Her Improper Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  “Tomorrow night we’ll go shopping again. You’ll need something for the fall.”

  “Gran, Mom promised we’d have time to shop when she gets home. I don’t think I need to prepare that far in advance.”

  “Girl, you can never have too many clothes. I understand your work choices, but when out in social situations, you must dress better. I saw those awful photos from the fundraiser.”

  “I liked that dress, very much.” Gran dissing her dress didn’t sit well with Birdie.

  “I’m sure it was lovely before its bath in wine.” The older woman sniffed. “And while I’m not thrilled with today’s fashion of using so little cloth, I must admit you carry it well. Still, a little more taste would go a long way.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t sass me.” The laser blue gaze was directed at her through narrowed eyelids. “Now, do you have everything you need in the flat? Are you set?”

  “I’m very well set, Gran. I have food, clean laundry at my fingertips, a housekeeper to do the chores, and more movies than I can count to keep me entertained. I also have a library of both print and ebooks to keep me curled up in a cozy chair for twenty years. What I don’t have are friends to hang out with.”

  “Oh, well, I can help with that.”

  At Birdie’s raised eyebrow, Gran shook her head. “My friends have granddaughters who love to hit the clubs and ‘hang out’ as you call it. They’re much nicer than Miss Portman-Wright and her crowd, while still being fashionable. You’ll meet many of them this weekend.”

  If only. Well, it was worth a shot.

  The next night Gran again took her shopping. Birdie found three hats she adored, followed by dinner. Dad was going to notice when the credit card statement arrived. The night was, however, informative and she had a better idea of what to expect from the weekend. At least Gran had no shortage of stories about past races and who had been the best and least well behaved. She thoroughly approved of Wills, Kate, and Harry. Of course the Queen was above reproach. She made no comment on Charles and Camilla.

  Before bed that night, because of the race weekend, Oswald called with the suggestion they move their training night to Thursday. The very next night.

  “So you’ll be well rested for the weekend. Days at Ascot can be long and tiring,” he explained.

  Since Birdie had no other plans, she agreed. Excitement got her through the long day spent in the filing room. Once five o’clock rolled around, she grabbed her purse and a tote stuffed with new yoga pants and a sports bra she intended to wear as a top. Of course she had a T-shirt and jeans to wear home.

  Oswald was on the phone in his office when she knocked and entered. He held up a finger. She got it. He’d be done in a minute. She dropped her tote and purse near the door.

  With his sexy accent in the background, she looked around his office. Sure, she’d been in here, but she’d never stayed long enough to really look. Like her dad’s office, it had a wall of windows that overlooked the river and the far bank. Unlike her father’s office, his furnishings were much more in keeping with the modern theme of the building. Chrome and frosted glass desk. Matching credenza behind him with a sculpture and a speaker designed to hold an iPod or MP3 player. Currently silent. A sleek laptop rested to his left on the desktop, but few papers littered it. Phone to the right. Efficient.

  And Ozzie sitting in a large executive, black leather chair, looked exactly right in the room. Today he wore black trousers, white shirt, blue tie, his leather shoes polished to a high shine. Even his shirt still looked crisply starched. She looked forward to the day she could go home without dust or toner ink on her clothes. Or papercuts on her fingers, and mascara smudged beneath her eyes.

  Not much of his personality filled the space. No personal photos, no awards or trophies. A black leather and chrome sofa with a matching glass and chrome coffee table sat off to one side. Across from it some low black lacquered bookcases. On top of one sat a tea service with a small coffee maker and a stark modern sculpture in white marble. An obelisk, about twelve inches high. She placed a hand on it, feeling the cold, smooth surface. A few black framed pieces of unidentifiable modern art hung from steel cables mounted to the ceiling, since it was pretty hard to hang pictures on frosted glass walls held in place by crisscrossed steel beams. The floor was gray and white marble with the only soft feature in the room, a large Persian rug in muted tones of gray and white, covering the center.

