He tilts his head, and it’s just inches from mine. “So, Millie, how was your first day? Think you’ll enjoy it here?”
I gulp as everything down south clenches. My heart flutters as his tongue licks over his bottom lip. It’s innocent but sexy as hell. “It was great, and I’m sure I’ll love it here.” To be fair the job could absolutely suck, and I’ll still love it, staring into those deep blue eyes all day.
He smiles and my knees weaken. “Good.”
Thankfully before I can get lost and kiss him, someone starts talking to him. He makes small talk for a second and then turns to me. “Gregory, this is my new PA, Amelie Cohen. Millie, this is Gregory. He works on the top floor for AL Associates.”
“Lovely to meet you, Amelie.”
“Likewise,” I reply, shaking his hand. I want to ask what AL Associates is, but I have a feeling I’m expected to know. I don’t need any help in making myself look like an idiot, so I smile sweetly and keep my mouth closed.
“So where did you find her, Aden? I’d like to get me one,” Gregory jokes, nudging Aden with his elbow. Aden fake laughs and gives me an apologetic smile.
I press my lips together. The lift comes to a stop at the ground floor, and I want to kiss it. I know me, and I know I’m seconds from embarrassing Aden and myself by saying something to the letch that is Gregory. I walk out to the car park with Aden, leaving Mr Dirty Pervert hanging around by the lift.
Being in the open with Aden is easier, nothing can happen here. I can’t jump him here. He turns to me, his eyes blazing. I gulp. Maybe I can?
We walk side by side and I want to steal a peek at him, but I’m scared he’ll catch me, so I keep my eyes ahead, ignoring the butterflies swarming in my stomach. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Millie,” he says. His tone is low and sexy as hell.
“Yes. Bye, Aden,” I whisper and walk to my car before I do something stupid. I give it a week before I make a move and end up being fired.
Chapter Three
The second I step through the front door, I pull off my heels and throw them on the floor. I love heels, and how they make me feel but, Jesus, they kill. “Pick those up please, Amelie, and come to my dressing room. Margaret is here with the dresses,” Mum says as she walks past me like a whirlwind.
Oh my first day was great, Mum, thank you very much for asking!
I hold in a sarcastic reply and take my shoes to my room. Can I not even do one normal thing in this damn house? Doesn’t everyone take off their shoes and chuck them down when they get home? My mother needs to chill out a bit; I’m surprised her head’s not exploded by now.
I change into a long top and leggings. Leggings are a cardinal sin in my house, something that hookers and the lesser people wear, or that’s what Mum’s horrified reaction makes me believe she thinks. I like them, though. They’re comfortable, and a tiny part of me – my immature inner child – likes that she doesn’t like them.
My parents are hosting what they’re calling a summer party. In reality, it’s a pimping Isabel out party where they’ll not so subtly search for the perfect man to take her off their hands. She should get off her arse and go out and meet people not rely on our parents to find her someone suitable.
I always wonder how much say my parents have and if Isabel would just go along with whoever they suggest, even if she doesn’t have a connection with him. It’s not an arranged marriage, but I think she puts a lot of trust in my parents’ matchmaking abilities. Harriet and Oliver seem happy with their partners.
Having a dress fitting is the last thing I want to do. I want to lie in bed, watch crappy TV, eat junk food and obsess about Aden. Well I don’t want to do the obsessing thing but I know I will. Aden was definitely flirting with me too. I did not imagine that, did I?
Mum flits through the room, pointing to the portable rails full of full-length dresses that now fill the room completely. I bet none of them will be to my taste at all. I don’t see why we can’t go shopping like normal people, but Mum insists on getting Margaret to bring her designs here. Margaret is a genius dressmaker, but a genius dressmaker for the over thirties.
“How was work Amelie?” Isabel asks, appearing from behind a black screen. She turns her nose up as if my job is licking people’s feet clean.
I smile, picturing my new sexy boss. “It was great.”
She looks at me sceptically and turns her attention back to the rails of dresses. Whatever, she has no clue what she can actually have from life; everything outside of this house is so evil to her. I swear she thinks if she goes to work she’ll spontaneously combust on the first day.
