Her Improper Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  And by the sudden burning behind her eyes, she wanted to turn around and cry into his suit. Why was he being so cold? Why had this day turned to crap?

  “Courtney, please.”

  And why did his voice have to soften now?

  “What?” She couldn’t do bitchy, but she could snap.

  “Talk to me. Please.”

  “I just did. You have the facts, and I’m guessing Mrs. Smith is here to discuss the issue. Please tell her I didn’t come running to you. I’m doing my best to listen, learn, and not make waves. Make up something. Say the memo came about because of something from another department. I don’t want anyone getting reprimanded because my chocolates went astray.”

  Ozzie took her by the shoulders and turned her around, pulling her close into a hug. God help her, but a few rebellious tears leaked from her eyes.

  “You’ve had a shit day, haven’t you, love?” His softened voice still rumbled against her cheek, but she refused to put her arms around him.

  “I’ve had worse.” She shrugged and tried to pull back. It was true she hadn’t had many worse, but this one rated in the top five. Maybe top three.

  One of Ozzie’s hands slid up into her hair, holding her head against him. “I’m sorry I have to cancel tonight. Tomorrow is impossible, and we’ll have to see about Thursday. Maybe I can set you and Hammond up with an instructor at my gym.”

  “I don’t want anyone else. If you can’t do it, then no big deal. Maybe I’ll take up photography or watercolor painting.” Against her wishes, her hands found his waist. His shirt smelled of clean starch and cologne warmed by his skin. Similar to her father, well, both of them, the combination was the ultimate in masculine comfort. Only on Ozzie there was the added layer of sexual attraction. He soothed her on the one hand, but excited her on the other. And completely confused her with his hot and cold treatment.

  Ozzie pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I have to attend a meeting tonight. The rest of the week will probably be shot, but this weekend we’ll do something. Drive in the country, or maybe try your betting skills at the track again.”

  That made her laugh a little. Enough she could pull away from him. “Go do what you need to do. My supervisor is waiting outside your door, probably wondering what’s happening in here.”

  Ozzie gave her a tiny, crooked smile. “No doubt.” His hand cupped her face, and he used his thumbs to dry the wetness beneath her eyes. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. I guess. Just warn me when you’re going to shift back into stick up the arse mode.”

  That earned her a bark of a laugh. “Expect it at the office. Can’t have anyone thinking I’ve got an especially soft spot for you. No preferential treatment, right? If I recall, that was your edict.”

  Now she could smile up at him. Humor glinted in his eyes, and he seemed more like he’d been the day before. “Right. Okay, fine. You can be a stiff-neck at the office, but outside of it I like how you were yesterday. Come to think of it, this whole past weekend you were pretty nice.”

  Ozzie groaned, and with hands still cupped around her face, he bent and placed a very fast kiss on her lips. “Go on with you now, baggage. I have work and you’re distracting me. Mrs. Cuthbert won’t leave until Mrs. Smith does, so I need to address her concerns and get on to my own meeting.”

  “Aye-aye, boss.” She stepped back and gave him a snappy salute. “Oh no…” She raised a hand to a small patch of mascara that had washed off her face and onto his pristine white shirt.

  “No worries, I’ll put on my coat. Now get out of here and send your supervisor in.”

  * * * *

  Ozzie was straightening his jacket as Mrs. Smith entered and shut the door. “What may I do for you, Mrs. Smith?” He moved toward his desk and indicated she should take a seat. He noticed that she glanced back the way Courtney had just exited, with signs of her rapid distress still ghosting her face.

  “Everything all right with Courtney? She looked a little upset walking out of here.” Mrs. Smith peered at him uncertainly.

  Oswald took his seat and considered just how much he should say. “She learned of the memo regarding mail and was distressed to think it had something to do with some hijacked chocolates.”

  Mrs. Smith closed her eyes and lowered her head. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “Please tell me what happened.” At the unhappy look on the woman’s face, his fist clenched beneath his desktop.

