Crazy, Undercover, Love (15 page)

Spinning on my black stilettos, I tug my suit jacket down, eyes burning as I fling the door open. Launching myself down the corridor, only a firm hand on my arm stops me breaking into a run.

‘Wait.’

‘What?’

Mitchell, the investigator, at the hearing to answer the panel's questions, looks down at me. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘You were credible. I never said you were lying when I presented the case. Just that the evidence against you was stronger.’

‘What good is that? It doesn’t change anything.’ My face screws up. ‘Doesn’t change what I’ve lost.’

‘I wanted you to know.’ He checks the door behind him. ‘I have to investigate the facts, and present them as I find them.’ He looks torn, brown hair neatly combed down, tie perfectly straight, but fingers of both hands rubbing anxiously together.

I soften minutely. He’s making sense. ‘I know. But as I said, it means nothing now.’ My nose tingles. Tears aren’t far off. ‘Goodbye.’

‘I work for the company. I’m in a tight spot,’ his voice follows me as I exit into the stairwell.

Not as tight as the spot I’m in, I think, erupting into sobs as I clatter down the stairs, barely able to believe how my career with Ionian Casinos is ending.

Securing proper work after that’s impossible. Raising a tribunal claim doesn’t help, because word gets back to Tony and he and his friends call all the reputable agencies and main employers in central London, telling them I was fired for gross misconduct and the reasons why. It’s clear he wants me gone and forgotten, but I can’t let it go without one last try, if for nothing more than the reason he could do this again and wreck someone else’s life. So I lodge the claim, pay my fee and wait for my day in court, if it gets that far.

But in the meantime the job search is lousy. The most recent reference I can provide has
dismissed for GM
under Reason for Leaving and it’s not one employers look for in prospective employees. So I stop using it, and my failure to provide a current satisfactory reference is the killer. It’s competitive enough in the recession, with the labour market so buoyant with redundant people, that without a reference my chances are slim, if not downright skinny.

After a month I start leaving the years at the casino off applications, writing that I was unemployed, but then I don’t have the experience required to show I’m suitable for the jobs I want. Desperate, I take cash-in-hand gigs, dropping off leaflets, delivering food for shabby takeaways, pulling the night shift and trudging into the flat at 3.00 a.m. It’s soul-destroying, and salary-wise nowhere near what I’ve been on. Some days I can barely scrape myself off the mattress I feel so down. I fall behind with bills, which isn’t an issue at first, juggling things around, making minimum payments to credit cards, slicing out luxuries like the gym, turning down invitations to night outs. Still, it only takes two months before things get sticky financially. And during that time, when it's clear conciliation isn't a possibility, the tribunal service write to me, telling me my case will be heard but that the other side have requested a postponement to prepare their case, which has been granted. While it gives me more time to prepare too, it also means more waiting. There’s only so long I can hang on for, and one day in a fit of despair I hit on the idea of registering with agencies under a different name, using the internal reference John wrote for me when I applied for his job. Removing the reference from the company letterhead and putting it on a blank sheet of paper with his personal address on, I know there’s little risk of them contacting him, because he and his wife spend their time abroad on cruises. The deception feels wrong but it’s necessary.

Life continues in a cycle of desperation and near-misses, of eating beans and recycling clothes and scraping together pennies from the back of the sofa. The day I face what an absolute mess I’m in comes too soon.

‘I have to tell you something,’ I turn to Jess, pulling on an oversized navy hoody ready for my pizza delivery job. Looking unattractive is a must when you’re a woman rolling up at people’s doors unaccompanied. You never know who you’re going to face.

‘Uh-oh, sounds serious,’ she answers, head stuck in the fridge hunting for dinner ingredients.

‘It is. I don’t know how to say it though.’ I tie the laces on the ratty trainers I bought from a charity shop after selling my expensive ones.

‘Just say it.’ She backs out and drops some cheese and ham on the side, pulling a carton of eggs from the overhead cupboard.

