Closing the door behind us, Rory pushed me up against it and swiftly asked, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘Sure I do.’ I smiled back. ‘But do you have a condom?’
‘I have one.’ Rory smiled. ‘But I want to taste you first.’
And with that he pinned my arms to the door and began kissing me from my wrists, down my arms, all around my sensitive neck area, before moving lower and lower down my body, across my breasts, over my belly button, and reaching the top of my leggings. Trying not to think about my embarrassing camel toe, I continued to pant with joy as he grunted and groaned while exploring my body with his mouth. He had just began to nibble on my hip bone when we felt a thump coming from the other side of the door. ‘Open up!’ said a man’s voice. ‘I know you’re in there.’ Quickly fixing myself up, I begged for five minutes more, but the voice on the other side wasn’t in the mood for bargaining. ‘I’m going to count to five, and by that time I want this door open. One … Two …’
By the count of three Rory had swung open the door and was full of apologies, but the guy wasn’t interested in hearing them and just pointed his finger at the stairs. We did what he wanted, albeit while giggling like guilty children. As he marched us back out to the pool area we were told, ‘Try that again and you’re both out.’
‘No way!’ Rory argued. ‘Apologies again, but you can’t exactly blame me, can you? The woman is a doll.’
Amazingly, Parker was just drinking instead of snogging, and welcomed us back to the table with a hand-clap, while announcing, ‘Well, that didn’t take very long.’
I laughed. ‘Coming from the man who spent the last hour holding his breath and making fish faces, I’m surprised you have any grasp on the reality of time whatsoever.’
‘Touché,’ whooped Parker, while retaking his seat beside Jonathan. ‘What can I say? This man is the best kisser. Tomorrow I may be swimming with the fishes, but tonight I’ve been enjoying the greatest snog-fest a gay married man in London could possibly dream of having.’
That opened up a can of worms. ‘You’re married?’ Jonathan snapped, my cue to move Rory and myself back over beside his friends. As a conversation began between them, I searched in my bag for my phone to check the time. It was 2.45 a.m., and the sight of Daisy smiling back at me from my screen saver didn’t help with the guilt. Deciding it was most definitely the right thing to do, I stood up and announced to both Parker and Rory, ‘Sorry, lads. I’ve got to go.’
‘Why?’ they both asked in unison. But I wasn’t for turning, and I wasn’t offering up any explanations, either.
Through smart comments like, ‘What, will you kick me into submission with your third foot if I don’t comply?’ Parker eventually gave Jonathan his final kiss, while thanking him profusely for, ‘The best non-sex evening of the year.’ As we gathered up our coats, I turned back to Rory, who was now looking a small bit lost.
‘Was it something I said?’ he asked, all sorrowful.
‘Not at all. I’ve just got to go. Thank you for a great night.’ As I looked into his face, I wanted to ask to see him again, but I couldn’t break my own rule. I had broken it too many times before with disastrous consequences. So unless he asked, I had to hold my head up high and keep walking.
I was just starting to edge away with a polite wave when Rory grabbed my arm and asked, ‘That’s it? You don’t give me your number?’ Of course my initial reaction was one of relief that he wanted to see me again, but something told me to play hard to get, even if we had already passed that point after our previous antics upstairs.
So, pretending I was a woman in control, I replied, ‘No numbers, Rory. That’s too clichéd.’ And then confidently kissed him on the cheek and whispered, ‘If it’s meant to be, it will be.’ And I spent the entire taxi-ride home giving Parker hell over how he could have allowed me to be such a stupid, clueless idiot.
6
It wasn’t until I went to withdraw money from the bank machine at the local shops that weekend that I realized my wages hadn’t gone through.
Still feeling fragile from my big night out on Friday, my Monday morning meeting with Bradley sent my head in a spin. Bradley had fobbed me off on Saturday with, ‘There must have been some mix-up, I’ll get it sorted next week.’ On Monday he had no other option than to tell me the whole truth, once I arrived up to his office first thing and looked him in the eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, Eva. The company is having a few solvency issues at the moment, but as soon as things are sorted you’ll be the first to know.’