Five minutes later and I want to hang myself with one of the silk scarfs. Conversation is all outfits and scandal of the month: The Jones’ are getting a divorce. Whatever will poor Gillian do now she’s a divorcee? Like she’ll have to worry, Frederic Jones is a multi-millionaire and Gillian is a shark. I have no doubt she’ll get half of everything – probably more actually – so apart from sleeping alone nothing will change for her.
“Oh this is definitely the one for me,” Harriet says, popping out from behind the same rail Isabel appeared from. How many more people are back there? “Margaret, do you think you’d be able to make something similar for Harmony? She’d look so cute in this colour.” Blue. Does anyone look bad in blue?
Mum and Isabel finally decided on Isabel’s dress – yes a joint decision because a twenty-three year old woman can’t possibly choose all by herself. It was nice; I suppose. Black, long and it clung to her body. It’s a little plain for my taste, but she will definitely get noticed, though hopefully not by someone with a thing for French models.
The dress I eventually settle on, against my mother’s wishes, is the closest thing that I’d pick for myself. It’s blood red, long, of course, but backless and has a slit up the side of the skirt revealing my right leg.
“Did you have to pick that dress, Amelie? I don’t want you taking the limelight off of Isabel.” She shook her head. “I gave up finding you a decent man a long time ago but please don’t ruin it for your sister.”
“What do you mean by that?” I practically growl.
“I mean the way you act isn’t going to find you someone decent and as much as I’ve tried to change it for you, I can’t. You’re too stubborn for your own good, and I worry about your future, but I won’t have you ruining Isabel’s chances. You had better be on your best behaviour, young lady and do not embarrass me.” I roll my eyes, feeling like a child again. “I’m serious, Amelie. You don’t want the life we’ve shown you – yet – but Isabel does.” What does that ‘yet’ mean? Oh God is she still thinking that I’ll eventually come around? She is going to be very disappointed.
I hold my hands up to get her to stop talking for one bloody minute. “I get it, Mum! I won’t embarrass you. Hell I won’t even talk to anyone if it makes you happy.”
“Don’t be so ridiculous. Just be respectful and polite.” She turns around when Margaret appears back with a dress Mum wants to try on.
Be polite. Bloody cheek. Like I was going to go around kicking the guests in the shin and spitting in their champagne.
I take a deep calming breath and sit down on the cream leather sofas next to Harriet while she and Isabel now look at the jewellery. The glass coffee table is covered with diamond necklaces, rings, bracelets and earrings. Isabel has picked the largest diamonds she could find. She puts them on and sparkles more than a cheap stripper’s glitter-covered tits.
“This one would look gorgeous with your dress,” Harriet says, handing me a necklace.
I nod and take hold of it, ready to let Mum know I’m accessorised out. “Thank you.” I don’t really care; I don’t even want to go but then how will it look if I’m absent?
I sit back and listen to my sister’s squeal over jewellery and how Isabel is going to find a man at the party. Apparently Mum has spent hours on the guest list – which doesn’t surprise me – to give Isabel a great choice of appropriate men. My Mother is a bloody pim
p. I don’t see why Isabel can’t go find someone on her own.
“I can’t wait to find my husband,” Isabel gushes. “And lose my virginity,” she adds with a giggle. Wait her virginity. I cough on air. Isabel has been engaged before.
Harriet pats me on the back gently. Thankfully they don’t pick up on it being surprise cough. “Are you okay, Amelie?” she questions, her eyes full of concern. I nod numbly, completely unable to form words. How the hell did she get through high school and her pointless University stint without getting laid?
Thankfully Cordelia’s arrival saves me from asking a question that will no doubt just make me look like a slut in my mother’s eyes. Cordelia is holding two large trays of food. We’re eating in here? What the hell happened to dinner?
“How’s it going, ladies?” Oliver asks as he strolls through the door, watching where the trays are being put.
“Fantastic,” Isabel replies with a squeaking noise added at the end.
