Aiden Holby comes along the line to inspect his troops. The Sales Department always take these things very seriously and some of them have brought their own props so they look like mini-Rambos. Bandanas are much in evidence. God help us. We’re up against teams from Human Resources and IT. Not that I’m entering into the spirit of this, but frankly I think we’re going to whop their sorry asses. They look like a bunch of lily-livered lightweights.
Crush stands in front of me and I hate to say this, but he looks a little bit fab in his Army get up, all rufty-tufty and macho. What is it about men in uniforms? My knees have come over all unnecessary.
He raises my face mask. ‘Camouflage paint,’ he says crisply. And then, with more enthusiasm than is appropriate, he slaps some brown gloop that looks like mud all over my cheeks. So much for my air-brushed effect foundation. I don’t so much look camouflaged but more as if I’m an escapee from The Black and White Minstrel Show.
‘Is this strictly necessary?’
‘I want my team to have the best chance,’ he says in the manner of a Sergeant Major or crack SAS person. ‘We’re going to be the Alpha Males,’ he announces to everyone. There is much cheering and hollering.
‘But I’m a girl.’
‘The token one,’ he says dismissively. ‘Our first mission is to capture the flag of Team Zero Bravo while defending our own.’
‘Is that Human Resources?’
‘Yes,’ he sighs, as if I don’t get this. Which I don’t. ‘You can stay with me, Lombard.’
Lombard?
‘The rest of the team will be deployed on the offensive while we maintain our defence strategy.’
He’s going to get right on my nerves if he goes on like this all day.
‘Ammo,’ he says, and hands me a hopper of paintballs which I cack-handedly clip onto my gun. Crush slams down my face mask and I can hear myself breathing heavily.
News of my forthcoming wedding has done the rounds of gossip at the office, so it must have reached Aiden’s ears, but he’s said nothing to me. He puts work on my desk at regular intervals, but we’re engaging in absolutely no social intercourse at all. I wish he’d shout at me rather than ignore me completely.
There’s a bit of a pep-talk from the team leaders stressing fair play and may the best man win, etc. This being Targa we’ll be lucky if one of us doesn’t lose a limb. And then we’re off. It’s not raining, but it feels as if it should be.
‘Come with me, Lombard.’ I long for the days when Crush used to call me Gorgeous even though it annoyed me at the time. Aiden stomps off ahead of me and I follow him meekly into the woods.
The first paintball shot in anger hits me squarely in the thigh. ‘Fucking ouch!’ I shout back at my unseen assailant.
Crush grabs my arm and pulls me down on the ground next to him. ‘Shut up,’ he instructs. ‘You’ll give our position away.’
‘I’ve already been shot. Doesn’t that mean I’m out of the game?’
‘We’re giving the girls three shots before they’re out,’ he mutters. ‘It sort of evens things out.’
‘Great.’ One shot would have suited me fine. I’m going to have a whopping bruise there tomorrow. It’ll be the size of a dinner plate, at least.
‘We’ll crawl on our bellies through the undergrowth,’ he says.
‘I think not.’
Aiden fixes me with a cold stare. ‘I thought you were a team player,’ he snaps.
I give a big huff which Crush ignores.
My boss holds out his gun in a menacing way. ‘Let’s see if we can infiltrate their camp.’
‘I thought we were the defence?’
‘We’re a sort of offensive defence,’ Crush explains with a shifty look on his face, and then he sets off on his elbows and knees through the ferns and foliage.
I huff again, this time wearily, and trail after him. Dampness seeps through into my knees. I’m already up to my eyeballs in mud. My gun is really heavy and I’m doing a kind of horizontal limp. This is not my idea of fun.
Crush puts his hand on my arm to still me, then he shuffles back until our faces are level – inches apart, in fact. My heartbeat goes into overdrive. ‘They’ve put sentries on the bridge,’ he whispers. ‘We need to storm it. I can see no other way round.’
‘Storm the bridge!’ It comes out a decibel or two higher than is preferable in a war situation. I feel as if I’m in the middle of Apocalypse Now.