‘I can’t pay my half of the mortgage this month,’ I rush. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve tried everything; extending my overdraft, getting a loan, selling stuff. But I’ll give you everything I’ve got.’

‘Charley—’ She steps towards me, holding up her hands.

‘I gave you cash for the bills last week and thought I’d make enough this week,’ I rabbit, ‘but the pizza place dropped two of my shifts. They can do that because I’m only a casual worker. And—’

‘Charley, stop. Stop!’ Hugging me tight, she whispers into my ear, ‘Take it easy. Don’t do this to yourself. I can cover it for a while, I have some savings. I have faith you’ll get a decent job soon.’

‘Thanks. But you’re my friend,’ I sniff into her neck, holding her desperately, feeling so, so sad, heart aching. ‘Not my bank.’

Pulling away, she mock punches me. ‘Too right. I won’t charge you two thousand four hundred and thirty-seven per cent interest for a start.’

‘I’ll pay you back,’ I promise fiercely.

‘You will,’ she smiles, ‘because I’d hate to have to come after you and break those beautiful long legs of yours.’

Sticking my tongue at her, I grab my keys off the side. ‘Thank you, Jess. I really mean it. It’s more than—’

‘Hey, enough. Chin up, shoulders back. You have pizzas to deliver, remember. Which reminds me,’ she rifles through her rucksack, stacking her pupils’ books on the side for marking later. ‘I picked these up for you today,’ chucking a personal alarm and a torch across the kitchen. Of course, I miss them and she sighs as they clatter to the floor. ‘One day your clumsiness is really going to be a problem.’

‘Yeah. But at least I’ve always manage to control it at work.’ My face drops. ‘Not a problem at the moment, obviously.’

‘Go,’ she shoves me out the door, ‘and I want a pizza with anchovies brought home for breakfast.’

‘Yuck!’ But her request has the desired effect and I tuck my sadness away.

Over the next few weeks the balance in our relationship shifts and doesn’t feel right. Apart from when I go home for Christmas, I spend a lot of my time in the fragrant pizza delivery van contemplating my future. Jess can only keep us both afloat for another month at best and I can’t ask my parents for money, can’t admit the depth of my problems. If I move home it’s better they think I chose to, rather than knowing I had to. It might be time for me to call them. Tomorrow, I decide, Friday night after their habitual fish and chip supper. Heartbreaking, but necessary.

The next afternoon my friend Amy calls, saying she can get me alongside someone useful for a weekend. It's someone who might be able to help me, who has the power to rectify the wrongs done, if I can convince them to listen and to believe that Tony is a liar and a fake. Someone who might make the tribunal claim against Ionian Casinos unnecessary.

Alex Demetrio, CEO.

DAY THREE

– Sunday –

Now

I drop my towel, tugging on underwear, followed by a white top with a formal grey trouser suit, pairing it with my favourite red stilettos. I’m still seething about Alex’s behaviour last night but, yanking a brush through my hair, I can’t decide if I’m angrier with him or myself. Him for being so insensitive, me for losing all brain power and fooling around with him in the first place. I hardly know him and I let him put his hand down my knickers. That’s not my thing at all. My hand stills. No, it’s not. So Alex is different.

Damn it.

Jess is right. I
do
like him; the guy he is when he forgets to be Mr Uptight CEO. And since that first moment on Friday, the physical attraction has been a current so strong, swimming against it has been exhausting. Last night it was go with it or risk drowning. It was well worth the pay-off physically, but look how it ended.

God. How could I have been so stupid, given how much I have to lose? I might have compromised everything with my lack of willpower.

He said I could stay. All I had to do was say thank you gracefully and keep my hands to myself. But I couldn’t manage it. When he kissed me I lost all sense of myself, my priorities, the reality of my life, Plan B. All for a guy I’ve barely known for thirty-six hours.

Shit.

