Grappling with me, Tony steps back, accidentally tearing my silk t-shirt in the process. There’s a loud rip, but I don’t care. Luckily he gives me just enough room for escape. As I turn to run out, I catch sight of the industrial-sized stapler on top of one of the cabinets. So when his fingers brush the bottom of my ponytail, I pivot around and feign a swing at the side of his head. Wrenching himself out of the way, he stumbles backwards.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ he roars. ‘Are you crazy? That would have been assault.’
‘So is what you just did to me!’ I shout back, equally angry, but with a tremor beneath my volume. Watching him, keeping hold of my makeshift weapon, I back out into my office, deliberately opening the door to the main staircase so I can call for someone if I have to. Stuffing my things into my bag, I pick up the phone as Tony strolls in, calmly smoothing his tousled hair.
‘Hi. Can you call a taxi for Tony please?’ I ask the duty security guard. ‘He’s ready to go home. Thank you.’ Replacing the handset with a click, I look at my assistant coolly, trying to hide how shaken I am.
‘It was just a bit of fun,’ he says sulkily. ‘Talk about overreacting.’
I put a hand up. ‘You’re having a laugh! That was no one’s idea of fun and I’ve told you repeatedly I’m not interested. There’s something seriously wrong with you. Now get out.’
He takes a step towards me but stops as I brandish the stapler. ‘This will seem mild in comparison to what I’ll do if you take another step, Tony. And I’m more than happy to call the police.’ It’s all bravado, because underneath I’m shaking to the core, wondering if he’ll flip and I’m going to be an unsolved murder on Crimewatch.
His eyes narrow and he looks like he’s seeing me for the first time. He slouches his shoulders, puts on a kicked puppy dog expression. ‘There’s no need for that,’ he says meekly. ‘I’ll go now.’ A pause ‘I–I’m sorry. It was crossed signals, that’s all—’
‘That,’ I gesture to the filing room and then my ripped top to emphasise my point, ‘was nothing to do with any confusion on your behalf. You knew exactly what you were doing.’
‘B–but,’ he gawps at my tone, ‘I—’
‘We’ll deal with this tomorrow.’ When I’ve had a chance to calm down, have called HR and arranged to have him suspended, sought their advice on whether to involve the police or not. ‘Now go home,’ I insist. My hand hovers over the radio at my hip and the panic button I can press to summon security. Why the hell I didn’t think of using it in the file run I don’t know. Shock probably.
He flushes. ‘Fine. I’m gone.’
A slammed door and rapid footsteps follow. I wait a minute before calling the security office again. ‘Did Tony get his taxi okay?’
‘Yes, he just left.’
‘Thank you.’
Sinking my head into my hands, I sit there for a long time, waiting for the shaking to stop. After a while I drag myself out of the the chair and walk with heavy feet down to the front desk. ‘I’m not feeling well,’ I tell Lynda. ‘Can you track Evelyn down and ask her to cover for me please? She’s on silver duty tonight.’
She looks up with a quick smile. ‘Sure. She’s around somewhere. Hope you feel better soon.’
‘Thank you. Night.’ Stepping onto the street, soggy after a summer shower, I stumble numbly to the tube station, feeling like I’m caught in a nightmare I can’t wake from.
The next morning, having shared my horrid experience with Jess over a few glasses of wine and having had a good night’s sleep, I feel steadier. Steeling myself for the day, I put my most modest suit on. I could feel bad about what I’m about to do but I’ve given Tony enough chances to understand what’s acceptable and he went too far. The blue smudge of a handprint on my hip and yesterday’s ruined top agree. The only regret I have is not calling the police last night. Too late to worry about it now, though, and I can decide what to do after speaking to HR.
I sweep into work at half eight. Tony’s not due in until eleven because of a dental appointment, so I’ve a few hours to make the necessary calls and see if an HR rep can attend to help me suspend him.
Roberta, the new receptionist, in to catch up with some paperwork – probably trying to show willing – hails me with a wave. ‘Morning. You need to go straight to the conference room,’ she tugs her hair behind her ears, ‘you’ve got visitors.’
‘Really?’ I frown, ‘There’s nothing in my diary for this morning.’