‘Hush!’ He claps his hand over my mouth and I feel my eyes widen in surprise.
‘I’ll lead the charge,’ he says. ‘You stay tucked behind me, covering my back.’
‘Right.’ I have no idea what he’s talking about. But suddenly we’re off. Crush runs towards a small wooden bridge across a meandering stream. I puff and pant behind him.
We catch Team Zero Bravo – or the Human Resources Department as I refer to them in real life – on the hop. Crush shoots down two of their men and I keep up a volley of shots to intimidate anyone else who thinks they might like to mess with us. I make a couple of kills of my own – which feels scarily satisfying. We rush across the bridge, scattering our feeble foes, and then dive into the undergrowth where we lie breathing heavily.
‘That was brilliant!’ I say. ‘This gun seriously kicks butt.’
‘It’s a replica AK-47,’ Crush tells me in the way that only boys can. ‘Puts out fifteen rounds per second.’
‘Wow.’ I assume that’s a good thing. And when I see Helen the Harridan from Human Resources sneak up to the bridge, I think that it’s time to try it out again. When her back is turned, I fire multiple rounds at her prissy little arse. That’s for not telling me that Crush was lost in the Outback, bitch. Each one hits its intended target and Helen the Harridan clutches her bottom as she falls to the ground, combats covered in a slick of yellow paint that tells me she’s out of the game.
‘Great shot,’ Crush congratulates me.
‘I owed her one,’ I say seriously. I look at this man and think what might have happened if only his messages had been passed on to me as they should have been. I would never have slept with Marcus. I wouldn’t be getting married to him now.
But before I can ponder further on my predicament, I see a swarm of Team Zero Bravo members coming towards us. Crush pulls me down and we roll together into deeper undergrowth. When we stop, Crush just happens to have rolled on top of me. The feet of the other team tramp by us. I’m sure they must be able to hear our breathing. Mine is certainly louder than it should be. Crush pushes his body against mine, heads together, but I daren’t move. Actually, it’s starting to feel rather too good. I’m sure that everyone in the whole bloody forest can hear me gulp.
‘They’re gone,’ Crush says, but he makes no attempt to get up. He lifts himself on one elbow and smiles at me as he flicks up my face visor. ‘Enjoying yourself?’
‘I can see the attraction and psychological benefits of mock warfare.’
‘I didn’t mean that, Gorgeous,’ he says.
Oh, my goodness, I’m Gorgeous again! I wriggle beneath him, but that only makes things worse – or better, depending on your viewpoint. It’s suddenly gone very warm in this forest. One of his arms is pinning both of mine to the ground. It’s very sexy in a submissive sort of way. Oh dear.
‘Why is it that I always have so much fun with you, Lucy Lombard?’ He sighs and his eyes lock onto mine.
‘I don’t know,’ I say nervously. ‘I’m a fun kind of person.’
Then he kisses me, long and hard. And it feels so good. So bloody good. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if he ripped off my camouflage combats and had me here and now in the dirt on the forest floor. I’m getting very hot and bothered. It must be all the adrenaline pumping round my body. Then I remember that I’m an engaged person. I shouldn’t be kissing Crush on the forest floor – or anywhere else for that matter. I’m due to be married to Marcus any time now!
Before I can say anything, Crush breaks off from his sexy, tender assault. I can hardly get my bre
ath.
‘Can’t stay here kissing you, Gorgeous,’ he says, and pulls me to my feet, even though I’m still dazed and reeling. ‘Much as I’d like to. We’ve got a war to win.’
He drags me after him, deeper into the woods. We might have a war to win, but somehow I think I might be losing the battle.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
We blow our poxy opponents into the weeds. The Human Resources Department and IT have been decimated. Helen the Harridan is looking particularly cowed. I hope her backside is black and blue, bitch. If I’m lucky there might even be a really painful welt there. The Alpha Males, myself included, are victorious. This is in no small part due to the fact that I am a natural born killer. I blame it on the diet of Terminator and Matrix movies that Marcus always forced me to watch. Clearly, something has rubbed off.
