The Executive's Red, #1

by Leeanna White

  I rifle my fingers through his wild damp hair, smiling gleefully. He hoists his head, his golden eyes are tender and relaxed. His lips softly touch mine as he stares. This is a strange feeling. I’m so content and I feel remarkable, but there’s something else. A kind of warm tingle ablaze inside me.

  He pulls out of me, rolls over, and swings his legs off the edge of the bed. I wrap the red silky sheet around me and fall back in tranquillity, as he retrieves his jeans from the floor. He turns to ogle me.

  “Was that satisfactory, Miss Lovell.” He smiles cockily, as I thank the heavens above for letting this man be born.

  “Hmm.” I grin, watching him pull up his zipper.

  Holding his shirt he bends to kiss my head. “I have to go out.” Is he joking? I can’t tell. His face is as straight as a die. “Make yourself at home. There’s food and juice in the kitchen.”

  He goes into his walk-in closet then comes out wearing a black hoodie, holding his sneakers. I watch in perplexity, wondering what the hell this is. He can’t spare one minute after we’ve just had one of the greatest sexual encounters of all-time.

  “Where?” I sweep back my messy hair, sitting upright.

  He sits on the edge of the bed, fastening his laces with a sideward glance. He sighs with a sweet but guilty expression, then turns his attention back to his sneakers.

  “I have to go to the office.” He stands up, pulling some white earphones out from his pocket. “I won’t be long.” He kisses me quick and leaves me alone without another word.

  Well, that was one hell of a brush-off. When a guy runs out like that, it’s usually due to a post one-night stand freak-out. I thought I did okay. Maybe I wasn’t up to scratch by his standards. Shit, he’s probably going over the whole thing right now, wondering if I’m worth a second shot.

  Dazed, I lie down for a few minutes. But how can I relax now?

  I get up with the sheet still cloaked around me and wander around his room. I stand before the fire, looking on the mantelpiece. There’s an antique German solid silver clock, and two chrome trinket boxes. I lift one of the lids and it opens out into different compartments. Cufflinks, at least two dozen pairs, and not cheap. I pull one out and study it. It’s platinum, with the initials A.K engraved in it. Very extravagant. I twirl the piece of jewellery between my thumb and finger.

  Put it back Liz. You know you’ll drop and lose it. You’ve always been a klutz.

  I mooch across the room, deciding to take a sneak peek in Mr Knight’s closet, and all I can say is, wow. I mean the guy must have a tie for every day of the year.

  I pull down on the lowering rail. It wouldn’t surprise me, looking in this vast immaculate dressing room, that’s bigger than my bedroom, if he had specified dates stitched into each one. These are the three main colours that Mr Knight’s tie collection consist of: grey, silver, and pink. I don’t see the point. He could get rid of his tie fetish in one easy step, by just sticking with three ties.

  I turn to the mirror and see his pressed suits hung in a strict order on the left wall. Jackets and waistcoats displayed high. Shirts in the middle. And pressed trousers below. All are designer and again all lean toward the three colour code inclination: blues, greys, and blacks. Then I see his more casual attire displayed in a separate organised shelving space. Pressed jeans, casual shirts, sneakers and boots. All of which are lined in an OCD manner.

  I don’t get it. My wardrobe consists of around thirty items, including the peach bridesmaid gown that needs throwing out. Half the stuff in there I haven’t worn in years. I suppose I don’t need to make a statement the way he has to.

  I FINISH FASTENING the last button on my shirt as I make my way into the kitchen. I open the fridge. There’s not much in there. Just a few cartons of fresh juice and a lonely stick of celery, which looks about as lost as me right now. I wonder where all the food is he told me to help myself to. If he’s referring to the celery, I’m afraid that looks a little too miserable to eat.

  I go for the pineapple juice. I pull out the carton and hunt around the kitchen for a glass. I’m sure Adrien is the type to lose it if he knows his cartons have been contaminated with saliva. This place is spotless.

  I can’t find a glass anywhere. Every cupboard I’ve looked in is bare. Even the one above the coffee maker is now empty. There isn’t even any plates, apart from the one on the dining table with the meal Adrien had made for me.

  Fuck it. I quickly lift the carton up to my mouth.

