Crazy, Undercover, Love

by Nikki Moore

  ‘Again, what?’ The room goes blurry round 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 round, 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 consolation 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 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 with 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 woken three times and 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 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 for a break in the six months of last year when I had a job, and 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 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, do not dare 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 round 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.

  Despite everything, I want him to like me. We had such a good time at dinner last night. He was so funny once he relaxed, and I opened up to him more than I’d planned to. I enjoyed his company. And he is respectful of women after all, and—

  No. Oh no. Don’t do it Charley.

  I’m being sloppy and sentimental. It’s the exhaustion of lost sleep talking, the stress of the last few months. Alex doesn’t – can’t – matter to me in that way.

  I text Jess, not expecting an answer because of the time difference.

  Morning sleepyhead, need to talk later. Made a complete fool of myself with Alex this morning. Could do with some advice. C x

  As I order another juice and decide whether to wait for Alex as requested or go look for him, my phone vibrates.

  Morning, no probs, but now I’m intrigued! Shall have to wait until 2nite to find out what the big mystery is. Until then, advice = whatever it is, keep your cool! J X

  Easy for her to say – she isn’t stuck with The Most Gorgeous Man Ever for the entire weekend. Tucking my phone away, I jump as Alex appears beside me, one hand in the pocket of his exquisitely cut trousers, his buttoned up suit jacket showing off his broad shoulders and flat stomach. Pure lust erupts inside me, along with a vision of the mouth-watering body I caught a glimpse of by the pool. Then Jess’s advice ping-pongs around my head. Keep your cool. It might not be easy to follow, but it is sensible. Winter ice cool, that’s what I’ll go for.

  ‘Hello,’ I clip politely. ‘Ready?’ I grab my bag and stand up.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ His voice is equally bland. ‘Ready to go and run over the PowerPoint presentation?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Lead the way.’

  After striding across the lobby, we climb a small flight of carpeted stairs leading to a short corridor filled with gold handled doors. He holds one open for me wordlessly.

  ‘Thanks.’ I slip into a large conference room, more like a hall. Stepping over to a box-filled table, I tuck my bag away as Alex stalks to the front of the room. ‘I’ll just get set up,’ I call over. ‘Give me five minutes.’

  ‘No problem,’ he responds distractedly, fiddling with his laptop.

  A few minutes later I’m satisfied the name badges, delegate list, notepads and pen pots are laid out properly and walk along the blue carpeted aisle created by the two sections of chairs set out in lines. Stepping onto the slightly raised stage, Alex is standing at the podium, adjusting the microphone with a deep line cutting between his dark eyebrows.

  He gestures to the wireless laptop set on a glass table over to the side and I nod, hustling over to it. Sitting down, I tap a finger on the Enter key and a sign-in screen appears.

  ‘Password?’ I prompt.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t expect it to have gone into sleep mode already.’ I jerk as the words flow directly into my ear, his warm breath sweeping over my cheekbone. A shiver runs up my back. I can’t sigh out loud, so I hold my breath instead. ‘Here.’ Reaching across me, he types his password in whilst I try not to flinch, holding my position as I will myself not to stare at his long lashes and the faint stubble along his jaw. He’s close enough I can smell his trendy male scent. It’s gorgeous; clean and masculine and sexy. Just like him. As I start to unwittingly lean closer, he straightens.

  ‘Okay?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes.’ I breathe out.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Yes?’ I swing my head to look at him.

  ‘It’s ready for you to use.’

  I must look blank because he gestures to the laptop, mouth curving in a slight smile. ‘Care to rejoin me on planet earth so we can get started?’ He pauses. ‘I interrupted your nap earlier, perhaps you’re still tired?’

  The mild sarcasm makes me flush. ‘That was an accident. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just didn’t sleep properly last night.’

  ‘Hmm,’ slipping me a sideways glance, ‘I know the feeling.’

  Not sure what he means, I ignore
his comment. ‘Look Alex, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have—’

  ‘Now’s not the time. Let’s get on with this.’ Not waiting for an answer to his comment, he strolls back to the microphone.

  I bite my lip. ‘Fine. But we’ll talk later,’ I mutter crossly under my breath. ‘That’s a promise.’

  The next few hours are ridiculously busy. It’s exhilarating, even if not the work I’m used to any more. After syncing the laptop to the massive SMART board above the stage, we run through Alex’s presentation three times before he’s happy with it. He has a clicker to control the slides, but insists I know the timings in case of technical faults, in which case I’ll use the laptop to change the slides.

  I greet the few dozen employees and some of the shareholders as they flood in, Alex explaining to me in a low voice that anyone not present can vote by proxy or electronically. Giving out badges, ticking off lists and making small talk, I enjoy the buzz in the air. There are probably about two hundred attendees and they all look pleased to be here.

  Whilst coffee is served ahead of the meeting, it strikes me as bitterly ironic to be representing the global umbrella organisation of the company in the capacity of a temporary PA when my ultimate ambition was to fast-track into a promoted position elsewhere in the group. If it weren’t for Tony, one day I might have been attending an AGM as a senior manager. It’s not fair.

  Face burning with troubled thoughts, I’m glad when Alex nods at me across the room to get started. I close the doors and dim the lights, hotfooting it onto the stage to join him at the glass table, adjusting the laptop so it’s right in front of me. As Alex rises from his seat, I notice a faint sheen of sweat across his forehead. If it was anyone else I’d wonder if it was nerves, but he’s so self-assured I scrub the idea. Maybe he’s not feeling well.

  ‘Ready?’ He buttons his jacket and licks his lips. I nod, puzzled. Is he okay? Without another word, he walks over to centre stage

  ‘Good morning everyone,’ he says, adjusting the microphone slightly. ‘Are we ready to begin?’ Conversation dies down and people turn their heads to give their full attention. ‘Good,’ he replies, ‘then I’ll start. I’m Alex Demetrio, CEO of Demetrio International.’ I can see his hands where they’re resting on the podium. His fingers are clenched and white, but no trace of doubt shadows his clear, firm voice. ‘Welcome to our AGM.’