by JD Nixon
“What’s the matter? It’ll dry out,” I said, my tone nonchalant.
“Hope you didn’t have anything in your pockets.”
“Oh shit! My phone!” I scrabbled through each of the cargo pants’ many pockets to pull out my mobile, soaked to the core and no longer operational. “Oops,” I blushed.
Heller shook his head at me again and Daniel came over to retrieve the drowned phone from me, laughing.
“Maybe it will be okay when it dries out?” I suggested optimistically. Heller rolled his eyes and slipped his arm around me, hauling me in close and kissing the top of my head once more.
“You are an idiot,” he said affectionately. I threw my legs over his lap, slithered my arms around his waist and leaned against his chest. To be honest, it was probably my favourite place in the world to be, and I loved placing my ear against his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat.
“But I’m a loveable idiot, at least,” I smiled, looking up at him.
“A sweet, loveable idiot,” he agreed. “Lucky for you that you are. It’s the only thing that keeps you employed here sometimes.”
I was happy about him buying me another phone, but wasn’t too happy about him calling me sweet. He rarely meets sweet people in his line of work, so he can’t really make a fair comparison. And I’m not too keen to be classified as sweet in the first place. It’s kind of boring. I’d much rather be smoking hot. Yeah, okay, I know that’s unrealistic – I’m very tall (180 centimetres) with long dark brown wavy hair, big light brown eyes, clear pale skin, a trim figure and a great rack, but that’s about it. Not even close to smoking hot territory. Angelina Jolie and Megan Fox had no competition from me.
He sighed patiently. “I’m going to have to buy you another phone now. You’re turning out to be an expensive pet for me to keep.”
“Don’t be so mean,” I protested and settled down against him. With the warmth of the water and his gentle stroking of my hair, I fell completely asleep, only waking minutes (hours?) later when he stirred to get out. I sat up blinking and yawning.
“Time for bed,” he ordered. Everyone else trooped off obediently, used to following his orders after living with him for years. As I stood up, a waterfall cascaded from my uniform and I tried valiantly to wring out some water. Wet cargo pants are damn heavy, and I dragged one leg after the other out of the tub. It was no good, I was going to have to take the wet clothes off or create a flood on my way downstairs to my flat on the fourth floor. Heller handed me a towel and stood and watched impassively as I struggled out of my dripping clothes. The cargo pants were clinging to my legs and I was having great difficulty removing them.
“You don’t have to watch,” I snapped crossly.
“But I’m enjoying it,” he smiled. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen me in my panties, so I wasn’t too concerned. Although when I thought about it, they were soaking wet and I could only hope they hadn’t turned transparent.
“At least come and help me.”
I had become tangled up in the wet pants, and was hopping around on one foot, desperately trying to pull my other leg out of the clinging pants. He grasped my arm gently, propelled me to the step of the hot tub and pushed me down. He found the waistband of the pants and dragged them off forcefully in one go. He then took the towel off my shoulder, stood me up and proceeded to dry me off vigorously.
“Ow!” I protested. “Don’t be so rough.”
“I don’t get that complaint from women very often.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
He stopped drying and we looked at each other for an uncomfortable moment, remembering what had happened some months ago. He’d briefly been a suspect in a homicide investigation after some very rough sex with the victim hours before she was murdered. I usually took great care to avoid the subject because I didn’t want to remind him about the threat he had made about my oldest brother Brian, one of the investigating detectives. Brian and his partner had deliberately kept interrogating Heller for hours about the sordid details of his sex with the victim even though they knew he was innocent.
Heller wasn’t a forgive-and-forget type of man and he really knew how to hold a grudge. I worried for Brian’s safety, having witnessed Heller delivering a violent beating to a creep who’d attacked me, and heard rumours that he might even have killed a man. But I figured that if a cop can’t look out for himself, then who in the world could? And I had tried to warn Brian, God knows. He had dismissed my concerns with contempt, scorning my suggestion that he apologise to Heller. I’d had to leave it at that and let it go, seeing that nothing I said would make a difference. But I still worried.
Heller wrapped the towel around me and used it to pull me up tight against him, slipping his hands down my back and running them over my butt.
“Daniel’s very wrong,” he said softly, with the ghost of a smile. “These are two perfect handfuls. No man could ask for better.”
I pushed him away, laughing, and finished drying myself. I bundled myself up in the towel and yawned hugely. “Do you want to know what happened today?”
“We’ll have a little chat about it tomorrow,” he said mildly and his glacial blue eyes melted a little as he looked down at me. He stroked my cheek gently with the back of his hand and then nudged me towards the stairs. “Goodnight, my sweet.”
I was too tired to argue, so stumbled downstairs to my little flat, brushed my teeth, jumped into pyjamas and as soon as my head hit my pillow, I fell asleep. But looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t lie awake all night worrying about that ‘little chat’ we were going to have the next day.
Because knowing Heller as well as I do, I really should have.
Chapter 4
Naturally after all my carnal activities that evening, I had a great sleep, but was woken at a ridiculously early hour by the sound of men’s voices in my flat. Too groggy to be alarmed, I stumbled out to my open-plan living area to find Heller, Daniel and two workmen doing something noisy in my kitchen.
