‘I remember. It’s probably quicker to type them straight into your laptop. Is that okay?’
‘Whatever you want.’
You naked in my bed? Thank God I don’t say it out loud. And that my dress is thick enough he can’t see the effect the thought has on my nipples, which immediately go hard and bead.
‘If that’s it then?’ I squeak. Clearing my throat, I rise from my chair.
His voice stops me. ‘What did you think of the presentation? It went well, didn’t it.’ His smile is a touch arrogant.
I won’t feed his ego by telling him how inspirational he was or how much he impressed but I’ll give credit where it’s due. ‘I liked your plans for the UK projects.’
‘Thanks.’ His fingers tap on the table. Quick, slow, quick, quick, slow. ‘I believe they’re worthwhile, especially if it means other people get involved.’
‘I’m sure they will.’ Pushing back from the table, ‘Catch you—’
‘What’s the worst thing about your job?’ he asks quietly, leaning forward.
Being sexually harassed by your creepy assistant? No, not the place for that conversation. Crap. What do I say? Think about it from a PA angle. ‘You’re not about to go off and do some Undercover Boss thing are you?’ I ask, to give myself time to think.
‘What?’ He looks blank.
‘The TV programme? Where CEOs go undercover on the front line to find out what’s really happening within their companies? Then deliver the findings back to the Board?’
‘I don’t watch much TV. And I’m sure most of it’s garbage anyway. And no, I’m not doing undercover whatever it was, I’m just … interested.’
‘Right.’ I place my chin on my hand in a deliberate thinking pose and make a mmmm sound. He stifles a smile. ‘Well, I guess it would be rapidly shifting priorities.’
‘Really? I didn’t think you’d be bothered by that. You can’t handle the pressure?’
‘Of course I can! I’m just answering your question.’ I take a breath. ‘And just because I don’t like it, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Does that make sense?’
He nods jerkily. ‘Strangely, it does.’
What’s going on with Mr CEO? ‘So what are the worst things about your job?’ I follow a hunch.
‘Nothing. I love it,’ he answers robotically, dragging a hand through his hair. ‘Why?’ he shoots defensively.
I sit back in surprise. ‘I was just asking the question you asked me.’
He sits back too, frowns. ‘Ye–es,’ the word slides out. He’s thinking. Considering. ‘But that’s different.’
‘Because I’m a junior member of staff and you can tell me what to do?’
He waves off the remark. ‘It’s not about hierarchy in that way,’ he replies, ‘but I suppose it is.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You can share things. But I’m the one in charge.’
‘So you can’t share? Or won’t?’
‘I can’t let any doubts or weaknesses show.’
‘Rubbish! You’re as human as the rest of us. Aren’t you?’ Yanking my notepad and pen from my bag: ‘But just to keep you happy.’ I scrawl on my pad as I talk. ‘I, Charley Caswell,’ I declare, ‘promise not to blog/post/tweet/socially broadcast/sell to the papers/tell anyone anything Alex Demetrio discloses to me, or which happens, during the course of this assignment. Forthwith—’
His white teeth click shut and he rolls his eyes. ‘Very good. You’ve made your point. Now put it away.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Putting the pad aside: ‘So, the worst thing about your job?’
He starts fiddling with the arrangement in the middle of the table, a finger playing with a row of red beads entwined with the flower stems. I gulp and squirm in my seat. ‘The travel,’ he murmurs.
From the way he’s acting I was expecting something a bit juicier. ‘Oh. That’s it?’ I raise one eyebrow.
‘Isn’t it enough?’
‘I’d love to travel more, see the world.’
‘Yes but you don’t see the world, only an endless series of hotel bedrooms and conference facilities. If I’m lucky I eat in the restaurant, but I usually order room service so I can work at the same time.’
It sounds lonely. Joyless. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. When you see it in movies it seems glamorous.’
‘It’s not.’ His expression is grim, lips pale. He’s wound so tight. I feel a ridiculous urge to offer him comfort, but that’s not allowed. ‘It’s tiring and relentless.’ He sighs. ‘Especially when there are people you’d rather be spending your time with.’