Can I really go to Alex now and tell him about Tony? Ask him for his help, ask him to believe that Tony is the bad guy, ask him to settle out of the court so we don’t have to go to tribunal? He’s so cynical and mistrustful of women surely he’ll either think I was willing to sleep with him to get him on side or that I
was
having a thing with my ex-assistant. Because if I would have slept with him, why wouldn’t I have slept with Tony?

I’m not going to know until I see him again, until I gauge what he thinks of me. But I’ve got to face it; I’ve potentially blown the plan, gained nothing that will help secure my future, only a sum of money that will help repay some of my debts. The whole weekend may have been for nothing.

There’s only one way to find out if that’s the case or not.

Grabbing my bag, I stick my head out my bedroom door to see if Alex is in the lounge. No sign of him. Putting my game face on, I close the door behind me and sail across the room, tapping on his bedroom door. ‘Alex? Al–ex?' No answer. I glance at the clock above the mini-bar. We’re almost late for the first meeting. I knock again, and then a third time. ‘Alex?’ Nothing.

What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s had a heart attack from the stress and long hours? It can happen to the young as well as the old. My chest squeezes with panic even though I absolutely should not care. Bugger it. I bang on the door with the flat of my hand then thrust it open, all but falling into the room.

I jump back, shocked, as Alex spins around from a spot by the window across the massive bedroom. He’s dressed in nothing but a pair of tight jockey shorts, talking rapidly into his phone, frowning darkly.

God, what a body. Perfection.

I go straight into reverse, backing into the lounge, but he gestures me to stay put. Huffing, I lean against the door frame, making a huge effort to focus on the view outside the window, instead of the one inside. If ever a man was built for the screen or ad campaigns it’s him. I can’t help peeping at the phenomenal body I had glimpses of last night. Super-defined hair roughened upper body, long muscular thighs, gorgeous toned bum in the clingy underwear  …  My palms are itching to touch it all.
No, enough. Don’t go there
. Pretend
it
didn’t happen.

‘Tell her no,’ Alex hisses down the phone, ‘I won’t do that.’ He pads across the room toward me. ‘I’m really late,’ he tells the caller. ‘I have to go.’

He’s too close. Inhaling his fresh clean scent is unavoidable and something goes ping in my pelvis. He sucked my nipples and gave me an orgasm less than eight hours ago. Oh boy. I try to edge out the room again, but am stopped by Alex’s ferocious glare. Does he really have to keep me here, in sight of
that
body? Is this some sort of torture for slamming the door in his face? Because it’s working. I’m biting my lip to stop from drooling. Focusing on the ceiling helps, along with singing a little ditty in my head
dum de dum dee dee
.

‘Then call her bluff,’ Alex bites, his tone dragging my gaze to his face, which has grown pale, dark stubble visible in contrast. He expels a harsh breath. ‘Well, we’ll see won’t we? Speak later. Bye.’ Throwing the phone onto the bedside table, he rushes over to the mirrored wardrobe. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters, ‘I don’t usually run late.’ He grabs a suit and shirt off hangers.

‘It’s fine. Is, ah, everything okay?’ I shouldn’t care, but he looks so stressed I feel sorry for him.

‘Huh?’ He gives me a black, glowering look – Heathcliff, eat your heart out – and shakes his head. ‘No!’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I mean, thanks, but don’t worry about it. It’s personal. Therefore not your problem.’

Ouch, if that isn’t a knock-back I don’t know what is. Me slamming the door in his face hasn’t caused him any regret. If it had, he’d be willing to confide in me. Then I remind myself of the cold facts. He’s not my friend, he’s my boss.
Grow up Charley, he doesn’t owe you anything. He doesn’t have to tell you anything. And you shouldn’t want to know. Not if you’re still sticking with the plan.

‘In that case,’ I say stiffly, ‘can I wait in the lounge please?’

‘No, stay. Run through the schedule, remind me who we’re seeing when.’

‘I’d rather not, when you’re—’ pointing at his bare chest.

He glances over at me. ‘Please, we haven’t got time for this.’ He looks pained. Hauling on his trousers, he zips and buttons them. ‘Just tell me.’

