Business Secrets

by Emma York

  His card felt heavy in my handbag as I headed for the lift. I wouldn’t ring the number. I wouldn’t say yes. He’d only done it as a joke, to toy with me.

  I wouldn’t ring him for another reason too. This was real life. I couldn’t spend any more time with him. I was thinking about him as I left the building and I was thinking about him when I walked home. If I saw him again, I would start to obsess. Not good. Obsessing over him would only hurt me.

  He’d never want someone like me and the quicker I got that into my head, the better. Fifty Shades was fiction. This was real life. Billionaires don’t go for people like me in real life, they go for the sort of waif who watched me walk out of the lift, barely disguised contempt plastered across her face. That kind of person. Flat chest, flat personality, someone who doesn’t make bad jokes or live permanently in the red.

  Didn’t stop me thinking about him though, about the way his hand had felt when it enveloped mine, the way he’d smiled at me, the way he’d spoken to me. Didn’t stop me flashing his card at her as I went by either, watching that contempt turn to bewildered surprise.

  I walked out of the building and headed back across the bridge. I felt his eyes on me. Glancing back over my shoulder, I looked up at the Spencer Enterprises building. Was he watching me from one of those blank windows? Of course not, he had a company to run.

  I hoped Emma could make something of my notes. At least I had done what she asked. She would get her article, I’d get some leeway to find another job before being made homeless and all I had to do now was get Jamie Spencer out of my head once and for all. I wasn’t going to think about him for a second longer.

  I walked past a newspaper kiosk. There was his face again on the front cover of the Financial Times. Nope, I thought, looking away. Not going to think about him anymore. He was too arrogant. He was too smug. He thought I’d ring just because it was him. I’d prove him wrong. I’d forget all about him, never think of him again.

  I was still thinking about him when I got home. A shower. That would help. A shower so cold I’d come out with hypothermia. If that didn’t work, nothing would.

  It didn’t work.

  FOUR - JAMIE

  I watched her from the office window. After she’d gone, I stood behind the desk, looking down at the bridge that spanned the river, the cars crawling along it, the first of the day's tourists making their way from the train station into the city centre. How many of them knew there was a Goddess amongst them?

  I was obsessed. From the moment she’d entered the office, I was obsessed. I had to have her. The need had taken over and I could think about nothing but her. There she was, scurrying along, looking lost, almost running, as if she was running from her own feelings, from the desire she’d felt when I slipped her hand inside my own.

  I had come close to grabbing her then, sweeping the desk clear and throwing her down, ripping those tights from her, making her scream with those pouting red lips of hers. But I didn’t do it for two reasons.

  One, I was a professional and until we were Sub Rosa, I was doing nothing to her.

  Two, I had to be at the club for twelve. Anything else, any other appointment, I might have cancelled to fuck her instead, to make her realise she needed to go through the locked door with me, to discover who she really was.

  Spanking her would be so much fun. She had never done it before. So prudish about the idea. I had no doubt she’d told the truth. I doubted she was capable of lying at all. She was the sort of innocent, good, pure, woman that I should have nothing to do with.

  She stopped in the middle of the bridge, looking back at the building, craning her neck towards me. Did she know I was watching her? No, of course not. That would be impossible.

  I wanted to chase after her. That was a new feeling. I’d never chased before. They’d all come to me. Would she ring me? She had the number. I was confident she would but still, I wanted to chase after her. Why?

  Whatever emotions I thought I was feeling, I wanted them gone. It would just be about the domination and it would happen when she rang, not before. Chasing wasn’t good. Chasing meant emotions and I had vowed never to have emotions like that again. Not since Christine died.

  Is it true you’ve never married?

  A simple question but one that had dragged up memories I had done my best to forget.

  She didn’t want the truth. No one could handle the truth. The few people who found out could never meet my eye afterwards, they didn’t know what to say when I told them about Christine.

  When you have loved a woman, asked her to marry you, then watched cancer eat away at her until she was a shadow of herself, ending her days unaware of who you are, screaming, clawing, fighting to stay alive. The guilt that wracks you in those final hours is impossible to ever forget. The guilt of wanting it to end.

  I wanted her to die. By that point, I wanted her to die. I couldn’t bear to see her like that, eyes bulging above sunken cheeks, limbs strapped to the bed to stop her hurting herself. All the money in the world couldn’t save her.

  All my wealth and I could do absolutely nothing apart from watch and afterwards, I had to live with the fact that when she finally succumbed, there was a part of me that was glad. Glad it was all over.

  I must be a fucked up person to have even thought that. The woman I loved, the woman I was supposed to make my wife, me sat beside her bed, glad she was still at last, glad it was all over. Her body wasn’t even cold before relief hit me.

  Is it true you’ve never married?

  Yes, it’s true. And I never will. I will never get that close to anyone ever again. That’s the real truth. I keep my own counsel, like in the car, like in the house. I keep my feelings in my head.

  I didn’t tell her I work so hard to distract myself from the pain, to distract myself from the sheer unrelenting agony of knowing that I wished Christine dead.