A girlfriend? My mind magics up an image of him kissing a skinny blonde. Ick. A friend? The look on his face doesn’t invite further questions so I settle with a soft, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ he grinds out. ‘I wasn’t looking for your sympathy.’
But he does need someone to talk to, and if it’s me, perhaps he’ll listen in return when I tell him about Tony? ‘I’d never dare offer you sympathy,’ I answer, tongue in cheek, ‘but what else?’
‘What else?’
‘What else do you not like about the job?’
‘I really shouldn’t—’
‘Just say it, Alex. No judgement, I promise.’
He checks if there’s anyone around to overhear but most people are picking over the fresh fruit and light desserts laid out on a long table on the other side of the room. My nose twitches at the rich aroma of coffee but I don’t want to leave the conversation, not when he’s showing trust in me.
‘Chairing disciplinary panels or grievance hearings,’ he shares. It’s quiet and torn from him.
It’s also a perfect opening. ‘You get involved in those?’
‘Yes, if they get to a certain stage in the group, not for the smaller companies. It’s rare, because they go through management, and directors hear appeals, but a few times I’ve been hearing officer where it’s involved very senior people.’
Maybe he wants me to interrupt, stop the flow of words but I won’t. I shift further forward in my chair so he can keep his voice down.
‘It’s difficult sometimes,’ he confesses, ‘because you never really know what’s happened, especially in a grievance where it’s two people at odds. There’s that saying about two sides to every story, isn’t there? Well, I’ve found each person has their own views and the truth generally falls somewhere in the middle.’
I wonder what he’d say about my situation. Will he believe I provoked Tony? Or deserved what happened to me?
He runs a hand through his hair again, leaving it spiked up and ruffled. I prefer the messy look. He looks younger, sexier. I shake my head and focus on listening. It’s the safest option. ‘And?’ I nudge. He hesitates. ‘It’s fine as long as you don’t talk about particular cases, isn’t it?’ I ask. ‘You won’t be breaching any confidentialities.’
‘No. Still, if an employee overheard me talking about it, even in general terms—’
‘I’m an employee.’
‘Not a direct one. And not after this weekend. Besides—’
‘Besides?’
‘Nothing.’ His cheekbones darken.
He’s not– Is he blushing? No. It must be a trick of the light. ‘Maybe your employees would appreciate you not taking this stuff lightly. Maybe they’d be gratified to hear how much care you take, that if they were ever to go through a formal process you’d be serious about the responsibility.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ he concedes, drumming his fingers on the tablecloth.
‘It’s part of how we learn, isn’t it? Exchanging views with others, sorting through the different opinions for the ones which make the most sense to us.’
‘Not many people share their views with me. They’ll tell me what they think if I ask but don’t offer their thoughts freely. And I’m not sure how honest those opinions are.’
‘Ah.’ They probably don’t dare. One wrong opinion might get them fired. Yet from what Alex just said,
and from the impression he gives of being fair, I don’t think it’s likely.
‘It’s the bullying allegations I find hardest,’ he circles back. ‘Is it a manager being a bully or them trying to proactively manage someone, bring them to account, and the employee not liking it?’ Blowing out an exasperated breath: ‘In the end it comes down to someone’s perceptions, and those are coloured by their personal attitudes, experiences and emotions. Unfortunately, by the time those cases get to me, sometimes too much has happened. The working relationship is at breaking point. It’s sad. We’ve lost good people that way.’
Would he class me as one of them? ‘I can see what you’re saying.’ I stretch across the table, grab a glass and pour some water into it, carefully. Letting delight at his emotional intelligence show would be premature. But it gives me hope.
As though a cork has popped from a bottle of suppressed feeling, he keeps going. ‘The biggest thing for me is that I’m fair. Disciplinaries and grievances involve real people. You’re making decisions about their employment that can really affect their lives. What if I get it wrong?’
‘You have doubts?’ I take a sip of water, the liquid cool on my tongue.
‘Of course I do. Even when it’s a robust process. There have been cases where I’ve had to make judgements based on the balance of probabilities.’