‘Fine.’ Taking a deep breath, I turn my back and recite the meeting times from my notepad over one shoulder.

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you done now?’ I ask, stuffing the pad back into my bag.

‘Almost.’

Craning my neck, I peer over my shoulder. His shoes are on and his shirt is three quarters done up. ‘Thank god for that,’ I mumble.

‘Pardon?’ He looks up, fingers on the last button.

‘Nothing.’ I clear my throat, eyes fixed on the bed he slept in last night, after he did naughty things to me and–
stop it
.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I croak. Nothing a full memory wipe wouldn’t cure.

‘Charley?’ Alex straightens his tie knot, pulls the suit jacket on. ‘About last night—’

‘We need to go. We’re already late for the first meeting,’ I rattle, looking over his shoulder, scared he’ll read too much in my face.

‘I know,’ he mutters, shoving his phone in his pocket, ‘and with a blinding hangover I’m hardly looking forward to work, but this will only take thirty seconds.’

‘Thirty seconds we don’t have. Let’s go.’ He doesn’t look hung-over. Tired yes, with the bags under his eyes, but otherwise he looks as polished as usual. Marching into the lounge, I hear him follow.

‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I just had to check.’ He slaps a hand against the door above my head, whispers in my ear, making my heart pound.

Anger rockets. I give the door an almighty tug and he releases it. ‘I don’t want to talk about this now Alex.’

‘There are reasons I have to be careful.’

I step into the hallway and turn to him, the insensitive way he acted spinning back on me. ‘You’re right. You said. You have a rep to protect, right? Who knows who might get the wrong idea, leak it to the press?
The CEO and the Temporary PA
,’ I add ironic quote marks with crooked double fingers, ‘imagine that on the front page of the tabloids.’

‘Stop it.’ He jerks me back into the suite by my wrist before dropping it as if burned.

Ignoring the scald of his touch sparkling all the way down to my toes, ‘Silly me, I apologise. Talking in the corridor is probably too public for you.’ I regret it as soon as it’s out.

‘You’re angry, I understand that. In hindsight I could have handled it better. That doesn’t mean we can’t—’

‘No thanks, no repeats, I’m not going there again.’

His eyes narrow. ‘Actually I wasn’t offering. I was going to say it doesn’t mean we can’t work together for the time left.’

He’s offering the perfect opportunity to move on, so it’s not disappointment filling me, it’s relief. It is. ‘Great. Good. Let’s get on with it then.’

‘Good.’ He slams the door behind him then winces, putting his hands to his head.

I can’t help it. As cross as I am, a tiny smile steals across my face.

‘It’s not nice to take pleasure in other people’s pain,’ he rasps, then ruins it by giving me a self-deprecating, crooked smile in return.

‘I know,’ I reply. ‘But I’m guessing you’ve not had many hangovers in your life.’

He shakes his head carefully, ‘No’

‘And maybe I’m
not
nice,’ I add.

His blue eyes heat up. ‘Oh, I think you are.’

‘Shows how much the alcohol has addled your brain then,’ I say lightly, hurrying down the corridor to call the lift. I cannot fall any further under his irritating but oh-so-exhilarating spell.

An indeterminate amount of time later, I’m ready for escape. And if this is how I feel, God knows what state Alex is in. We’ve done five back-to-back meetings and there are four more excruciating, energy-sapping ones left to go.

The effort expended on ignoring him is costing me. No matter how much I focus on typing notes into his laptop, every time I glance at him, hear the confidence in his voice, every shift of his mega-hot body, even the smell of his aftershave, triggers the memory of what we did against my bedroom wall. The fact he’s sitting in the chair we shared the kiss on yesterday doesn’t help. Neither does the fact when he sat down in it earlier I could see the same burning awareness in his eyes.

‘Did you get that last bit Miss Caswell?’ Alex’s voice reels me back to the present.