“Morning gorgeous,” smirked Daniel. I gathered from that smart comment that I looked an absolute fright, but the two workmen eyed off my thin singlet top and boxer shorts pyjama combo with wide-eyed appreciation. I staggered over to Heller to lean against him.
“What are you doing? It’s too early to be doing things,” I complained blearily, trying to force my eyes open, but giving up and leaving them shut.
“It’s not early,” Heller admonished gently. “I’ve been up for hours and even managed to fit in a couple of meetings with clients.”
“But you like getting up early and I don’t,” I mumbled into his chest.
He slid one arm around my shoulders and led me over to the kitchen to show me what the men were installing in the space under my counter where I kept my rubbish bin. It was a shiny black button.
“What’s that?” I asked, clueless.
“It’s a panic button,” said Heller. “I never thought I’d need to install one in this flat because I planned on it being occupied by my new client manager – someone who would never need a panic button. Someone who wouldn’t get themselves involved in tricky situations. Someone elegant, personable and professional.” I puffed up at his compliments. “But then I hired you instead.”
I deflated. “What will happen if I push the panic button?”
“It will alert me, Daniel and the twins in our flats, me in my office and the security team downstairs. We’ll all come crashing through the door, armed and ready to kill someone.”
I looked up at him. He was serious. “So it’s not to be used to summon some help when I can’t open a jar?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “No, it’s not to be used for that.”
I contemplated the button. “Well, I can’t imagine ever needing it then.”
“Let’s hope not.” He smoothed down my feral hair with one hand. “Your hair looks like you’ve been out in a cyclone,” he said with amusement. “How on earth does it get in that state while you sl
eep?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just really active in bed.”
The workmen sniggered, Daniel smothered a smile with his hand and I could feel the low rumble of Heller chuckling through his chest.
“You’re a man’s dream come true, my sweet,” he said, grinning.
I woke up properly then. “I didn’t mean it like that! Is that all you men ever think about?”
“No, we think about work too. Sometimes.”
“And speaking of work,” spoke up Daniel. “Don’t you have a staff meeting in the security section at ten?”
I checked the clock – 9:58 AM. Shit! Clive was a stickler for punctuality.
Abandoning everyone, I ran to the bathroom and took a one-minute shower. I dashed to my bedroom wearing only a towel, all four men’s eyes following me. Slamming the door, I threw on a clean uniform, pulled on my socks and picked up my boots and utility belt, haring out my front door and down the stairs to the ground floor, nearly slipping in my socks. I skidded into the security section, hopping and pulling on one boot as I did.
The meeting had already started and Clive was speaking. Unfortunately, my planned inconspicuous entrance was spoiled by me tripping over a rubbish bin as I hopped, sending me careening into a group of men, violently pushing one of them up against a desk and knocking a coffee mug to the ground, which shattered loudly on the dark hardwood floor. Everyone turned around to look at me.
Clive made a pointed show of glancing at his watch, before slowly moving his cold, hard gray eyes back to me. He wasn’t one of my biggest fans. Cheeks flaming, I quickly picked up the broken pieces of mug, threw them in the bin I righted, mouthed “sorry” to all the men I’d disturbed and settled myself on a nearby desk to finish pulling on and lacing up my boots.
Clive resumed, advising us of various changes in office procedures and legislation in his gruff, blunt manner. The security business was highly regulated and Heller was scrupulous in ensuring that all his staff were properly screened, licensed and kept up-to-date with any legislative changes. In fact, he was so scrupulous that I often wondered if was trying to avoid any scrutiny from the regulators, which made me wonder yet again if he ever took on any assignments that were a little . . . under-the-table. But I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to know either.
The men grew restless as Clive continued, shuffling feet, clearing throats, one repeatedly clicking a pen in and out, another drumming a beat with his fingers on a desk. Fortunately, he didn’t speak for much longer. But just as we thought we’d all be dismissed to find our assignments for the day, his second-in-command, Rumbles, pushed a plasma TV on a wheeled trolley to the front of the room.
We all groaned.
“Put a sock in it!” ordered Clive, raising his voice. “Judging by that enthusiastic response, you’ve already guessed that we also have a video to watch this morning.”
The groans grew louder. Three or four times a year, we were forced by the regulators to watch some waste-of-time ‘educational’ DVDs for professional development purposes. They were usually of poor quality with wooden acting and a stilted script. The actors re-enacted scenarios that we supposedly might encounter as security officers, with each scenario showing the ‘right’ way to manage it versus the ‘wrong’ way. The DVDs were meant to engender lively debate and discussion amongst security staff, but in reality left us all silent, unresponsive and as desperate to escape the room as a crowd of wharfies at a Glee concert.
“This one’s particularly instructive and I’m sure you’ll all learn some new moves,” Clive informed us in his flat voice. Rumbles pressed the play button and dimmed the lights and we all unwillingly settled back to watch, leaning against anything that didn’t move. I sat on a desk, swinging my legs, prepared to be bored.