‘What does that mean?’ I probe. Throwing my head back, I gulp down the rest of my water. When I put the glass down Alex’s eyes flicker back to my face. Where was he looking?
‘Taking all the evidence into account and deciding what’s most likely to have happened.’
‘Sounds heavy.’ I kick myself. What an insensitive way to describe something which obviously causes him anxiety. Even worse because I know more than anyone the depth of distress caused by those situations.
He raises both eyebrows. ‘That’s one way of describing it.’ He gives a one-shouldered shrug, his beautifully cut black suit gleaming in the overhead lights. ‘I suppose even the justice system isn’t infallible, they get it wrong sometimes, and innocent people get sent to prison.’
‘But you’re not condemning people to be locked away.’ Shaking my head, ‘You’re too hard on yourself, Alex. And anyway, if you get it wrong, there must be someone to scrutinise your decision?’
‘No. I deal with cases at appeal stage, so the next step is tribunal.’
I shiver. It’s the perfect ‘in’, the perfect moment to move forward with the crucial part of the plan I came here to see through. I should tell him now, whilst he’s in this mindset, never mind where we are. With a deep breath, I go for it. ‘Actually Alex, on that subject there is something I wanted to—’
‘I hate going to tribunal,’ he announces, ‘though I guess no employer likes it. But I’ve seen so many vexatious claims made by people to get money, usually through a pre-hearing settlement.’ Temper smoulders in his eyes. ‘They drag everyone through the mud, uncaring of how much stress they cause.’
His condemnation immediately gets my back up. ‘Don’t you think that’s a sweeping generalisation? Some of them must be genuine cases. What about their stress? And don’t forget they’ve paid out money to have the case heard and someone has thought it credible enough to make it to tribunal court.’
He stares at me, blue eyes rapidly cooling and capable of causing the Arctic to chill by a few more degrees. ‘If they’re genuine I can’t understand how it couldn’t have been resolved earlier. It’s the sexual harassment cases that bother me, where it’s so hard to tell whether there’s been any actual harassment or not, and who, if anyone, is responsible. You never know exactly what’s happened between a man and a woman in the workplace, especially without witnesses. That’s why it’s easier to remove any possibility of those kinds of claims.’
His comments hit the biggest raw nerve possible. ‘Perhaps some aren’t resolved earlier because people feel unable to come forward?’ I retort. ‘They might be embarrassed or ashamed, or think they can handle it alone. Or not see it coming until it’s too late.’
‘These are grown adults we’re talking about, not playground schoolchildren.’
‘It’s not immature to be scared, or to worry about the ramifications of your actions. And how can you cast judgement if it hasn’t happened to you?’ I stop, take a breath, dizzy with anger. ‘Has it happened to you?’
‘No.’
‘So you don’t know what it feels like, what choice you would make.’ I spring out of my chair, hold myself steady with my hands flat on the table, shaking. ‘And how are you going to remove the possibility of those claims? Unless you’re going to try and segregate men and women, you’ve got a problem. And it’s not necessarily about men and women, is it? There could be a same-sex claim.’
‘Segregation?’ He looks shocked, rising from his chair. ‘Don’t be silly. I meant having a no-workplace relationships policy. For everyone, whatever their sexual orientation.’
Feeling stupid for my hasty remarks, I turn sunset red. ‘You can’t get people to control their emotions like that, Alex. They’re not robots. Haven’t you ever heard the heart wants what the heart wants?’
His face closes down. ‘Sometimes what the heart wants isn’t what the person attached to it needs. And in my experience, a lot of the time it’s hormones doing the wanting, not the heart.’
Is he saying he sleeps around? ‘Do you think it’s realistic to expect people to adhere to that kind of policy? Plus it wouldn’t necessarily stop sexual harassment claims.’
‘It can minimise them, and yes, if the clause is written into the employment contract.’ He rubs his temples. ‘It’s not about feelings, Charley. It’s about trying to keep the organisation alive and productive. It can’t be either of those if it’s imploding because people are falling out when it all goes wrong. Which it inevitably does.’