  Overall, the effect was cold and stiff. Much like Ozzie presented himself to the world.

  Only she was getting to know him better. He wasn’t always Mr. Stiff and Proper. He could be improper when properly motivated. Maybe tonight some of that propriety would slip.

  Then again, she wouldn’t mind him stiff like the sculpture under her hand. He could laugh and be passionate when he wanted. Did he only loosen up with champagne and a private room? Would he loosen up tonight while teaching her a few basic moves?

  A vision of Ozzie teaching her how to pin him to the mats certainly piqued her sense of intrigue.

  At the sound of Ozzie clearing his throat she realized he was no longer on the phone. She turned, hand still on the sculpture, to see him watching her.

  “Like marble, do you?” he asked. The question was mild enough, but the intensity blazing from behind the lenses of his glasses spoke of his interest in her hand stroking the obelisk.

  Abruptly embarrassed, she pulled her hand away as if it had just turned to super heated metal. “Oh. Um, no, not particularly. It…just…” She sighed and moved away from it. No, she wasn’t going to think of how it had looked. Her burning cheeks were enough. As was the amused expression on Ozzie’s face. “So, uh, you ready to go?”

  Ozzie rocked back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. “Actually, right now I want you to bring that thing over to my desk and fondle it some more.”

  Birdie spun away and headed for the door and her bags. There. See? Ozzie could leap over his walls and play the perv just like any other man. The action also hid her super hot face.

  “I’m ready to go, are you ready?” She asked the question without turning. It was a good opportunity to bend and retrieve her bags.

  Ozzie’s quiet chuckle floated across the room. “I might need another minute.”

  “I’ll wait outside.” She tugged open the door and stepped into the reception area, tote and purse slung over her shoulder.

  “Now that’s just a damn shame,” Ozzie said behind her.

  How had he moved so fast? A second ago he’d been seated at his desk and now here he was, beside her, reaching for his suit jacket and shrugging it on. She glanced back as he locked his door.

  “Want me to carry the larger bag?”

  “No, I’ve got it.” Although maybe she’d offer to let him carry her purse. Almost as if he’d read her mind he shook his head.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got my car in the garage.”

  Birdie followed him to the elevators. Lifts. Whatever. Although her co-workers gently teased her about her Americanisms, she was determined to hang on to them. It wasn’t like her accent would change anytime soon. Maybe slowly, but she’d always stick out as American. No use fighting it.

  When a car came, Ozzie stepped back to allow her and a few other people to board first. Since they were headed for the garage level below the building, she braced herself in a back corner. Ozzie stood just in front of her, chatting with a man she recognized from Marketing.

  Two floors down when the car stopped, Birdie’s supervisor, Mrs. Smith, stepped on.

  “Garage please,” she said to Ozzie who stood at the panel. “Oh, already selected. Excellent.” She then noticed Birdie. “Good evening, Courtney. Thought you’d left already?” The older woman raised a dark brow in inquiry.

  “Had to pick up something on my way out.”

  “Have fun plans for this evening?” The woman’s eyes went to the tote bag over Birdie’s shoulder.
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  “Taking in a workout.”

  “Oh? Aerobics? A spin class?”

  “Something along the lines of self-defense. If I’m going to sweat, figure I might as well learn something useful at the same time.”

  “God forbid you ever need it.” Mrs. Smith shifted closer to her as three more people boarded at a lower level.

  “I hope not, but just in case, makes sense to be prepared, right?” Birdie looked up at the number flashing downward. Ten floors to go. “You have fun plans?”

  Mrs. Smith laughed a little. It was the first time Birdie had seen her smile. “Oh big plans. Nag teens into doing homework, cook dinner, and then if I’m lucky, a little laundry and watching the telly. Might even toss in an argument with the spouse.”

  “Sounds like a familiar routine.” Birdie smiled at her. “Only I was the one getting nagged into doing the chores.”