  The front door rattles and opens, making me jump. Crap. The juice has slipped out of my hand, onto the floor, and has splashed everywhere. It’s gone all over the squeaky-clean cupboards, and under the fridge. Oh god, it’s even splattered up the pristine white walls.

  “Miss Lovell.” Great, it’s Sara, and she looks a little surprised to see me. She walks by the kitchen island, noticing the mess I’ve made.

  “Sara.” I offer an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

  She opens a cupboard underneath the kitchen island, takes out some kitchen roll in a huff, and tears off a big handful.

  “Where’s Mr Knight?” she asks, dropping the paper onto the floor, using her heels to mop up the spillage.

  “He said he had something to take care of... in the office.”

  “Oh, for fuck sake!” She slams her handbag down on the worktop.

  What’s her problem? Come to think of it, why is she here? Does she not have a home to go to? She’s tottering around in her lap dancing shoes, showing way too much leg. Is she actually after sleeping with my, Mr Knight?

  “I suggest you leave. He’s always the same after he’s been laid,” she snaps.

  “Excuse me!” I know it’s probably very obvious what went on in that bedroom, but still, her even thinking that has shocked me.

  “You heard. It would be best if you go home.”

  I’m not going anywhere. I was going to, because frankly he blew me off in the rudest way. But now she’s telling me to go, I refuse. All this stuff about him getting laid has got me interested.

  So no Sara, Mr Knight has just blown my brains out in that bedroom, and he told me to make myself at home, so that’s what I’m going to do.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, bravely.

  She mumbles and delves into her white handbag. She takes out a bottle of that stupid green vitamin drink, and hands it to me.

  “Let’s just say, Mr Knight has one hell of a thirst after he’s been laid,” she says like a true jealous bitch.

  So, he’s a sex related alcoholic; is that what she’s implying?

  She stares daggers at me as I try to pluck up the nerve to tell her to piss-off. But I can’t. She’s so sour and difficult to be around. All I manage to do to show my dislike, is slam the tonic down on the worktop. I lower my head, whip up my jacket, and charge toward the bedroom.

  “Sara.” I hear Adrien’s voice and fireworks flare in my gut. “Elizabeth.”

  He stops me in my tracks as he pulls down his hood. It’s clear he’s picked up on the thin atmosphere between Sara and me. His view darts from me onto her as though we’ve just been scratching each other’s eyes out.

  “What are you doing here Sara?” he asks, taking out his earphones.

  She scowls. “Are you okay, Mr Knight?”

  “Of course I am.” He beams across at me. “So again, what are you doing here?”

  She hums in a fluster. “I... I came to give you your schedule for the next few days.” She swiftly fumbles through her bag and takes out her iPad. “There have been a few changes. Mr Carmichael has altered the summit to tomorrow evening.” She holds a piece of paper out to him.

  His face stiffens with a jaw clench. He blusters over to Sara and snatches the sheet of paper, and his pupils begin to read angrily.

  “He’s an asshole. He’s gone behind my fuckin back. I told him after the holidays.” He slams the paper down. “And I told him we’re not using the damn Malmaison Hotel again. It’s not suitable.” His business side is very intimidat
ing, and kind of sexy. “Never mind.” He sees me nervously waiting. “Sara, call Carmichael and give him my itinerary. That will piss him off. Oh, and have Dominic organise transport to collect Cornel from the airport. Not in a cab this time.”

  “Yes sir.” Sara picks up her handbag and pauses to look at me. “Would you like me to drop Miss Lovell off at home?”

  “No,” he snaps. “That’s my job.”

  I SIT IN THE PASSENGER seat of the Land Rover, secretly stealing a glance every now and then. I’m tingling all over, playing out the entire evening in my head. But there’s this tiny niggling thought that’s getting to me. Why did he run out on me like that? I’ve been waiting for the right moment to bring it up, and now we’ve stopped at a red light, I have the chance.

  “Did you manage to get what you needed done at the office?”

  “Look, I’m sorry about that. It was ill-mannered of me, and I don’t want you to think it was a reflection of what we did.”

  I inhale an extensive breath. “Was I... I mean did I...”