Though I kept asking more and more questions, the answers came back the same. ‘When we know, you’ll know.’ Eventually Bradley snapped. ‘We’re currently being sued … some idiot reckons they were stitched up. Anyway, the bank has temporarily stopped the overdraft. Happy now?’
Due in the office anyway to go through my footage of the previous week, I found the atmosphere an extremely frosty one, partly due to the fact that we were joined by my old friend Billie. So between the company’s lack of funds and my lack of dodgy findings, the two hours spent watching me on tape exaggerating the smallest of details could barely be heard over Billie’s childlike huffing and sighing.
My final report over, Billie picked a stapler up off the desk and flung it against the wall. ‘Utter shite,’ she screamed as the stapler fell to the ground. ‘We spent months trying to get someone into Sir Charlie’s, and then after ALL our background work, this is what you deliver?’
‘In my defence, Billie—’
‘SHUT UP!’ Billie had risen to her feet. ‘You can’t defend this – it’s complete crap. I could have uncovered more simply by looking in the window. This can’t go on. Bradley, we need to talk. Alone.’
Shooed out to sit at the same empty desk I was always sent to, my mind raced to try and make sense of the situation. I was just in the middle of questioning my abilities when Carol, the chatty girl I had met on my first day, bounced over to me and asked, ‘Hey, what’s up? Did you not get your coffee fix yet?’ Startled, I jumped up off my seat before I realized who was talking to me, knocking a bundle of envelopes out of her hands. ‘Easy does it, girl.’ Carol laughed sympathetically. ‘You’ll do us both an injury.’ I made some weak excuse about expecting an important phone call, and Carol chose to ignore my jitters and ask, ‘How’s London going for ya? Meet any nice men yet?’
I thought about excusing myself to the loo to escape getting into conversation, but decided what the hell, I badly needed a distraction. ‘Emm, yeah, I did, actually. I met a very nice Londoner at the weekend. But I never got his number.’ Feeling myself slipping back into a confused and depressed state, I quickly added, ‘Not to worry, sure. It’s nice to know there’s someone out there somewhere, I suppose. How about you? Adjusting to single life yet?’
‘I’m so glad you asked me that.’ She beamed cheerily. ‘Because it turns out that I’m no longer single. Well, sort of not. Unofficially, like.’
‘Oh, congratulations. In an unofficial kinda way. Did you get back with your ex?’
‘Eugh! No way. As if? No, I met a beautiful man by the name of Rory, and, well, I’m smitten. I think he feels it, too. Hey, are you OK?’
Desperately trying to swallow the lump that had skipped into my throat, I probably coughed up one of my lungs before I was able to speak again. ‘Sorry … about that,’ I spluttered in between coughs. ‘I don’t know what happened there. So eh, Rory, yeah? Unusual name. When did you meet him?’
‘Saturday night.’ She beamed proudly. ‘So as you can imagine, we’re still in the honeymoon period.’ I felt ill at the thought of Carol having sex with Rory. My Rory. After all, how many Rorys could there be in this city? I decided it was best if I walked away from Carol, just in case my body turned violently uncontrollable. Turning towards the kitchen, I continued to cough as I edged away from her, but instead of leaving me be, she followed. ‘Oh, let me get you some water. Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I must be dizzy in love. Woul
d you believe he’s Irish?’ Carol chirped, reaching the water cooler. I swallowed from the cup she thrust at me.
‘How Irish?’
‘Oirish Irish. Well, he’s Northern Irish. From Derry. I can barely understand his accent, but who needs good diction when you’ve got the language of lurve, eh?’ Released from my torture, I burst out laughing as my body relieved itself of stress. ‘Yeah, his name is Rory Gallagher, just like the singer. And he’s got a big mop of red hair. He’s like a shagging cliché, I know, but Christ is he a superstar in the bedroom. He had me at “hello” – and then again at “over here!”’
I was just about to share some of the details of my own Rory love story when the gorgeous blonde receptionist found me and told me that Bradley wanted to speak to me again. Congratulating Carol one last time, I turned on my wedge heels and, like a dead woman walking, dragged myself in the direction of Bradley’s office. I took a deep breath the second I heard Bradley call me sternly to come in.