  “Not so sure it’s better from the other side. Enjoy your single status while you can.” Mrs. Smith’s expression grew wistful. “Parents enjoying their trip?”

  “Mom’s relaxing a bit. Only called once today. She’s really trying to respect working hours.” Birdie had seen the looks when her phone buzzed on vibrate in the middle of the workday. Personal calls were frowned on when there was work to be done. No one had said a word, but the expectation was still clear. Even if her dad was the CEO. She still had to conform to the office etiquette. Her mom really did understand that, but now Birdie was alone in London, rather than safely tucked away on a college campus, Mom worried just a little more. And it was the kids who were supposed to get separation anxiety.

  Mrs. Smith sighed. “Well, I see it from both sides. I suppose we can make an allowance for your mum.”

  Birdie gave her a tiny smile. “This time she wanted to know how much Belgium chocolate to send home. I told her to send enough to share.”

  Mrs. Smith looked at her with another raised brow and definite amusement in her expression. “Well then. Talk to your mother as much as you like, Miss Robinson.”

  In front of her Ozzie coughed. Oh yeah, he was listening. As was everyone else in the elevator car.

  It was probably her own paranoid imagination, but it seemed a little awkward when those remaining in the elevator, after dumping half the load on the ground floor, filed out into the garage. Mrs. Smith and the Marketing guy particularly noticed when Birdie followed Ozzie to his car parked only a few spaces away from the elevator. He had use of Dad’s CEO reserved spot while Dad was gone. The fact Ozzie opened the passenger door for her, further emphasized whatever it was flashing through those other two minds. If only she’d asked him for an address in order to meet him there.

  Ozzie climbed in the driver side and reached for his seatbelt as she clicked hers into place. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “We’ll use the workout room at my place. Figure it will be easier to get your first lesson out of the way there.”

  “You mean less embarrassing for me that way?”

  Ozzie’s smile was small and a little crooked. “Something like that.”

  Birdie snorted and watched out the window as he navigated the garage and out onto the streets crammed with rush hour traffic.

  “Damn, I always forget how busy the streets are just after five,” he muttered.

  “That’s right, you usually leave later. Come in earlier too? How many hours a day do you typically work?”

  “Oh anywhere from twelve to fourteen, depending what’s going on. Makes it easier to stay in touch with folks around the world.”

  “Isn’t that what e-mail is for? Send a message, have an answer back the next day?”

  “Sometimes communication needs to be faster than that.”

  “I suppose.” True, she’d seen her dad up at two in the morning talking with India or Australia. Even touching base with London when he was in California.

  “Mobile phones and laptops help with some of that, but sometimes I just need to be in the office at odd hours.” Ozzie’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel while waiting for the light to change.

  “How far away do you live?”

  “Not far. I have a terrace house. You might call it a townhouse. Narrow, tall, no garden, but the whole place is mine. I got one that hadn’t yet been broken up into two flats. The workout room is in the basement.”

  “I’m most curious.” She truly was. Mainly because she wanted to check out the various areas around the office where she might consider moving after Christmas. Now was as good a time as any to start looking around.

  It took twenty minutes for Ozzie to maneuver onto his very narrow street. On the right side the houses were plainer, red brick with brightly painted doors. Both sides had wrought iron fencing keeping people from falling down the stairs to the basement level.

  “Not very wide, are they?” She commented more than asked the question.

  “Two windows wide, four levels total.”

  On the left side of the street the individual homes were no wider, but they were white with columns holding up small porticos covering a slightly deeper walkway to the front doors.

  “In case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m sort of keeping an eye out for a place of my own. I’m dying to see the inside.”

  Ozzie gave her a long look. “I can either help you look or put you in touch with a good agent.” With minimum fuss he parallel parked on the side with fancier white homes.

  “I’m looking to rent, not buy.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Someone with neighborhood knowledge is invaluable.”