My brother sits down on the other side of me and lays his head on the back of the sofa. “So work, huh? How was it?”
“It was great. I’m going to love it there,” I reply honestly, and my mind wonders back to Aden and his piercing blue eyes again.
Oliver turns his body towards me slightly. “Are you completely sure this is what you want? This life isn’t as bad as you think and at least you’ll know you’ll be looked after,” he whispers so Harriet and Isabel can’t hear.
Now as the most normal sibling – after me, of course – I’m disappointed by his question. He’s the most understanding one, and he’s questioning it too.
Mum comes out from behind the screen, demanding that the dress be taken up a little.
“I’m sure,” I whisper quickly. He sighs and nods. He wasn’t exactly doing cartwheels when he found out I wanted to chuck my parent’s lifestyle, and I try to remember he’s only concerned about how I’ll survive on my own.
“How’s Da-Joshua and Thomas?” Crap I almost called them Damien and Lucifer to his face. That would go down like a lead balloon. And aren’t the little angels supposed to be here? If they were in the house, I would have heard them by now.
He smiles and his whole face lights up. I know he loves them, but I wonder if he’s secretly scared of them too? “They’re great. Samantha’s taking them to the zoo with her Mum instead. Mary decided they should take them out to celebrate Joshua’s reading certificate in school.” Whenever Oliver talks about his mother-in-law it’s always with a tight jaw. Samantha wouldn’t have told her Mum that Oliver was bringing the boys here so they couldn’t do something today; it’s always Oliver who has to change his plans.
I almost made a joke about them sacrificing the animals at the zoo – well less of a joke and more of a genuine concern – but I smile instead. “Oh.” I want to say sorry, but I know he’ll play it down and say he doesn’t mind. “That’s great about the certificate, though.” Oliver nods and turns his head away. The conversation is over.
We spend the next twenty minutes looking at Mum’s dress and where it should be taken up and in, and helping her pick out matching jewellery and shoes. Oliver hangs out on the sofa looking bored. He would definitely be better off at home. I don’t know why he’s still here if he doesn’t have to be.
I sit on the sofa for another forty-fucking-five minutes, bored out of my mind. I’ve already counted every coat hanger on the rails, and the number of diamonds in the necklace Harriet picked out for me.
“Thank you very much, Margaret,” Mum says, and I know she’s dismissing her. Thank God it’s over. I leave the room, knowing I’m no longer needed. Not that I was needed after my outfit was chosen, but Mum likes her girls to help each other out when picking out dresses. I suppose it’s nice that she involves me too. It’s about the only time when I don’t feel like she would rather I wasn’t here.
Finally I step back in my room, and I’m safe. In here, I can just relax and be me without having those where did it all go wrong looks from my parents. I turn the music on and start dancing around to Lady Gaga, throwing my arms around like I’m on fire. This is how I let off steam.
My phone rings on my bedside table and I freeze. Whoever it is has just ruined my crazy dance time that everyone has but not everyone admits to. I don’t recognise the number, so I almost ignore it but then it would bug me. “Hello,” I say into the phone.
“Amelie?” I still at the sound of his silky, smooth voice. “Is this a bad time?” Aden asks, sounding really amused as if he can see me. Shit, can he see me? My gaze shoots to the still closed door and then my window. He’s definitely not stalking so perhaps he just imagines I’m doing something weird.
I turn the music off, ending Gaga mid Poker Face. “No, not a bad time. What’s up?”
“I’m sorry to call so late,” he starts. Late? I look up at the clock, and it’s almost half past nine at night. Wow, I should have known it was late when food was brought up to Mum’s dressing room.
“I forgot to tell you about a meeting I have tomorrow morning. My apologies, I didn’t even scribble it down and I’ve just seen an email confirming the time. Do you think you could be in half an hour early tomorrow to accompany me?”
An extra half an hour perving over my sexy boss? Oh like he has to ask. “Sure, no problem.”
“Great, thank you. Okay I’ll let you go and get back to Lady Gaga. See you tomorrow, Millie,” he says, chuckling quietly as he ends the call.