I’ve got a fair amount of enormous bruises myself, some of which are forming unsightly lumps – but I’m high on adrenaline and oblivious to my aches and pains. The team has celebrated on cheap champagne and now we’re feeling heady with success and an excess of booze. We’re chilling out on the edge of the woods and someone’s set up a barbecue, so we’re all feasting on botulism burgers. The rest of the team are singing bonding songs with obscene lyrics and doing the accompanying gesticulations, when Crush makes his way over and throws his arms round me. He’s swaying as if he’s on a boat in a force nine gale.
‘You were fabulous today,’ he slurs. ‘Did I tell you that, Gorgeous? Absolutely fabulous.’
‘Thanks.’ I slur a little myself.
‘You’re a lean, mean, killing machine.’
‘I am,’ I say proudly, not attempting to hide my silly grin. Perhaps this would be a good role for me in life – contract assassin – seeing as how I’m a pretty crap temporary secretary. I wonder if there’s a job out there anywhere for a hired hitman and chocolate taster combined? Now that’s what I call a job.
‘I’m sorry I acted so stupidly after you told me about you and Marcus,’ Crush says. ‘We should have sat down together and talked sensibly. You were right about forgiveness and all that stuff. I can see now that there were extenuating circumstances. I’ve really missed us being friends.’
Then, before I can formulate a suitable reply, he moves in and kisses me again. My head spins and not just because I’ve had too much of that cava. His lips are hot and searching and I can feel my knees and my resolve weakening.
But just as it’s getting interesting, I pull away. For some reason, I have a moment of stark clarity.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Crush says, and takes my hand.
‘I can’t do this,’ I tell him shakily.
He looks puzzled. As well he might.
‘The thing is,’ I say. ‘About me and Marcus . . .’
That stops Crush in his tracks. ‘You’re not still seeing him?’
‘We’re getting married.’
He suddenly looks more sober than he did a minute ago. ‘No.’
Crush sits down on a big tree trunk behind us. Well, more sort of collapses onto it. All the fight, swagger and sway have rushed out of him. He’s just a deflated man with traces of mud on his face. ‘I thought that was just stupid office gossip. I didn’t think for a minute that it could be true.’ His expression is bleak when he looks up at me. ‘I didn’t think you’d fall for all that romantic guff.’
I sit down next to him. ‘I did,’ I say quietly.
‘That ridiculous Officer and a Gentleman uniform did it for you?’
‘Yes.’ How can I begin to explain to him that it’s so much more complicated than that? Would Aiden understand that us breaking up so quickly has shaken my faith in me ever managing to make a new relationship? He probably would, but I don’t think I’m capable of putting the explanation into words myself. It’s not that I was swept away by Marcus’s overtly romantic gesture. I know him too well to be fooled by that – really. But there’s no denying that I’ve run for the comfort of something familiar, something that I’m used to rather than face an unknown future alone or deal with the prospect of building another relationship from scratch.
‘Wow,’ Crush says. ‘I wish I’d done that myself now.’
And, for a moment, I wish it was Aiden Holby who had been the one to sweep me in his arms and carry me away. But it wasn’t; it was Marcus and now the die is cast.
‘I’m such an idiot,’ Crush says.
‘No. No,’ I protest. ‘I’m the one that’s the bigger idiot.’
Crush grins at me. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘you are. I guess that’s why I love you. Loved you,’ he corrects.
Already I’m in the past tense. But at least I know that he truly loved me. However briefly. Not that it does me a lot of good now.
‘Well,’ he says. ‘Looks like that’s it for you and me.’
‘I’m sorry, Aiden. I never meant to hurt you.’
‘I guess the timing was all wrong for us.’
I nod in agreement.
Shyly, he takes my hand and fiddles with my fingers. I’m not wearing my great rock of an engagement ring and, for some reason, I’m glad about that. ‘We could have been very good together, Gorgeous,’ Crush tells me, and I’m not sure that I want to hear that. My throat has closed and there are tears prickling behind my eyes.
‘Oh, Lucy.’ Crush brushes his thumb over my cheeks. ‘Are you sure that you’ll be happy with him?’