  “Elizabeth, it was better than okay. Now please don’t spoil it by worrying.” He turns his awareness back to the road as I look out of the window, feeling all glorious.

  He pulls up to the curb and puts on the handbrake. I fiddle with the strap of my handbag as he angles his body across to me. I presumed I’d be receiving a kiss, but he’s now rummaging in the back of the glovebox. He pulls out a brown paper bag.

  “Here, these are for you.” He places the bag on my knee.

  I purse my lips and take a look inside. There are six of those supplement drinks he loves so much in there. I nod with a puzzled frown.

  “Just humour me. One a day, and you’ll feel fantastic.”

  I scrunch up the top of the bag. “I already do.” I smile, biting my lip.

  He runs his fingers under my hair, angles closer, and kisses me softly. “Goodbye for now, Elizabeth.”

  I wave outside my apartment block, closing the car door. It’s a battle to stop the ear-to-ear smile that’s persistently displayed on my face. I’m so light and carefree, as though a huge weight has been taken off my shoulders. He checks his wing-mirror, and my Knight and his steed disappear from my sight.

  I pick up the mail from the mailbox, and rummage through as I climb the stairs. There’s a package addressed to Cate, one of those mail-order hair catalogues she receives every month, and there’s a small envelope addressed to me.

  I toss my bag on the phone unit, while flicking off my shoes. Releasing a sigh, I rip open the envelope. It’s from work and typed very professionally. Not at all something Harry would do. I begin to read:

  Dear Miss Lovell

  In regards to your position at Aroma.

  All staff will continue in their roll when the shop has been refurbished. Your current pay level will increase after a period of eight weeks, if your dedication to the chain has been sufficient. New rotas and uniforms will be sent out in due course.

  Exactly what do I think of that? This. I screw up the letter. Harry knows I won’t work for a chain like cost-a-fortune. It won’t be the same. But then this is my living, and I don’t have the luxury of choice right now. I begrudgingly un-crumple the paper. Just until I graduate, I tell myself.

  IT’S NOW 3A.M. AND I can’t sleep. I’m wired and so tempted to call him. I take my phone from the bedside table. It tells me I have only four hours and thirty-five minutes before I have to get up for uni. I scroll down to his name and get a thrilling sensation inside my belly.

  Is it too late to text, and just what do I say?

  Hey Mr Sex god, I really can’t wait till next time.

  God Liz, put it down. You’re being needy.

  I turn over and curl up into my pillow when my room suddenly lights up. I spring over and see my phone flashing. I bounce and snatch it up. It’s a text from none other than my very own charming. I giggle, all rosy red like a naughty school girl, and open to read.

  Elizabeth. I never send messages. I find them an immature form of communication. But as I sit here thinking of your bare beauty, I’m drawn to join the masses. See how you have affected me. So, I am free next Saturday night, and shall pick you up at 7p.m. on the dot.

  Adrien

  PS: Pack an overnight bag.

  I read it again. I’ve never been so excited over a text message. Even if it was a bossy one, it’s got me in a tizzy. But can I allow him to be so presumptuous, assuming I can drop everything to go and spend the night with him, without questioning it? I am after all an independent woman. I do have my own life and friends to think of. I grin mischievously.

  Mr Knight. Thank you for rudely waking me from my slumber, to inform me of your plans for next Saturday. But I shall have to check my diary and get back to u. I am a very busy girl, and have a lot of commitments xxx

  I bite my cheek and press send.

  Good god, I have basically just said, ‘screw you Mr Knight.’

  My phone beeps again after a few tense minutes.

  7p.m. on the dot Miss Lovell. You’ll be ready. Sleep well, Elizabeth.

  I chuckle and put my phone down, before I send any more regrettable messages.

  Chapter 11

  Elizabeth

  “Liz, there’s another one,” Cate yells as I shovel a heap of coco-pops into my mouth.

  I drop my spoon into the dish and dash to the door. Cate barges by me, her pupils roll then vanish beneath her eyelids. I take the long stem single red rose from the courier, and close the door with the heel of my slipper boot. I sniff it as I swan leisurely to the vase, where three other long stem red roses stand, still fresh as the day they were delivered. I take one final lungful of the floral scent before slipping it into the water.