  “I’m afraid one of the clerks has taken a dislike to Miss Robinson. The box came in yesterday, and she took it upon herself to open it and then set out the chocolates for the whole department. Because Courtney said she’d asked her mother to send some to share, I didn’t think too much about it. Then I saw her this morning and from the expression on her face, it was clear something was wrong.” The older woman swallowed and pulled a wrinkled bit of parchment from her pocket. “After we spoke, Courtney crumpled this up and tossed it into the dustbin. I grabbed it, and well, it’s obvious a crime has been committed.” She handed the note card over the desk and Oswald took it.

  A quick glanced confirmed Mrs. Smith’s story. “All right. Yes, the clerk was wrong. If you haven’t already delivered a verbal reprimand, I’d like you to add something.” He stood and began pacing behind his desk. What he was about to say went directly against Courtney’s wish to make her own way. Lord help him if word got back to her, but this was for her own good. “Courtney does not wish us to make a big deal of her association with Courtland.” He stopped and faced Mrs. Smith. “However, what these lower level people need to understand is that Courtney is Courtland Robinson’s very beloved daughter. She’s been educated at one of the top universities in the world, she’s smart, kind, and has a cheerful disposition that is easy to take advantage of. But first and foremost, as much as Courtland values those qualities in every employee, she is his daughter.”

  Leaning on his fists, he braced himself on his desktop. “Like any parent, he gets upset when she gets upset—if he finds out about it. I can assure you, she doesn’t go running to him with every imagined slight, like some might believe.” He leveled a significant look at the woman before him. “He’s especially sensitive to her upsets because he’s only just found her and can’t stand the thought of her being hurt by anyone.” Taking a deep breath he stood straight. “If there are whispers that she’s taking advantage of him, squash them. She was there when Martha made such a hash of things that she wants to be his exec assistant so no one will take advantage of his kind nature ever again. Like father, like daughter. They’re looking out for each other. Are you understanding their relationship better now?”

  Mrs. Smith stared back at him with eyes like wide blue saucers. “Yes, I see things in an entirely new light. And you’re right. She is very much like her father. And her brother.”

  “Yes, she is. Only far prettier.” Oswald allowed himself a small smile, a hint of a joke.

  Mrs. Smith grasped on to that and chuckled. “Yes, yes. That makes the wrong done to her far worse than first glance showed. And it illustrates her kindness and grace all the more because she chose not to make a complaint. I’ll remind my department that someday Courtney will be in a position to affect their careers, and it would behoove them to demonstrate the same respect they’d give anyone in upper management. The same respect she accords them.”

  “The same respect they’d extend to any coworker, I’d hope. After all, we want all our employees to not only treat others with respect, but to feel respected themselves. Exactly as they should treat any new hire, regardless of their family associations,” Oswald added dryly.

  “Of course.” Mrs. Smith nodded, then looked up with worried eyes. “Poor girl. Did she have to suffer hazing in the mailroom?”

  “Nothing more than pushing a reluctant trolley. And, by the by, Dennis adores her.”

  Mrs. Smith nodded vigorously. “A good indication of her true character. Dennis can sure sort them out quickly.
He doesn’t adore just anyone.”

  “Exactly. Your senior clerk might need to know that.”

  Mrs. Smith slapped her hands on her knees and pushed herself up to a standing position. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me. There’ll be no more trouble from my department on that score,” she said briskly.

  “Thank you. We have enough real troubles crop up often enough without these personnel issues.”

  “Have a good evening, Mr. Attenborough.”

  “You as well, Mrs. Smith.”

  She stopped at the door and looked back at him. “If something comes to my attention, do you wish me to bring it right to you?”

  Oswald sighed. “If she’s in over her head, yes. Since she’s just assured me she can fight her own battles, I’ll let her do that to a certain point. However, because of the family connection, I fear she won’t speak up soon enough.”

  “Very good, sir. Good night.”

  This one Abigail Smith would handle, and Ozzie felt good about the rest of Courtney’s time in that department. However, with Finance up next on the agenda, a department with few women and a whole lot of old school boys, well, he could only hope Abigail gave Courtney a good injection of confidence. She was going to need it.

