his windowsill this morning. That was possibly the hottest sex of my life and it’s put me in the mood all over again.
Me: I’m in bed and just want you to know I’m thinking all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about you
I don’t get a response, so I stumble about getting myself ready for sleep. Still nothing as I get into bed, pulling the covers over me. I’m shivering as it’s really cold in my flat, like the heating hasn’t gone on tonight. I want Aiden so badly right now, I move my fingers into my pyjama pants, playing with my clit and remembering all the wonderful, terrible, magnificent ways he has broken me over the last few days and soon, I’m tumbling into the abyss again, as my body vibrates from the pleasure of the memory of him.
I’m just drifting off in a hazy sleep when I hear the BING of my phone.
Aiden: I’m always thinking thoughts about you, Sugar.
Then another.
Aiden: I’ll be at your flat before the sun is up, then you can show me ;)
I drift off to sleep in a drunken, bliss induced haze, and dream about security guards carrying big boxes of holiday days and cocktails which they hand out to all the couples having crazy sex in the sky above Big Ben.
~ 10 ~
*AIDEN*
I’m outside Amber’s South London flat just as the sun is breaching the horizon. Getting her text in the middle of the night made my day - my night? - and totally lifted my mood. I went back to sleep and actually woke up feeling rested, and like I could put all the crazy from yesterday behind me and just enjoy this new thing between us.
I dropped Amber off at her house before work on Thursday morning, but I’ve not actually been inside. When I rap lightly on the door, there’s a scurrying sound, and a thunk, and finally she opens the door looking like she’s done a couple of rounds with someone much bigger than her in a boxing ring. She’s wearing a tank top and panties, and I actually laugh out loud at the sight of her. She’s so beautiful, but holy crap, she doesn’t wear a hangover well.
She’s less than amused as she stands aside to let me in, so I lift her up and carry her in a fireman lift, down the hallway to what must be the bedroom. I can see the entire flat from the front door, and it’s tiny, so it’s not hard to find. I deposit her back into bed and as I lie down next to her, I realise it’s like a refrigerator in here.
“Damn, Ambe
r, it must be below freezing in here” I mutter as I scramble in under the blankets with her.
“I know” she whimpers from beneath the covers. “I think the boiler’s gone. I tried to have a shower but the water wouldn’t warm up, so I got back into bed and must have fallen asleep again.”
We lie under the covers until the sun is up and our body temperatures have adjusted, and the thought of sleepy sex with her is turning me on like crazy, but one lift of the duvet and I know it’s just too cold to even think of getting naked.