  By the end, I wanted her to die. She spat at me, she spat at the nurses, she called them scum, evil, devils. She forgot me entirely, she just thought I was one more person causing her pain and she hated me for it. Never again. Never would I feel the pain of losing one I loved. Better not to love than that.

  I watched at the window until Rosa was gone from sight. Then I sat down and told myself to get a grip. What good was thinking about the past?

  I had to stop, it would distract me from preparing for my interview. This was the interview that mattered, not that one. I could find her later, use her as one more distraction from the pain. I needed to make sure I didn’t screw this up first. I had to get this right. There were no second chances with Club Darkness.

  Club Darkness.

  The ultimate distraction.

  I knew little snippets about what happened there but most of it was still a mystery. It was one of very few still remaining in my life. That was part of why I was so desperate to become a member. I needed to know what was happening in there.

  All I knew was that there was a bar inside the building, there was a stage too. It was a BDSM club of sorts. But it wasn’t like any of the others. It had a branch in London and this one in Harrogate that hadn’t been open anywhere near as long, just a couple of years. But the rumours that flew around kept everyone I knew fighting for a chance to get in. I had to become a member. Like little Miss Harper. I saw something I wanted so I had to have it.

  A club like that operated Sub Rosa rules for the entire building. No one outside could know what happened in there. I could spend every night in there if I wanted to, spend every minute outside work distracting myself, what better way to do it?

  I couldn’t keep going behind the locked door forever with one woman after another. Eventually, someone would ask questions about why half the floor wasn’t being utilised. Or some electrician would chase a broken cable into there and the truth would come out.

  I needed somewhere else and the club had already made clear they could accommodate someone like me, someone who liked to dominate. I just had to get in first. Then I could empty the ro
oms behind the locked door, set up a new empire in the club. Safe, private, no risk of anyone finding out.

  All of that depended on the interview paying off.

  I had been preparing for it as long as I could. Any donations they needed, I would make, any concern about me leaking information, I could assuage. I would never share what happened in there. I would be the perfect member, rich, powerful, invested in the world they created and not afraid to get involved with club life. The need would forever be satisfied and I would not have to think about chasing people like Rosa Harper down the street and fucking her against a wall before she had a chance to realise what was happening.

  I left the office at half past ten. That gave me ninety minutes to get to Harrogate, a journey that should take no more than thirty. I took no chances. I could not be late.

  The car was waiting for me outside. Sleek, silent, expensive. It would do until they made a darker colour. I climbed in and the driver set off. He already had the address.

  I sat back and looked out at the passing streets. It had stopped raining but the clouds were still black as the paintwork of the Bentley. We headed slowly out of the city centre and I found myself thinking about Rosa again. Would she ring me?

  Stop it, I told myself. Think about the club, not her. I wished she hadn’t been the one to come to interview me. She’d thrown a spanner into the workings of my perfect routine and made me think about Christine when I didn’t want to. Now I was thinking about her and I didn’t want to. I wanted to think about the club, about the interview that would take place in a little over an hour. What would they ask me? Would they interrogate me about my past? Would they know about the locked door?

  No, how could they?

  I had been interrogated before. There had been numerous takeovers that I’d been involved in with people unhappy at being swallowed up by Spencer Enterprises, false allegations, tax people, foreign investors, the police. I was used to being grilled. But that was my world. I could eat business meetings and spit them out without blinking. But this? I knew nothing about their set up beyond the rumours. I didn’t even know who would be interviewing me or what they’d ask. The message had just said the club would ask me questions and to be there for noon.

  I got to Harrogate with an hour to spare so I made the driver get coffee. I sat in the back of the car, drinking mine. He stood outside the car, sipping at his, watching out for trouble.

  There was no point getting there too early. I’d only be sat in the car park. But what could I do while I was waiting? I decided to go for a walk, see if I could shake Rosa from my head. I didn’t want thoughts of her distracting me while I was in the club.

  The club was two streets from where we’d parked. I set off in the other direction, spying the entrance to a park and heading for it. The place was as Victorian as the town, bandstand, wrought iron railings, spring flowers in a multitude of colours, little stream trickling under drooping plants. A rose bush. Roses. Rosa.

  Rosa. Damn it, I was thinking about her again.

  She would ring.

  Eventually. They all did. She would ring. I would make her the last one. After her, I would begin a new set up at the club. Of course they would let me in. It was me. Nowhere had ever turned me down. No one had ever turned me down. I didn’t chase. They came to me. Everything came to me.

  I sat on a bench and watched the pond opposite. An old lady was feeding the ducks. A flicker of light above. The clouds were starting to clear. My mind cleared with them.

  The club would say yes. I would answer Rosa’s call. She would be a fitting farewell to the rooms behind the locked door. Then my world would shift to inside the club and I would find all the subs I ever wanted without even having to look. They would be lined up for me to choose from, all of them desperate to be dominated by me.

  That was what I wanted. Fuck Rosa, dominate her, then get rid of her. Get settled in the club.