  “He’s a penny pincher,” Cate grumbles as I touch and admire the soft petals. “All that money, you’d think he’d splash out and get you a dozen.”

  She’s jealous, I can tell. She always goes all negative. So I just hum at her with a cheery unbothered grin.

  “You coming out tonight then?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s always too crazy for me on mad Thursday.”

  My plan is to avoid it at all cost. It’s student night, the last day of uni before Christmas break, and there’s always drunken trouble. All I want to do is come home, have a hot bath, and put my feet up ready for Saturday.

  “You’re coming, like it or not,” Cate stresses. “It’s been ages since we’ve been out together.”

  “I don’t feel like going out,” I say adamantly, even though I know exactly how this conversation will end. She won’t give up until she gets her way.

  She blows out with her knickers in a twist and marches right up to me. “You have to. We do this every year and you’re not going to let me down now,” she orders. “Look at this.” She turns me to face the mirror above the phone stand. “You’ve gone all soppy.” She flicks my hair. “Do you think that Mr Perfect is not having a good time in Birmingham? Bet he’s been sticking all his fifty pound notes down the G-string of every lap dancer in the city.”

  Great, now I have the mental image of Adrien with some slut on his knee, the place only I should be. I’m now completely livid for some messed up reason. Jeez, I really do need to wake up. I have turned soppy.

  “Thank you for that, Cate.” I move away from my reflection, feeling all disappointed.

  “Well it’s true. It’s what men like him do, Liz,” she says. “So, I’m finishing at five. Meet me at Finley’s, and I’ll have two margaritas waiting,” she chirps before leaving for work.

  Great. Finley’s. It will be full of drunks, prancing around to gimmicky Christmas tunes. Fabulous.

  I SAT IN CLASS ALL afternoon with my head in the clouds. Everything my lecturer said went in one ear, and out of the other. I only managed to jot down one sentence. Details on a five thousand word dissertation I have to complete over the holidays, on twentieth century slavery.

  I’ve received a total of sixteen text messages from Cate. Each
one saying the same: 5 o’clock, be there xx. So now, like a fool, I’m outside Finley’s in the freezing cold, watching as more and more people go through the doors.

  I spot Cate through the window. She’s sitting at the bar with what she promised, two margaritas, madly waving me inside with a silly Santa hat on her head.

  I haven’t made any effort. I’m still wearing my grey jeans and boots, with my hair up in a messy bun. Mad Thursdays aren’t for dressing up to the nines. What’s the point when the beer and drunks are flying everywhere. No, everyone usually just rolls out of work, and straight into the nearest pub.

  “Finally,” Cate says. “Thought for a moment there, I’d have to call Pete,” she jokes, handing me my salt rimmed glass.

  “You haven’t given me the choice,” I gripe.

  “Oh come on. It’s Christmas, student discount, and we’ll have fun like always.” She raises her glass. “Down in one.” She tips the margarita into her mouth, gulps it down, and sucks in the air through her teeth. “Your turn.” She wipes her lip.

  In a sulk I follow her lead. “God!” I gasp after swallowing. “If I’m ill tomorrow, you’re going to owe me.” I force a smile.

  “At a girl.”

  There’s hardly enough room to stand. The place is full. So packed the windows are steamed up from top to bottom. I’m on my fourth margarita, and the jingles being blasted that I usually hate, are making me itch to dance. I’m actually beginning to get that let-loose feeling.

  Cate springs up and starts dragging me toward the dance floor as the song, Last Christmas, pummels my ears. God, why am I doing this?

  Pete for once, I’m glad to see. Just as I’m about to step onto the black and white chock-a-block dance floor he grabs Cate’s waist, so I make a hasty retreat back to the bar before I make a show of myself. I can leave now. I’ll drink up, make my way home, and do what I planned originally.

  I turn and lean on the bar, when someone touches my mid-back. I look over my shoulder. Oh great, it’s Nathan. I should have known I’d end up bumping into him tonight. He knows our routine. He’s been on it several times with Cate and me. Tonight he’s with his rowdy work buddies. All with loosened ties, and turned up sleeves. I swig the last drop of margarita from my glass, and pick up my handbag.