Читать книгу The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection - Jane Linfoot, Zara Stoneley - Страница 44

I’m not wrong. After texting Jess to explain why I cut short our call earlier and say I’m off to bed, she responds with a simple message.

Oh dear! Okay Cee, talk in the morning x

Trying to settle, I flick through the channels before turning off the TV, pick up a fashion magazine but hurl it on the floor within minutes, grab my e-reader and shut it down after a few pages. Deciding to attempt sleep because I need to be at least semi-human tomorrow, I’m frustrated by twisting restlessly into the early hours, sheets wrapping themselves around my sweaty body. I switch on the air-con, but get too cold, so I switch it back off. Nothing feels right. At one point I’m so irritated I shout a string of swear words into the dark.

It’s no good. My physical state’s not the problem. Working with Alex is bringing up all sorts of conflicting feelings. I find him so compelling but who’s the only one left who can help me, meaning he’s off limits.

Like oil bubbling from an underground well, the memory of my last horrible night at the casino, the reason for my current situation, rises to the surface.

Then

Slotting confidential papers into the cabinet, I tilt my head from side to side to get rid of the kinks in my neck. Time for home and a hot bath. Tony should be filing this stuff away, but I don’t trust him. The thought’s no sooner there than he swaggers into the room, shutting the door behind him decisively.

‘Not gone yet? You’re free to call it a day, Tony.’ Go away.

He doesn’t answer, but is suddenly right behind me, trapping me against the drawer. Not particularly tall, he is nonetheless stocky, built like a real British rugby player, and it makes me feel crowded. Feeling the heat of his body against my back, a needle of fear pierces me. We’re alone in here with the door shut. I rapidly calculate how many members of staff are out on the casino floor. Not many, it’s a Tuesday, one of our quieter nights. It’s unlikely anyone would come up here at gone eight.

‘You’re working late,’ he says in my ear. ‘Why can’t I?’

‘I’m expected to cover some of the late shifts. You aren’t,’ I answer stiffly. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ Orders aren’t my usual management style, but my patience is razor-thin. When he doesn’t move I grind my teeth. ‘Is there something in particular you want?’ Slamming the drawer shut with a metallic bang, I turn to elbow past him.

Before I know what’s happening, he grabs my ponytail and throws me roughly against the cabinet. ‘Hey!’ I squawk. He’s too close for me to plant a knee between his legs.

‘You know there’s something I want,’ he breathes, making horror jump in my chest, ‘but you’re so stubborn! Little Miss Boss in her tight suits and high heels, taunting me with her sexy body every day.’

A hot hand runs over my left hip and squeezes hard. I wince and try to back away as the hand continues a path upwards. In that moment, outraged and scared after weeks of uncertainty, I come alive. This can’t be happening. No way. I won’t let it. Scorching anger rockets. Bringing both arms up in the few inches between our bodies I thrust them apart and break free. ‘Get off me! Now!’

Grappling with me, Tony steps back, accidentally tearing my silk t-shirt in the process. There’s a loud rip, but I don’t care. Luckily he gives me just enough room for escape. As I turn to run out, I catch sight of the industrial-sized stapler on top of one of the cabinets. So when his fingers brush the bottom of my ponytail, I pivot around and feign a swing at the side of his head. Wrenching himself out of the way, he stumbles backwards.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he roars. ‘Are you crazy? That would have been assault.’

‘So is what you just did to me!’ I shout back, equally angry, but with a tremor beneath my volume. Watching him, keeping hold of my makeshift weapon, I back out into my office, deliberately opening the door to the main staircase so I can call for someone if I have to. Stuffing my things into my bag, I pick up the phone as Tony strolls in, calmly smoothing his tousled hair.

‘Hi. Can you call a taxi for Tony please?’ I ask the duty security guard. ‘He’s ready to go home. Thank you.’ Replacing the handset with a click, I look at my assistant coolly, trying to hide how shaken I am.

‘It was just a bit of fun,’ he says sulkily. ‘Talk about overreacting.’

I put a hand up. ‘You’re having a laugh! That was no one’s idea of fun and I’ve told you repeatedly I’m not interested. There’s something seriously wrong with you. Now get out.’