‘They arrived twenty minutes ago and said when you came in you were to see them. I think one of them was from HR.’
Huh. Weird. Perhaps someone overheard or saw something last night so they’re here in anticipation of my complaint. ‘Fine. I’ll see them now. Can you pick up calls please?’
‘No problem.’
Skirting around the black marble desk, I push open the gold-plated Staff Only door and run up the stairs, swinging around the door of the conference room with a polite smile on my face. ‘Good morning, how can I help … ?’ Trailing off, I take in my regional manager sitting at the head of the meeting table with a grim look on his face. A woman I don’t recognise is sitting beside him in a formal grey suit, jotting something in a notebook, a copy of the disciplinary procedure in front of her. ‘Nigel, what are you doing here?’ I frown.
‘Sit down, Charley,’ he orders.
Sinking into the nearest chair, I fold my hands on the table. ‘Did you hear about what happened last night?’ I ask, perplexed.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he replies. I open my mouth to tell him the situation, but he carries on talking. ‘That’s why I’m here. It gives me no pleasure to do this … but I have to suspend you. We’ve had serious sexual harassment and bullying complaints lodged against you and you need to be off work while we investigate the allegations.’
‘What?’ The absolute bastard. My seat sticks against the carpet as I spring out of it and my feet get tangled in the legs. Steadying myself on the table, I stare at my boss. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Luckily the complainant won’t be involving the police, which is helpful. Otherwise we’d have to use the prosecutions policy as well, which as you know would make things more protracted.’
‘Again, what?’ The room goes blurry around the edges.
Nigel grinds his teeth and utters a sentence that clearly makes him uncomfortable. ‘Your assistant has alleged you’ve been putting pressure on him to enter into a…’ distaste colours his voice, ‘personal relationship and last night you tried to force physical contact on him—’
‘But it was him! He—’
‘It’s best you don’t say any more,’ the woman sitting with Nigel intervenes, expression bland. ‘Have a careful think about the allegations and wait for the investigatory interview to give your account. Sorry,’ she shakes her head, ‘I should have introduced myself. I’m Sally, one of the HR Managers. I’m here to explain the process. My role is—’
‘I know exactly what the process is,’ I say, speaking carefully. ‘I’m a manager. Just take my stuff and go, right?’ I long to get down on the floor and have a tantrum at the utter unfairness of all this but need to stay calm. Being anything other than professional will go against me. ‘Just send me the paperwork in the post. I’ll see you in the investigation meeting.’ I nod tightly. Stalking out, I take the stairs at a near-run, intending to leave immediately, face burning and chest itchy with humiliation. How can this be happening? How did he get to them so quickly?
On the verge of bursting into reception, I realise I left my personal diary and other bits in my office last night. Turning around, I slam into Big Baz’s chest. Reminding me of a very big, very dog-eared version of Danny Blue from Hustle, he’s the longest-serving, sweetest security guard. He’s not usually here at this time of day, unless we’re cashing up. Which we’re not. I wince. He’s here for me. Another wave of humiliation hits.
‘Sorry Charley. Can’t let you back up.’ His eyes are sympathetic and it’s some consolati
on he looks genuinely pained.
‘There are things I need.’
‘Make a list, luv, and call with it later. I’ll arrange for one of the boys to drop it round to ya.’
‘But—’ He crosses his arms and shakes his head. ‘Okay,’ I surrender. This is bad enough without attracting extra attention.
Following me into reception, he has the grace not to lay a hand on me, but it’s still a thousand times more awful because a few people I manage are drifting in, faces bewildered as they watch me heading out with Baz in my tracks.
The heat of mortification deepens, but I force a reassuring smile, ‘Just a bit of a mix-up. I’ll be back soon. Everyone keep on working hard.’ I feel like a criminal. Usually Baz’s services are for throwing out drunks or poor losers who’ve been parted from their cash because they don’t know when to stop gambling. But I’m neither of those. Still, as I step out the front doors, tears of frustration and anxiety scorching my eyes, I wonder if the second label is apt. Have I lost? Tony has already cost me so much. Respect, confidence in my abilities, and now, perhaps, my job. Am I like a gambling addict who doesn’t know when to quit?