  Birdie released her seatbelt. The front of Ozzie’s house was unadorned other than the white columns, unlike some of his neighbors who had green thumbs and somehow had managed to turn planters into lush green mini gardens. She climbed from the car onto the sidewalk and slung her bags over her shoulder.

  Ozzie shut the car door, then led her to the front door of his home. “I’ve only been here about a year, so there’s not much inside.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen a bachelor pad or two in my time.”

  Ozzie merely glanced at her as he turned the key and swung the door open. “Enter and look around. There’s a loo down the hall a bit if you want to change.”

  “Thanks.”

  He wasn’t kidding about there not being much in the way of furnishings. This floor had a small sitting room, the half bath tucked under narrow stairs, and she could see a small kitchen at the back. The sitting room had a couple black leather club chairs and a large flat screen TV. A small table sat between the chairs facing the TV. No artwork on the walls.

  “I’ll be down in a minute. Just need to change out of the suit.”

  For some reason, Birdie wanted to follow him up the stairs and watch him remove the suit. The whole suit. Instead she ducked into the powder room and changed out of her skirt and blouse into the stretchy blue yoga pants and matching sports bra that covered about what a tank top would, but with more support. She also removed the pins holding her hair in a twist and gathered it into a high ponytail. And guessing working out would melt what remained of her makeup, she found a clean towel and rinsed her face to remove the faded foundation, blush, and mascara smudges.

  After packing away her clothes, she swung open the door and looked up and down the hall. She could hear Ozzie moving around upstairs, and she wondered how the upper two floors were arranged. Was his room on the top? An office on the middle floor?

  Before she could move, she heard his footsteps coming down. The doorbell rang.

  “Should I answer that?” she called up.

  “Go ahead. It should be Hammond.”

  “Hammond?”

  “Phillip. He was at the weddings.”

  There was no time to question the addition to their workout she hadn’t expected. Instead she pulled the door open to Drew’s friend and onetime groomsman.

  “Hello, Phillip.”

  His friendly smile widened across his face. “Bird. Oswald said
he could teach two of us as well as one, so I’m here to get an intro to MMA.” He stood on the stoop already in designer black sweats and a T-shirt, with a small gym bag hanging from one hand.

  “Interestingly enough, so am I.” Her smile was probably more of a grimace, way too toothy, but she stepped back and let him in. Of course his gaze swept her from head to toe and back again, taking in her bare feet and the sports bra. Had she known Phillip would be here too, she would have pulled on a T-shirt.

  Oswald hit the bottom of the stairs just then. “Hammond.” He extended a hand that Phillip eagerly shook.

  “Looking forward to this. I’ve followed a little of your tournaments and don’t know much more than what Drew has said over the years. Glad you remembered I was interested. And to train with Birdie”—here he smiled down at her, rather her chest—“is just all around good luck.”

  Birdie grimaced again and shut the door behind him. “So,”—she turned to Ozzie—“where do we go now?” The glare she gave him for not mentioning Phillip bounced right off him.

  “Back this way.” Barely sparing her a glance, he turned toward the kitchen. Stopping at the fridge, he opened it and pulled out three icy bottles of water, passing one each to Birdie and Phillip. “Down here,” he said and headed down a flight of stairs.

  The glimpse she had of the kitchen looked like it had been updated with impeccably polished cherry cabinets, black granite counters, and stainless appliances. To the right was a tiny eating area. All neat and sparkling clean.

  The stairs ended in a room that took up the entire basement. The long wall opposite the stairs was mirrored from floor to ceiling. Only a small section at the back was closed off with louvered bifold doors. The washer, dryer, furnace, and hot water tank, she guessed. In the rest of the room, well, it was a gym. Complete with blue mats from wall to wall, a kickboxing dummy, punching bag, and at the front end, a set of hand weights side by side with a small fridge. A player dock sat on top of the fridge. Mounted high in the four corners of the room were small black speakers. Maybe she’d get a taste of what he considered head banging music.