He takes a step towards me but stops as I brandish the stapler. ‘This will seem mild in comparison to what I’ll do if you take another step, Tony. And I’m more than happy to call the police.’ It’s all bravado, because underneath I’m shaking to the core, wondering if he’ll flip and I’m going to be an unsolved murder on Crimewatch.

His eyes narrow and he looks like he’s seeing me for the first time. He slouches his shoulders, puts on a kicked puppy dog expression. ‘There’s no need for that,’ he says meekly. ‘I’ll go now.’ A pause ‘I–I’m sorry. It was crossed signals, that’s all—’

‘That,’ I gesture to the filing room and then my ripped top to emphasise my point, ‘was nothing to do with any confusion on your behalf. You knew exactly what you were doing.’

‘B–but,’ he gawps at my tone, ‘I—’

‘We’ll deal with this tomorrow.’ When I’ve had a chance to calm down, have called HR and arranged to have him suspended, sought their advice on whether to involve the police or not. ‘Now go home,’ I insist. My hand hovers over the radio at my hip and the panic button I can press to summon security. Why the hell I didn’t think of using it in the file run I don’t know. Shock probably.

He flushes. ‘Fine. I’m gone.’

A slammed door and rapid footsteps follow. I wait a minute before calling the security office again. ‘Did Tony get his taxi okay?’

‘Yes, he just left.’

‘Thank you.’

Sinking my head into my hands, I sit there for a long time, waiting for the shaking to stop. After a while I drag myself out of the the chair and walk with heavy feet down to the front desk. ‘I’m not feeling well,’ I tell Lynda. ‘Can you track Evelyn down and ask her to cover for me please? She’s on silver duty tonight.’

She looks up with a quick smile. ‘Sure. She’s around somewhere. Hope you feel better soon.’

‘Thank you. Night.’ Stepping onto the street, soggy after a summer shower, I stumble numbly to the tube station, feeling like I’m caught in a nightmare I can’t wake from.

The next morning, having shared my horrid experience with Jess over a few glasses of wine and having had a good night’s sleep, I feel steadier. Steeling myself for the day, I put my most modest suit on. I could feel bad about what I’m about to do but I’ve given Tony enough chances to understand what’s acceptable and he went too far. The blue smudge of a handprint on my hip and yesterday’s ruined top agree. The only regret I have is not calling the police last night. Too late to worry about it now, though, and I can decide what to do after speaking to HR.

I sweep into work at half eight. Tony’s not due in until eleven because of a dental appointment, so I’ve a few hours to make the necessary calls and see if an HR rep can attend to help me suspend him.

Roberta, the new receptionist, in to catch up with some paperwork – probably trying to show willing – hails me with a wave. ‘Morning. You need to go straight to the conference room,’ she tugs her hair behind her ears, ‘you’ve got visitors.’

‘Really?’ I frown, ‘There’s nothing in my diary for this morning.’

‘They arrived twenty minutes ago and said when you came in you were to see them. I think one of them was from HR.’

Huh. Weird. Perhaps someone overheard or saw something last night so they’re here in anticipation of my complaint. ‘Fine. I’ll see them now. Can you pick up calls please?’

‘No problem.’

Skirting around the black marble desk, I push open the gold-plated Staff Only door and run up the stairs, swinging around the door of the conference room with a polite smile on my face. ‘Good morning, how can I help … ?’ Trailing off, I take in my regional manager sitting at the head of the meeting table with a grim look on his face. A woman I don’t recognise is sitting beside him in a formal grey suit, jotting something in a notebook, a copy of the disciplinary procedure in front of her. ‘Nigel, what are you doing here?’ I frown.

‘Sit down, Charley,’ he orders.

Sinking into the nearest chair, I fold my hands on the table. ‘Did you hear about what happened last night?’ I ask, perplexed.

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he replies. I open my mouth to tell him the situation, but he carries on talking. ‘That’s why I’m here. It gives me no pleasure to do this … but I have to suspend you. We’ve had serious sexual harassment and bullying complaints lodged against you and you need to be off work while we investigate the allegations.’

‘What?’ The absolute bastard. My seat sticks against the carpet as I spring out of it and my feet get tangled in the legs. Steadying myself on the table, I stare at my boss. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Luckily the complainant won’t be involving the police, which is helpful. Otherwise we’d have to use the prosecutions policy as well, which as you know would make things more protracted.’

‘Again, what?’ The room goes blurry around 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 around, 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 more 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 from 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.