I could see as soon as I entered that Billie wasn’t with him, so that instantly took some pressure off. But from the tired look spread across Bradley’s face, it was clear that he still had some bad news for me. Trying to make light of the situation, I swiftly breezed in, sat myself down on the seat opposite and told him, ‘OK, then, let’s do this. Let’s get it over with. Am I fired? Do I continue to work for nothing? Hit me.’
Refusing to make eye-contact, Bradley stared at his computer and hit some buttons as he began to talk. ‘Well, it’s like this, Eva. I like you. You’ve got great potential—’
‘But?’ I asked, interrupting.
‘But nothing,’ replied Bradley, now staring straight at me. ‘There are currently some money problems, but that should be sorted out by the weekend. And as for your reports, all they are lacking is newsworthy detail. It’s obvious that we’re not going to uncover the information we need during the day, so I think we have to get you swapped to working evenings.’
Without thinking I blurted out, ‘NO WAY!’ before correcting myself with an apology and a quick explanation. ‘Sorry, what I mean is, well, evenings are not really suitable for me. With my daughter, you know? I need to put her to bed. She’s fine generally, but she’s used to me being there at bedtime. I told you she was special needs, didn’t I?’
‘OK. OK,’ snapped Bradley. ‘It’s not a runner, is what you’re trying to tell me. Fine, then. We’ll just have to try and get you working nights, then. By that time young …’ He paused.
‘Daisy.’
‘Yes, with night shifts you can put Daisy to bed. OK, you’ll just be extremely tired when she wakes you up the following morning. But them’s the breaks. So tomorrow when you go to Sir Charlie’s I need you to put in a request to work nights immediately. Is that understood?’ Still in shock, all I could do was nod to acknowledge his request. ‘We need to make this documentary happen yesterday,’ he continued, ‘or else I’m gonna have to listen to Billie bitch about what a bad decision I made hiring you. Is that understood?’ I nodded and he continued, ‘Come back in five minutes and I’ll have some new scripts for you.’
On my way out of his office, my power of speech only returned when I stepped into the path of Peter, who seemed to be charging somewhere in a considerable hurry.
It caught both of us off guard. Peter let out an almighty roar before realizing who I was – and then he pushed me to one side to speak with me in private. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he growled in a menacing tone. ‘Where were you last week? I thought you were playing assistant to Bradders. Did you get lost on the way into the office?’
Feeling like I had been pushed about enough already, I snapped back, ‘Listen here, Peters. What’s bugging you? I’m not quite sure why you’re so fascinated by me, but I don’t really have the time for such trivial quizzing, so if you don’t mind, I’ve things to do.’ I tried to push past him, but not wanting me to, he firmly stood his ground. Springing off him back to the wall, I could see a mischievous glint in his eye that softened his appearance and, though I tried to ignore it, made him look immediately more attractive. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, trying to keep a straight face, but my mean look melted as I caught his devilish eyes scanning my face and body.
‘You’re very sexy when you’re angry.’ He smirked, un-dressing me very obviously with his eyes. ‘I’ve always wanted to do a mad Irishwoman. Maybe you could tick my box, and I’ll lick yours.’
‘That’s extremely crude talk for a Monday lunchtime. It’s not even one o’clock yet.’
‘I could have you naked and screaming for mercy by ten past,’ returned Peter, elated.
‘As much as the idea of begging for freedom sounds, well, interesting, I think I’ll pass, thanks. For someone to, emm, lick my box, as you say, there is a protocol. The woman attached to the box needs to be wooed. Manners are everything to us mad Irish, so if you don’t mind, I’ve somewhere to be right now, and it doesn’t involve getting sloppy with you.’
Admitting defeat, Peter obediently stepped back and bowed to let me by. He managed to simultaneously give me a mini royal wave and produce a business card out of his back pocket. ‘The city can be a lonely place for a Celtic cub like you. I’d hate to think of you out there by yourself, especially when I could be helping to keep you warm.’
‘How very generous of you,’ I flirted back. ‘But who says I don’t have someone to warm me up already?’