  But that wasn’t his worry right now. A glance at his wristwatch showed he just had time to make it to the meeting at his gym.

  Chapter 24

  Other than a one pound box of Godiva chocolate being hand delivered to her desk, by Freddie no less, and no note indicating the giver, the rest of Birdie’s week was downright boring. Although she noticed people were excruciatingly polite to her, she put it down to being in a different part of the department. And since she was doing a lot of data entry, she plugged in her headphones, put her head down, and did her work without fuss or interaction. Ozzie was boring too. She didn’t see or hear from him at all, and she’d had no excuse to go up to the exec offices, so she’d stayed away.

  So when Anne called Thursday night to invite her out dancing on Friday, Birdie decided she’d had enough of being huddled up in the flat, even if she had beat Drew’s ass at Rocket League the one night Meilin had something going on he couldn’t attend. It had been a good time catching up.

  Friday after work, Birdie hurried home, nuked a quick dinner, and dressed in one of her more conservative dancing dresses, a royal blue dress that stretched to hold her curves from mid-thigh to shoulder. She piled on the makeup and sparkly costume jewelry, including piles of thin silver bangles and wild chandelier earrings. Posing in front of the mirror, she decided she looked pretty good. She hadn’t had a chance to tart up since moving to London. Excitement bubbled in her veins. Hell yeah, she was ready to party and was anxious to see what London had to offer on the club scene.

  Birdie had just reached the ground floor lobby when she received a text that Anne was outside. Not bothering to reply, Birdie pushed through the door to the sidewalk and saw her new friend waving from a Mini. Patricia, another new friend, pushed open the rear passenger door, then slid over to make room for Birdie. Christina sat in front with Anne.

  “Looking good, strumpet!” Anne greeted her. Like Birdie, the three women in the car had dressed in short, tight dresses, hadn’t spared the makeup, and all wore platform heels. “We’re going to kick ass and take some names tonight, right, ladies?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled into traffic. “We’re stopping for some food first, and a few rounds to warm us up. Then we’re headed for a killer dance club. You have the important Cs?”

  “Cs?”

  “Cash, Credit, and Condoms!” the other three yelled.

  Birdie laughed. “Yes, and I have a key and ID as well as lipstick.” She patted the small purse strapped crosswise across her body. And yes, she had tossed in a condom. Just in case. Maybe she’d stumble across Ozzie. Or stumble into his house later. Although with his silence this week, he might not appreciate a surprise visit.

  “The trollop knows how to party, for sure,” Christina said.

  With an expertise Birdie was sure she couldn’t emulate, Anne steered the car over a bridge and through winding streets, managing to find parking near a pub. Across the street the pumping of bass could be heard. The neon sign over a plain black door only said Karma Temple. There were no velvet ropes and no lines.

  “That’s our spot,” Anne said, pointing at the club. “Not a huge tourist trap, so you won’t find it on a list of London’s Ten Best, but it’s popular with our friends, and you might find one of the younger royals there from time to time. Best kept secret in town.”

  Birdie piled out of the car with the others and followed them into another unassuming storefront of a pub. Much like the one near Ozzie’s house. She didn’t have time to nurse the pang of loneliness as she recalled the night they’d had dinner a week ago. A lifetime ago.

  The bartender called out to them, and the women hollered back. The man, tall, barrel-chested, with a gray grizzled beard, nodded toward a booth on the far wall. To Birdie’s mind he looked a little like a biker.

  They settled in the booth and a waitress headed their way with a tray loaded with drinks. Some kind of beer and shot glasses full of clear liquid. Tequila or vodka, she wondered, and made a mental note to not try to keep up with these women. She wasn’t that much of a drinker.

  “Just assumed your new friend there might want what you all usually ’ave,” the woman said as she set her tray on the table and started passing around beers and shots.

  Birdie nodded at the woman’s piercing look. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Yank, eh? That’ll make you a novelty around ’ere.”

  Anne threw her arm around Birdie’s shoulder. “Drew’s sister, so she’s only half Yank. Just sounds like one.” She faced Birdie. “This here is Wanda, and behind the bar is her man, Matt. They’ve been serving us since we got old enough to come in. Rumor has it they served our parents when they were at Uni.”