I sigh and throw myself back on my ridiculously large bed. Why do I keep embarrassing myself in front of him? Right, tomorrow I’m going to make more of an effort and I will definitely not play on the office furniture.
Because I know how sometimes mornings for me are something straight out of hell, I pick out an outfit for work and hang it on the front of my wardrobe, giving myself more time tomorrow. I then set my alarm because there is no way I’ll wake up before it goes off – ever.
My evil, devil alarm wakes me up. I groan, turning it off. Half an hour early means I don’t have time for my usual three snoozes. I get out of bed and curse Aden.
As soon as I’m ready and finally awake, I don’t mind the early start anymore, plus today I’m going to show Aden that I’m not a childish pervert. My outfit, hair and make-up is perfect – and very professional, grown-up – so I make my way downstairs to have something to eat, even though I’m not at all hungry. I just want to avoid the embarrassing stomach growls.
“You can’t only have a banana for breakfast, Amelie,” Mum says in her ‘Amelie’s done something stupid again’ voice and sighs. “Let me get Marco to make you a fruit salad.” I stare at her for a second; trying to work out if she’s serious. She wants to get the cook to cut up some fruit for me? Now I’m no master chef, but I’m pretty sure I can pull that off.
“It’s fine, Mum. I’ve got to go in early, but I’ll get something else in a bit. I gotta go.”
“I need to leave,” she corrects, shaking her head. That one wasn’t even on purpose either. I smile as I walk out and then realise it’s not the best start to the new adult me. But surely if you don’t have fun, even childish fun sometimes, you’ll just end up being sad and boring.
I skip outside, feeling pretty good about today but as soon as I turn the corner I freeze. No. Oliver’s car is parked in front of mine. “Oliver!” I scream at the top of my lungs and run back in the house. Not good. I need to leave in two minutes, or I’m going to be late. What the hell is he doing here anyway? And why block my car?
I almost run into him as he walks towards the front door. “What?” he asks, eyebrows pulled together in worry.
“You need to move your car. Now!”
“I would love to, Amelie, but it’s broken down.” My heart stops. “A mechanic is on his way.”
“Well push it then,” I hiss. He rolls his eyes and walks back into the house. I hate him.
I run to the cloakroom and grab the keys to one of my Dad’s cars without looking at them. I have no idea which car they belonged too,
but I don’t care as long as it works. Dad has loads of cars all lined up in a huge garage to the side of the house. I look down at the keys and notice a Mercedes key ring on them. Okay he has three Mercedes cars, and they are all parked beside each other. I check the locks, and it didn’t fit any of them. I scream in frustration. Why me? Suddenly I realise what car it’s for. No. Dad’s classic Mercedes. No, no, no! Oh God I don’t even have enough time to go back to the house and get different keys.
I get into his car and just want to just die. I look like a middle-aged man smack in the middle of his mid life crisis. I drive to work with the roof down because I don’t know how to close it. If it rains, I’m screwed. Thankfully he keeps his cars filled with petrol at all times because I’m pretty sure I’ll never get petrol in it.
Everyone turns to look at me as I pull into the car park. I look like I’m begging for attention in this stupid, classic flashy car. Just keep your head up and walk fast. Why did it have to be this one? All the other ones were fine, and no one would have batted an eyelid, especially in this neighbourhood. I get out, slamming the door a little harder than necessary and walk towards the glossy looking building.
It’s no quieter inside even though I’m earlier and I start to wonder if any of them actually leave. The glass lift carries me and two other women up, and I feel like I should go again. They talk quietly, discussing their day, and how one of them is almost making partner – they must belong to the law firm. Although I’m happy to start at a PA level, and lets face it it’s about where I belong right now, I can’t help wanting more.
I get off at my floor and they stay on, going higher, of course. “Millie.” I freeze when I hear that sexy voice. Aden is leaning against the door of the kitchen looking so gorgeous in a black three-piece suit that my mouth waters.
“Hi. Sorry I’m a little late.”
He shrugs. “You’re not. Thanks for coming in early. Lets get started,” he says and walks off. Okay then.
Crossing the Line Page 3