‘Whoever it is, they’re not doing a very good job of it,’ said Peter confidently. ‘I know what a woman looks like when she’s getting it good. And your face looks needy.’
Slightly uncomfortable again, I took his card, crumpled it in my hand and threw it over my left shoulder. ‘Not interested. Now go annoy someone who hasn’t heard this type of bullshit before.’
Not dissuaded, Peter just laughed at the sheer sport of it. Pushing past him, I brushed off his broad well-toned arm and let out a small sigh of appreciation. ‘You’ll be back,’ he said defiantly. ‘I’ll tame you yet.’
I was twenty minutes pretending to be busy on the internet before Bradley had my new sample scripts prepared and I could leave the building. With Bradley feeling that my pieces to camera were edging on repetitive, I was to go off and learn new ways of saying the same thing, and make provision for my new night-time working schedule.
I must have been a bundle of misery that whole week, as both Helen and Frankie, one of the barmen in Sir Charlie’s, told me to smile because I was starting to make the customers feel depressed. Although Craig, the manager, had easily agreed to let me work nights – and set up for me to do Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Saturdays – my mind wasn’t on the job, just Rory. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t erase him from my mind. All I thought about was his fabulous tongue, and how he had made me feel as he had swept it across my body. How the soft bristles of his beard had tickled my tummy, and how the sincerity in his eyes had made me pine for a relationship. I sorely missed being in a twosome. I always worked best as part of a couple; I just seemed to have problems when it came to keeping a man.
Each day I made a quiet wish that he would walk through the doors of the restaurant brandishing a large bouquet of flowers, proclaiming his love for me. But he never did. Instead I served food to the rich men and women who lunched at Sir Charlie’s: more bankers, plenty of cheaters, and hordes of skinny women who thought they were Victoria Beckham, and spent their afternoons pushing salad around their plates before complaining about something in order to avoid paying the bill.
I was like a love-sick teenager. Customers would ask me for salt and pepper and I’d come back with, ‘You’re welcome, have a nice meal.’ If it hadn’t been for Daisy finally saying her first clear word – ‘Mam-may’ – and me catching one of the kitchen porters blatantly swiping bottles of vodka and whiskey on camera, while laughing and saying, ‘Fuck the establishment. They’re nothing but gangsters who deserve to be robbed,’ my week would have been an utter write-off.
Everything altered on Friday afternoon. I was at
the end of my final day-shift and just in the middle of changing back into a pair of jeans in one of the female toilets when two blokes ran in and started arguing over a delivery that had fallen on to Craig’s desk by mistake. They obviously thought they were alone as I hadn’t closed the cubicle door, yet was still hidden inside it, so I calmly pressed ‘record’ on my ever-ready camera, just in case it might pick up their conversation. Terrified of making a sound, I stood frozen to the cistern, moving just to switch my mobile phone to silent.
‘The bastard is refusing to hand it back,’ continued the first guy.
‘Well, how far do you want to take this?’ asked the other.
‘As far as we need to,’ continued the first. The following ten minutes were possibly the longest of my life, matched only by the horror I had experienced during childbirth. During that time the men, who sounded like Londoners, discussed their terrifying plan of action. The first one went on, ‘The only way forward with this idiot is hard-ball tactics. We’ve got to convince Craig to see sense – the brutal way. If he doesn’t hand over the blow he’ll be sorry when his bitch comes home with a knifed-smile across her face.’
Almost laughing at the sport of it, the second guy chuckled. ‘Let’s spook him till he cracks,’ he said. And then, as quick as they had arrived, they abruptly left the bathroom – and me quaking in my boots.
Terrified to leave, I must have stayed there another twenty minutes, with several more staff coming in and out going about their business, before I plucked up the courage to bolt. Afraid to check my camera for sound quality, I stuffed it to the bottom of my bag and breezed out of the restaurant doing my best to look casual. If anyone had stopped me and asked a question I’d probably have passed out with the fear. Luckily, I managed to avoid everyone. I scurried up to the front door and looked at the new security staff throwing shapes to the crowd. Were they the thugs who had been in the loo threatening to cut up Craig’s girlfriend’s face? And who was his girlfriend, anyway?
Champagne Secrets Page 9