More than anyone, I should know that in the end, the house always wins.
Now
There’s so much worse to come, my mind skitters away from it. Checking my mobile, I’m shocked to find it’s two in the morning. Throwing myself face down on the bed, I hold a pillow over my head and scream ‘argh’ into the mattress, long and loud. That finally seems to do the trick and I fall into oblivion.
Chapter Ten
DAY TWO
– Saturday –
By half five I’ve already woken three times and I decide to give up on sleep. Needing time to shake off a foul mood and bleary daze of exhaustion, I grab a black coffee from the machine in the corner of my room.
Pulling back the navy double-lined curtains, I gaze out of the window at the awakening city. Mopeds are zooming along the narrow roads in the dusk, and in the growing light I can make out the skyscrapers looming over other smaller but more architecturally compelling buildings. I know from the tourism magazine on the dresser that along the coast people from the mainly Catalan population are already making their way to the numerous textile factories, to the production lines that form the foundation for hopes that Barcelona will one day be a major fashion capital.
Padding to the other window, I squint down at the marina. The sea looks so peaceful with the first few rays of sunlight glimmering over it, so inviting, that with eyes gritty through lack of sleep I long for a refreshing swim. Setting the cup down, I flick through the hotel brochure. Fantastic – the heated indoor pool opens at six, no doubt for guests wanting an early-morning workout. I have more than enough time for a few laps before meeting Alex for breakfast. While I search for the swimwear I stuffed in my case at the last minute, I realise it’s only been twelve hours since I left London in the bitter cold. Feels more like twelve years.
I pull out the black bikini from my trip to Turkey with Jess a couple of years ago. It was such a great holiday – sunbathing, sightseeing, water sports, laughter, drinks by the bar. I was too busy to take a break in the six months of last year when I had a job, and I now regret it. All the experiences missed in favour of long hours and dedication … and look where I am now. No proper job, no money, no prospects. Shaking the maudlin thought off, I wash quickly and brush my teeth, tying my hair in a low ponytail. Yanking the bikini on, I turn to the mirror, frowning at how little it covers. There’s an obscene amount of rounded cleavage on display aided by the push-up top and the bottoms are cut ultra high on the hip. It’s one thing wearing it on a beach and another at the facilities of a posh hotel, but unfortunately I’m stuck with it. It’s not like I’ve got the money to buy an alternative from the discreet boutique tucked away in hotel reception.
Pulling on the white, luxury towelling robe from the back of the bathroom door, I push my feet into matching slippers and leave the room, key card safely in my pocket, yawning widely as I follow signs to the gym, spa and pool. Alex and I are in the penthouse suite on one side of the top floor, but the other side of it houses the leisure facilities in an atrium. Traipsing along a short corridor and through a series of white doors, I wave my key card over the inbuilt sensors and gasp at the white-marbled women’s changing rooms.
After a moment I wander out to the pool. The room is gorgeous; the domed glass ceiling overhead letting in the early-morning sun; lush palms and vivid purple flowering plants surrounding me and filling the air with a heady floral fragrance. It looks like I’m the first one here to enjoy it this morning. Kicking off my slippers and shrugging out of my robe, the heated air feels glorious on my skin. After a quick rinse under one of the poolside showers, I dive into the pool, looping through the blue in a U-shape before rising to the surface. It’s sheer bliss. The water is soft and warm and I feel brighter and happier already, the sharp tang of chlorine in my nose, my ponytail sticking wetly to my back.
Swimming to the edge, I curl my legs against the side, grab the rim of the pool and push away hard, doing laps on my back before flipping over into an efficient front crawl. Fifteen minutes later I start tiring, so finish off with a few leisurely laps before climbing out and reclining on the nearest lounger. The padded navy cushion is cosy and the rising sun warm through the glass above me. I’ll just dry off for a few minutes before going back to my room.
I jerk upright with a gasp when there’s a splash and drops of water splatter me. Looking around for the culprit, I see a dark shape moving effortlessly through the pool, but I can’t make out whether it’s a man or a woman. Well, as long as they don’t splash me again we’ll both be happy. Lying back down, my eyes drift shut. I’m aware of the moisture on my skin evaporating in the humid air. One more minute, just one and I’ll get going …
‘Charley. Charley!’