‘Wow. That’s cynical.’
Tucking his chair under the table, he nods, ‘What can I say? Sometimes, sadly, it’s the safest way to be.’
I shove my chair under the table, making the glasses rattle. ‘You’re right,’ I state, staring him directly in the eye. ‘That is sad.’ His mouth falls open. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me,’ I seethe, unable to see clearly, think clearly, ‘I’m going to get some fresh air.’
‘Take as long as you like,’ he barks.
Stomping from the room, I wonder if I’ve blown it and if he means I shouldn’t bother coming back at all.
Chapter Twelve
Luckily for me he doesn’t. When I return from a brisk walk around the block, I find him waiting in one of the meeting rooms with a group of managers. Pointing to the laptop he’s set up in my absence – which I must have left in the hall in my haste to escape, oh, pants – he nods, ‘Charley. Are you ready?’
There’s no chance to tell him I’m sorry. He had a right to express his views, and maybe they didn’t gel with mine, but I made it personal. Out of order. Unprofessional. I was overly sensitive because of my situation. I should have stayed calm and under control. Why can’t I keep my emotions in check around him? I never had these problems at the casino. Is it the pressure of the last few months or is it about Alex himself? No. Focus on work.
I take notes and after everyone leaves I write up a sales strategy and answer email correspondence while Alex dictates to me. I become absorbed, fingers flying over the keyboard with his rapid-fire thoughts. I’m envious of his energy. How he does it, has presumably held the same pace for the last few years, is incredible. I feel like an amateur in comparison, tired after one day.
Rotating my head to ease the kinks from my neck, I feel a crunch and a tension headache starts. Alex has stopped talking, so I look up. He’s standing at the window, shoulders wide and set, hands deep in his trouser pockets.
‘Alex?’ No response. Standing, I step closer. ‘Alex?’ A sharp pain stabs in my forehead, aching discomfort digging in deeper. I need to get to my room and take some painkillers otherwise I’m liable to be laid out with a migraine for the next fe
w hours. Still no response. Muttering in exasperation, I move closer, waving a hand in front of his face. ‘Woo–hoo, Alex?’
He jerks, grabbing my hand and holding it down between us. ‘Yes?’ he frowns.
‘Is there anything else you need me to do?’ I wiggle my fingers, hand tingling against the slide of his skin.
‘The last email’s sent?’
‘Yes, just now.’ A pulse blooms in my right eye socket.
Releasing my hand, ‘Sorry.’ Glancing down at his watch. ‘Good. Yes, that’s all for now. I’ll see you in the lobby at seven thirty for drinks.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Drinks,’ he exclaims, ‘the liquid things before dinner?’
‘Thanks for the explanation,’ I say dryly. ‘I just thought we were done for the day.’
‘No, sorry. You’re expected to come to the party tonight.’
What? I’m knackered, especially after only a few hours’ sleep. Plus this headache is expanding to epic proportions. I also need space from the bright exciting tension sitting in my lower belly and coating my nerve endings when I’m near him.
It’s not good.
This is not romance.
This is business.
‘Party? No one at the agency said anything. When you mentioned one earlier I figured it was for the AGM attendees.’
‘It’s for the employees here and any others who can make it. Stuart usually attends so I’ll expect you to be there. Is there a reason you can’t be?’ He glowers. It’s framed as a question but is an order. But then, he is the boss and I need to be reasonable, especially since I still owe him an apology for earlier.
‘No, there isn’t.’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘But would it kill you to say please?’
‘What? I—’ For a moment I think he’s about to start shouting, but he throws his hands in the air and starts laughing. ‘Unbelievable,’ he mutters under his breath, stepping closer to me. I back up as a wide chest fills my vision. ‘Please Charley,’ he says theatrically, a mock pleading expression on his face, and fun, relaxed Alex is back again. ‘Please, please, please … come to the party.’
I shake my head and grin, then scowl as the motion pulls sharp claws through my head. ‘All right, all right,’ I say, pretending reluctance. ‘But do I get a break?’
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 34