‘Of course, Mr Demetrio.’ I read the last sentence back to him. Is he trying to catch me out?

‘Excellent. Thanks.’ He turns to the last of the morning’s managers. ‘I think we’re done Mr Reilly.’ He shakes the man’s hand. ‘Time for lunch.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the man replies in an attractive Irish lilt, smiling over at me with even white teeth when I glance up. Jess has a thing for accents, she’d love this guy.

Alex glowers at me across the table, so I focus on saving the document and shutting the laptop down. I don’t know what his problem is. Maybe it’s his hangover. Closing the laptop lid, I pelt out the room, intending to search for food and respite from his disturbing presence. The plan fails on both counts because when confronted by an array of delicious Mediterranean dishes, the desire to eat curls up and dies, and I turn away with only a small bowl of green salad to find Alex heading straight towards me holding a heaped plate of food, expression intent.

‘We need to finish our conversation.’ He follows me to a table, sitting down uninvited. He digs into a steaming pasta dish, appetite seemingly unaffected by his hangover or any emotional turmoil.

‘Sorry, I’m on a break.’

He finishes a mouthful, giving me a searching look. ‘Yes, but this isn’t about work.’

‘I’m not … ’ I lower my voice as we attract attention from nearby tables, including a number of employees from this morning’s meetings, ‘I won't talk about this here.’

‘I agree, which is why we’re going to the suite when we’ve finished lunch.’ He forks up more fragrant pasta, the ripe smell of sun-dried tomato sauce wafting across the table.

I lean back, ‘I don’t know how you can eat that with a hangover.’

‘I just feel really,’ his attention drops to my chest, ‘really, hungry.’ I push aside the lurch of lust in my stomach. ‘And don’t avoid the topic,’ Alex growls. ‘Upstairs. Ten minutes.’

‘Don’t order me around!’ I flare. ‘And besides, some things are better left unsaid. We’re out of here tomorrow. We won’t have to see each other again.’ It’s not a question, so it’s weird my voice rises at the end.

Alex sets his cutlery down, ‘You’re right. We won’t have to.’

He’s agreeing with me, so I should be pleased. Instead it cuts. ‘Then there’s nothing to talk about.’

A member of his staff sits down at the next table so he lowers his voice. ‘I still want you to hear me out.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

'I wouldn’t expect anything less,’ he replies po-faced.

‘Are you laughing at me?’ I ask suspiciously.

‘Wouldn’t dare, I’d be too scared,’ he drawls, then gives me a small amused smile and devours the last few mouthfuls of food, peering at me through long dark lashes.

Bugger, he’s more gorgeous than ever. Is it because he’s even further out of reach, or because I know how clever his hands and mouth are? ‘I can’t imagine you being scared of anything,’ I say, to distract myself from his physical appeal.

‘You’d be surprised,’ he frowns. ‘Aren’t you going to have that?’ Gesturing at my untouched salad with his fork.

‘Not hungry. I’ll grab a snack during tea break.’

‘Make sure you do. I wouldn’t want you fainting on me, we’ve got lots to do today. Speaking of which, I’ve agreed to fit in an extra meeting, so we may finish later than planned. Sorry.’

More time in his company, fantastic. ‘Whatever you need. You’re the boss. As long as you’re not going to spring another party on me.’ I shut up as I remember how last night’s party ended. With stuff fantasies are made of.

Alex seems lost in thought too, then clears his throat and shifts in his seat. ‘You’re still doing a good job.’

‘Thanks. I wondered if you thought so after the way you asked where I was up to.’

‘That was only because we were going so fast. I was worried your hands would cramp. Stuart’s do.’

I’m touched. It’s nice.

‘You didn’t think I was trying to catch you out because you slammed the door in my face last night?’ he demands.

‘No!’ I squirm.

He leans forward, tanned hands sliding across the tablecloth towards me. I look down at them. Thinking of what they did to me. ‘Business is business, Charley. Anything else is separate. I don’t let personal feelings colour my working relationships. I’m better than that.’