The voice intrudes and I fight to open my eyes, focusing slowly on the delicious face from my x-rated dream. Lifting a hand, I run my fingers over his cheekbone, trace a thumb over the rough stubble on his jaw and slide my palm slowly round the back of his neck. I smile drowsily, pulling him down toward me, lips parting. ‘Alex,’ I croak.
‘Bloody hell!’ Wrenching his head away, he grabs my hand and yanks me into a sitting position, hauling me out of my fuzzy dreamscape. ‘Charley, it’s time to wake up.’
Blinking the world into focus, I foggily realise what I’ve just done – touched Alex in a way that’s definitely not within working boundaries. Bright anger battles with dawning humiliation. Shit and double shit.
‘All right, I’m awake!’ I shake myself free, trying to ignore the flash of broad tanned chest with a sprinkling of hair, and the abs so defined they’re countable.
His comment resounds in my head. He’s right. It’s time to wake up, to the real world, where women who come onto colleagues uninvited ruin their professional reputations. Especially if they might have track records of that type of behaviour and the recipient is firmly against workplace relationships. Not that he knows about my track record yet but, when he finds out, me having grabbed him is hardly going to prove my innocence.
Irritation at myself and him ignites and sparks. Why was he so close to me when I was sleeping? And did he really have to yank me up like that?
‘Charley?’ he asks roughly.
Twisting on the lounger, unable to meet his eyes, I scramble over to my robe, hauling my arms through the sleeves and tying the belt with quick jerky movements. ‘I’m awake,’ I reiterate, ‘don’t worry.’ I bite the words out without turning, panic squeezing my windpipe. ‘See you in reception in a while.’
Bolting from the pool, I push through umpteen doors and jog down the corridor, not stopping until back in my bedroom. The next half an hour is hell. Shampooing my hair in a blistering shower, I scrub my body with exfoliator, trying to erase the embarrassing encounter with Alex along with the chlorine from my skin. All the while the mantra running through my head is don’t think, don’t think, d
o not dare to think.
Sprinting into the bedroom whilst drying with a fluffy towel, I brush my hair and pull it into a loose bun, yank on black underwear and perch on the bed to pull on dark-patterned tights. Then I climb into a grey sleeveless tailored dress with a short tulip skirt, grab the matching jacket and slip on a pair of black patent stiletto heels. Hanging the towel in the bathroom, I catch sight of my pale cheeks, bloodless lips and puffy eyes. Not a good look. I hurriedly apply the basics – pressed powder, eyeliner, clear lip gloss – and comb my fringe down with shaking hands. How will I face Alex?
I was going to kiss him.
And he knew it.
Oh, God.
I’ll just have to make the best of it. Apologise then maintain the biggest physical distance from him.
Arriving in reception, the polite professional smile I’ve pasted on falters when Alex steps forward from the front desk clad in a sharp black suit and narrow black tie, looking like he’s about to attend a funeral. Dark but devastating. Great. I address a spot above his left shoulder. ‘Shall we go in for breakfast?’
He drags his gaze over my outfit and frowns, carefully fixing his attention somewhere around my right earlobe. ‘Something’s come up,’ he says curtly. ‘I’ve got to sort out a problem with a new acquisition. Go ahead and eat without me.’
‘B–but,’ my throat goes achy and weird, ‘if it’s a business issue I should help you with it. Don’t you need me?’
He pauses, eyes raking over my face, expression guarded. ‘No,’ he replies tightly. ‘I don’t. I’ll see you later. Don’t look for me, I’ll find you.’
I don’t get a chance to say anything before he stalks off. Obviously he’s annoyed because of what happened by the pool, but that was just rude. And what can I do when he’s not given me the chance to say sorry? And what will I do if the almost-kiss has blasted away any professional respect he has for me, undermining my credibility? My plan will be totally shot.
The anxious thoughts whirl around in my jumbled head twenty minutes later as I push aside food I’ve only toyed with. Finishing my fresh orange juice, I stare down at the tablecloth, something inside hurting. I’ve got the horrid feeling it’s not just Alex’s opinion of me as an employee that matters. It’s his view of me as a woman too.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 32