‘I . . . er . . . well . . .’ Even if I could be certain of Crush, there is no way now that I can leave Marcus again. Just thinking about it makes my head ache. If I kept doing that, then I’d become the same to Crush as Marcus is to me and that isn’t fair on anyone. I’ve made my decision now and I have to stick with that – for better, for worse. I clear my throat and say, ‘Yes.’
‘Then that’s all I want for you,’ Crush tells me.
‘I really hope that we can remain friends.’
Aiden laughs, but it’s a laugh laced with sadness and regret.
I have to admit, that even to my ears, it sounds like the lamest statement I’ve ever made in my life.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Now it’s Nadia’s turn to have a chocolate emergency and it sounds like it’s a pretty serious one to me. She’s eating one of Clive’s sumptuous fudge brownies while she fills us in on the story, but I can tell that our friend isn’t actually tasting one single morsel.
‘I’ve booked a flight for tomorrow morning,’ she tells us, glancing anxiously at her watch even though there are hours to go yet. ‘That’s the first one I could get. I’m out of my mind with worry. Who knows what Toby is doing out there?’
Losing his shirt would be my guess, but I don’t voice my opinion. Nadia is only too well aware what her husband is capable of.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind having Lewis to stay?’ Her son will be moving in with Aunty Chantal again.
‘Honey, if I can’t look after your kid while you’re away for a few days, how the hell am I going to manage when I’ve got one of my own?’ Chantal looks down at her bump. ‘This will be great training for me.’
‘You’re an angel, Chantal.’
‘I want you to go and do what you have to without worrying about Lewis. He’ll be fine. I have four days to turn him into a spoiled brat. I can do that.’
We all clutch at something to laugh at.
‘You can’t go alone, Nadia,’ I say. ‘Let one of us come with you.’
‘Chantal is looking after Lewis. Autumn has her brother to worry about. And you, in case you’ve forgotten, have a wedding to organise.’
‘That isn’t as important as this,’ I tell her. To be honest, as much as I care about my friend’s welfare, I’m also looking for a reason to dodge all of my responsibilities at the moment. I don’t want to be organising a wedding. I don’t want to be working at Targa. I don’t want to have to face Crush or Marcus or anyone else. A few days in Las Vegas would be a good excuse to skip town, even though it’s at the expense of my friend’s misfortune. I could escape an
d be helpful. Multi-tasking. It’s what we women do best.
‘Do you really think you’ll be able to find Toby there?’ Autumn wants to know.
‘I have to try,’ Nadia says with a sigh. ‘I’ve stopped him from using the bank account in the UK, but I can’t put a stop on the credit cards that are in his name.’
I think of my own credit card. Perhaps I can’t go with Nadia after all, as much as I’d like to. I’m seriously maxed out and can’t really afford to fund any rash, philanthropic gestures.
‘I want to try to find him before he does too much damage,’ Nadia continues. ‘If he’d booked for the weekend, then maybe I’d sit it out, but his ticket is one-way only. Does that mean that he isn’t planning to come back? Has he left us?’ She’s struggling not to cry.
‘We need more chocolate,’ I say, and there are nods all round. Jumping up, I go to the counter to choose our wares.
‘How’s Nadia?’ Clive wants to know.
‘Bad. Looks like Toby’s hopped it to Vegas and she’s going in hot pursuit to try to bring him back.’
Clive shakes his head. I notice that he’s pale and there’s day-old stubble on his chin, which is a real no-no for someone so image conscious.
‘You don’t look so hot yourself,’ I tell him softly.
He lowers his voice. ‘Tristan didn’t come home last night.’
‘Bummer.’ I then realise that’s a bad choice of words to use about a gay bloke. ‘How terrible,’ I try instead.
‘I’m not sure if we’re going to make it,’ he says sadly.
‘Not you guys too.’ I tut and give Clive a sympathetic smile. He’s too nice a person to be going through this torment. ‘Come and join us,’ I say. ‘You can bitch about him to us.’
‘I will when I’ve got a minute,’ he promises. ‘If Tristan keeps going missing like this, then I’m going to have to get an assistant.’
‘Maybe it won’t come to that.’