The title flashed up on screen – The City’s Foxiest Fighter? And there I was again – bum and boobs hanging out of that bloody lingerie, seemingly beating up an ageing and inebriated former celebrity. The joke was on me.
The men started laughing and glancing in my direction, the ones near me nudging me teasingly, and a couple even wolf-whistling. Okay, so maybe the mask wasn’t such a great disguise, after all. I was grateful that the lights were low so nobody witnessed my blazing red face.
When it was over and Rumbles turned the lights back on, the men applauded and cheered. I had a couple of choices – I could take umbrage and stalk off in a huff at being ridiculed in front of my workmates like that, or I could take it on the chin in the good-humoured spirit it was meant.
I chose the latter and stood in the middle of the room to give them all a sweeping theatrical bow of thanks and said with a sassiness I wasn’t feeling, “Hoped you enjoyed the view, guys, because that’s as close as any of you are ever going to get.”
And that provoked a rowdy response of laughter, booing, catcalls, groans of disappointment and joking. In the middle of it all, Heller slipped into the room unobtrusively and positioned himself against the door, watching, his face expressionless. As men noticed him, they fell silent, and a stream of silence undulated around the room until we had all quietened.
His eyes moved from one of us to the next, regarding us, assessing us. Judging us?
“You, you, you and you also, Matilda,” he demanded coolly, pointing as he spoke. “In the gym, now.”
I exchanged nervous glances with the three men who’d been on the lingerie job with me as we made our way to a door on the far side of the security office. The other men scattered, pretending to be busy, but discreetly craning one ear and one eye towards us.
The gym was dedicated for the use of the security men and smelled of dirty socks, sweaty armpits and hard work. Heller waited at the door until we had all entered and then followed us in. Clive moved in behind him and closed the door, standing in front of it with his legs apart, arms crossed and face blank, in what I considered to be a very menacing development. There was no escape for us.
Heller towered before us, controlled and motionless, blasting us one by one with arctic chill. His face was unreadable. None of us dared to breathe. My heart thumped so loudly that I was sure everyone could hear.
His voice was quiet. “Yesterday, the four of you made my business – made me – look bad. Incompetent. Easily distracted. Unprofessional. Not able to handle a minor altercation without creating a spectacle.”
I swallowed hard when his eyes fell on me. I hoped that he wasn’t going to yell at me – that’s never a pleasant experience. And not for the first time, I was disconcerted by his ability to appear flirty and affectionate towards me while all along planning to give me a royal bollocking later at his convenience. It was as if he was able to clinically separate his relationship with me as my boss from his relationship with me as my . . . whatever he was. I found it cold-blooded.
“Tell me what happened,” he demanded.
I automatically opened my mouth to speak.
“Not you, Matilda. You.” He pointed at Tony.
His face mottling red, Tony stammered and stuttered for a painful couple of minutes. His version of events was so disconnected and incomprehensible that Heller would not have been any the wiser by the time he petered out, flushing, with sweat glistening on his top lip.
“I have no idea what you just said,” Heller dismissed coldly and turned back to me. “Matilda? Speak please. At least you can string two words together.”
I dared a quick glance at Tony, who was staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched and body stiff with shame, and proceeded to explain to Heller why I was up on the stage in the first place, obviously not mentioning the canapes. I downplayed the men’s inattention and played up the crush of the crowd, the loud music and how my vantage point on stage enabled me to spot the fracas before they did. But I wasn’t sure that I convinced him of anything.
“Why did that man suddenly become so aggressive with you? What did you say to him? Were you polite and calm when you approached him as you’ve been trained to be?”
“It’s not what it see
ms, Heller. He wasn’t being aggressive and I wasn’t fighting with him. He became tangled up in my chains and we were trying to free ourselves.” He stared down at me unblinkingly. “That’s what happened. Honestly. I was polite and he left quietly and willingly when we untangled.”
He contemplated me for a long moment before speaking again. “With anybody else I would consider that explanation to be completely implausible, but with you . . .” His eyes raked over my face. “You’re fortunate you weren’t in uniform, Matilda. There’s no reason why anyone watching that clip should connect you to my business.” Heller turned his attention back to all of us. “It may interest the four of you to know that I met with Ms Mackenzie and Monsieur Roux this morning. At their request. They wanted to discuss the show with me personally.”
Oh shit, I thought, my eyes flitting around the room for an escape route. But with Clive guarding the door and the room’s only window barred with thick iron rods for security, there was none. There were no options for me – I’d just have to brave it out.
“They were very grateful to you for filling in during the show, Matilda. And for dealing with the gatecrasher.”
“Really?” I blurted out in disbelief, not thinking.
“Yes. The entire situation has garnered them extensive media attention. Far more than the show was generating by itself.” Those thoughtful blue eyes on me again. “They couldn’t be happier. And that means that the organisers couldn’t be happier, either. I received a very generous gratuity from them.”
He shifted his gaze back to the three men. “You’re very fortunate, gentlemen, that Matilda was able to make herself useful to the client yesterday, otherwise this would have been something other than a little chat.” He let the threat of that sink in. “You can go.”