  Don’t think about why Rosa is still in your head. It’s because of the need, nothing else. There is no other emotion when it comes to women. You will never fall for another woman again.

  Just watch the passers-by pointing at you and don’t think about anything at all. Yes, it’s me. You’ve recognised me. Well done.

  I looked at the time. I needed to head back. How long had I been sitting there? I walked quickly, getting to the club car park with ten minutes to spare.

  The building didn’t look like it housed the most exclusive club in the country. In fact, if you didn’t know what it was, you’d think it was just an overly large detached house.

  There was a car park waiting at the end of a drive, surrounded by tall trees that gave a good sense of privacy to the place. The house itself was red brick, shutters across all the windows. I got the feeling it only came to life at night. There was one door. I walked up to it and rang the bell. Nothing happened.

  I was about to ring it again when a voice spoke. “Name?”

  I glanced down. There was a speaker hidden behind the potted plant to my left.

  “Jamie Spencer.”

  “Enter.”

  The door clicked and I pushed it open. I stepped into a corridor that was lit by a single lamp on a stand halfway down. From the far end of the hallway, I could hear footsteps echoing, growing louder.

  A figure appeared from around the corner.

  “Mr Spencer?”

  I nodded.

  “Walk this way.”

  FIVE - ROSA

  “How did you get this?”

  Two minutes earlier I’d been asleep. Now I was bleary eyed, sitting up, Emma waving a business card in my face and not making a lot of sense.

  “How did I get what?”

  “His card. His phone number. How did you get this?”

  “He gave it to me.”

  I had come home from the interview to find the house empty for once. I made the most of the peace and quiet by, you guessed it, vacuuming the carpets.

  I had listened out for Emma coming home all day but she wasn’t there by the time I went to bed last night after a fruitless time job searching on my phone.

  I woke up to the frantic hammering of her fist on my bedroom door. That was after I’d been woken up once by the recycling collection outside, rattling broken glass as if they were right by my ear. Then I was woken up by the horn beeping of a taxi come to collect Philip and take him off to work. It was only six forty-five.

  I tried and failed to get back to sleep and in the end I sat up and dug into my handbag, pulling out his card. It was heavy, expensive card, soft to the touch, embossed lettering. Spencer, it said on one side. On the other a phone number and underneath, a rose, drawn in pen. Had he drawn that? It was pretty good for a doodle.

  I looked at the number and then I told myself I only wanted to ring him because I was tired.

  I put the card down and lay back under the blankets, trying not to think about him, not wanting to obsess about those strong arms, about what he might look like out of that suit. I didn’t want to know.

  Then I woke up to Emma hammering on my door. “Are you awake?” she asked as I groaned in response.

  “I am now,” I called out, ready to hurl a pillow at her. I’d been woken up enough times already.

  “Good,” she said, her face appearing in the door. “Sorry I didn’t catch you last night.”

  “The interview with Pie Face Records man went well then?”

  “He invited me to a gig.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “I don’t think anyone knew them. There were about twelve people there. He called them the next big thing and then let slip his the bass guitarist was his nephew. Turned out he only agreed to the interview to try and get a puff piece about them.”

  “That’s awful. What did you do.”

  “I want to know what you did. We can talk about Mr Octopus hands and his tone deaf nephew later.”

  “What do you mean, what did I do?”

  “Aren’t you curious why I’m in your bedroom at seven fort
y-five in the morning?”

  “You’ve discovered latent lesbian tendencies and thought you’d try them on me?”

  “Close but no. Besides you’re not my type. Too much-” She held her hands in front of her chest.

  “Thanks. Just because you can run on a treadmill without getting black eyes doesn’t mean we all can.”

  “You’re just jealous.”

  “Emma, fun as this is. I quite like sleep so if you could maybe get to the point.”

  She frowned as if thinking. “Oh yeah, you distracted me. It’s your fault.”

  “What do you want?” My voice rose enough for her to frown again.

  “I just got off the phone with my editor. What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing, I just uploaded the interview notes last night like you wanted.” I’d seen the note on the noticeboard when I’d got back. Post the notes here. Then a link to a Dropbox folder.

  “Well, he saw them first thing this morning, sometimes I wonder if the guy ever sleeps.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “But guess what, Rosa?”

  “You’re going to bugger off and let me go back to bed?”

  “He’s offered you an assignment and a potential full time post on the magazine.”

  That got my attention. I sat up properly. “You’re kidding?”

  “How did you get this?” she asked, noticing the business card, picking it up and turning it over in her hands.

  I told her.

  “You dark horse, did you get him to give you this? He never gives out his card. And look, he’s even drawn a rose for Rosa, I’m shocked.”

  I snatched it from her. “He gave me his card because he wants me to sign up to some consultancy training thing of his, says he can teach me how to be confident.”

  “But you are confident.”

  “You should have seen me in his office. I went all Anastasia.”

  “You escaped the execution of your family?”

  “No, Steele, not Disney. I went all nervous and bumbling.”