  Wanda laughed. “I ’ave stories that’d curl your eyebrows about what yer parents got up to. They pay me well to keep silent.” The woman looked at Birdie again. “And wot might yer name be, luv?”

  “I’m Courtney Robinson.”

  “Robinson like Drew? Like Courtland?”

  “Yes.”

  Wanda nodded. “One day you’ll have to come in between rushes and tell me your story. Want to make sure I got me facts right. All sorts of rumors floatin’ ’round.”

  Birdie blushed. “Didn’t realize I was a topic of conversation.”

  “Oi, luv, yer ’alf famous ’round these parts.” Wanda cast her eyes on the other women. “Wot’re you tarts ’aving tonight, eh?”

  Birdie listened to the orders, then added her own for a basket of chips. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but the fried potatoes would help absorb the alcohol.

  The beer was warm, the shots tequila, the chips hot and crispy, and the pub lively as a mix of all ages wandered in. In the corner a woman dressed in black leather plucked out Celtic love songs on a battered guitar. Birdie mostly sat and soaked up the conversations and the atmosphere. At last Anne reached for her purse. It was the signal to the other women, and Birdie zipped her bag open as well. Ten pound notes started hitting the center of the table until Anne nodded. “That should cover us and make Wanda a happy woman tonight.”

  Thirty pounds per person certainly ought to cover that bill. Not that Birdie had seen one. Wanda appeared at the booth and considered the pile of money. She picked it up, separated out two tens, and held the money out to Birdie.

  Birdie blinked and lifted a brow in question.

  “Drinks on the ’ouse for you tonight. Now you ’ave to come back and talk t’me.” Wanda winked at her. “Get out of ’ere, wenches. I need some paying customers in the booth.”

  Laughing, Anne and Christina led the charge toward the exit. Birdie stayed back long enough to give Wanda a long questioning look. “Then consider this part of your tip.” She stuck the money into the pocket of
Wanda’s apron.

  “Go on. Come back Sunday afternoon if yer not spoken for. And give Drew our love.” Wanda patted her on the butt and gave her a little shove.

  Shaking her head, Birdie smiled and followed her friends across the street where they were quickly absorbed into the dark shot through with laser and neon. The music was predictably loud, the establishment comfortably crowded, but not so crowded they didn’t find a pair of tables to pull together.

  Anne shouted in her ear, “The boys will come by later. They had a thing tonight, but they’ll want to dance off some steam when they’re done.”

  Birdie nodded, ordered a seltzer and a Caipirinha to start. She downed the water fast, and sipped the lime infused drink slowly. Her head was already spinning from the drinks at the pub. When the girls got up to dance, Birdie waved them off.

  “I need to sit a minute,” she shouted back at Anne. Lord, did she really think sitting in a loud bar was fun? It had never occurred to her before that maybe the loud music could be painful.

  Three songs later Christina came back to the table, fanning her sweaty face. “Go dance,” she told Birdie. “I’ll watch the drinks.”

  Birdie blinked at her. “I’m just letting the water catch up with the booze.”

  “Sure you are,” Christina said while blotting her face with a napkin. “I’ll keep an eye on the drinks so no one gets roofied tonight. We’ll all take turns, although I can guarantee you, it’s never happened here before. Besides, been on my bloody feet all day, and I’m ready to sit for a bit. Go on with you.” She nodded toward the dance floor where Anne and Patricia waved at her.

  With a reluctance she’d never felt before, she guzzled down her drink, then made her way onto the dance floor. Before she’d even made it to the floor, Christina’s gaze was tight on her mobile.

  It took a couple songs, but finally Birdie began to relax and enjoy herself. A variety of men worked in and out of their dance circle, Anne traded out with Christina, and then Patricia had her turn at the table. Birdie let the alcohol in her system do its work, and she twisted, jumped, wiggled, and spun, enjoying the suppleness of her body. One song had her remembering making love with Ozzie, and she closed her eyes, losing herself in the lyrics and the beat until large hands caught her around the waist.