“Yeah. It’s my favourite. Kind of reminds me of you, actually.”
“It does?” I ask. He has paternal feelings towards me? “That’s, um, okay.”
“The sentiment, Matilda, the sentiment. When I look at you, my head clears. Most times there’s a storm up in this brain of mine, but then you walk into a room and I can focus.”
“Jay,” I breathe.
“What?”
“Make love to me again.”
He chuckles. “Your dad’s right downstairs.”
“I know, but…God, you can’t say stuff like that to me when Dad’s home. Please make a note for future reference.”
He salutes me. “Noted.”
“I should go.”
“Why?”
“Because I still want you to make love to me. And Dad’s downstairs.”
He growls and pinches my bottom when I move to stand up. “Go on, then, Watson. Leave before you ravish me like the sexy bitch that I am. Are we still on for our sewing date tonight?”
“You mean are we on for you lounging on your chaise longue and watching me while I make dresses? Very weird, might I add, but sure. We’re on.”
His laughter follows me out the door.
That night in bed, I toss and turn. After spending two sexually frustrated hours in Jay’s company while I worked on my dress designs and he gave me heated looks, I’m not exactly feeling ready for sleep. I’m ready for other things that involve a bed, though. And that’s the problem.
I agreed with him to take things slow. Does that mean no more sex?
A floorboard creaks outside my room and the door opens, revealing Jay in a T-shirt and sleep pants. Without a word he crawls into bed beside me, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me into him, my back flush with his front.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask softly as he presses a kiss to my neck.
“Nope. I will now, though,” he replies, and snuggles into me. It takes a couple of minutes for his breathing to even out and for him to fall asleep. I follow soon after.
The next day at the office, upon Dad’s request, I’m working on transcribing his notes from his interviews with Jay. I’m finding it all very intriguing, but something niggles at me. It looks fine on paper, but I have this weird feeling that there are blank spots, pieces of the story that have been intentionally left out.
My suspicions are instantly forgotten when I get an unexpected visitor. We don’t have any appointments until after lunch, so I glance up to see who just entered the reception area. My anxiety elevates when I recognise who it is.
Una Harris saunters in wearing fire-engine-red high heels, matching lipstick, and a tight grey shift dress, a designer handbag dangling from her arm. If I didn’t dislike her so much, I might give her a compliment for looking so hot for a woman who must be well past her prime. It’s kind of difficult to determine her true age, due to the amount of Botox she’s sporting.
I clear my throat. “Can I help you?”
She pulls off her Gucci sunglasses and levels her green eyes on me, studying me for a long time. Then quite randomly she gestures to my neck, the side that’s scarred. “I know an excellent doctor who could fix that right up. Would you like his number?” she asks casually, eyes moving to scan the room.
I rub my neck self-consciously. “Um, thanks, but that’s okay. Do you have an appointment?” I know she doesn’t have an appointment. Of course she doesn’t. I just can’t think of anything else to say.
“I don’t. This is just a flying visit. I was rather upset to arrive at work this morning and be told by my boss that we’re being sued because of a few articles I wrote. I wanted to come and check out what we’re up against. Now that I’m here, it’s laughable, really. I mean, does Jay Fields actually think he can win this thing with representation from a shoddy two-bit firm like this one?”
I stare at her, open-mouthed.
“I was actually worried for a second. Now I see this is all just a pathetic joke.”
Getting up from my seat, I put a hand on my hip. “Are you for real?”
She purses her lips and moves her catty eyes back to me. “I’m always for real, my dear. Don’t take offence. I’m sure this is hardly your dream job.” She laughs, the sound grating on my nerves.
“This is my dad’s practice,” I tell her, jaw tight.
Her eyes widen, and a little smirk forms. “Oops. In that case, no offence.”
“Too late for that. If you only came here to look down your nose at us, then you should leave.”
“That’s not why I came here. I wanted to speak to, well, to your father. Ask him if he knows what kind of man he’s representing.”
“A better man than whatever kind of woman you are, I’m sure.”
Her tittering laugh makes me clench my fist, and I’ve never been a fist-clencher. I’ve hardly got a violent bone in my body. It’s funny, the things Una Harris’ mocking laughter can bring out of people.
“Oh, dear, do you have a little crush on him? I get it, really, I do. Jay Fields is sex on a stick, but he’s also a dangerous man with a God complex. Have you ever read any of his fan websites? They all think what he does is real or some other such nonsense, and that’s not a good thing for someone with as big a following as he has. Don’t you remember the People’s Temple and Jim Jones? Oh, you’re so young, so probably not.”
“I know who Jim Jones is.”
She glances at her well-manicured nails. “Well, then, you’ll also know how precarious Jay’s influence is on all those young people who follow him. I’m sure that if he told them to jump off a cliff, they’d all do it.”
Jesus, this woman is deluded. “He’s a performer. He’s not trying to start up his own religion.”
“Yeah, and the only one who’s been drinking Kool-Aid around here is you, Una. Your own. What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” asks Jay, stalking angrily into the office. There’s something in his gait that puts me in mind of a panther that’s about to attack.
“Why, Mr Fields, what a pleasant surprise,” she purrs, and struts over to him, running a long, sharp fingernail down the front of his shirt. His eyes are stormy when he takes a measured step back, recoiling from her touch.
“Get. Out,” he fumes. “You have no business being here.”
“I was just having a little chitchat with the lovely receptionist. You know how it is with us girls — we love to gossip.” Her emerging smile denotes how pleased she is with Jay’s anger. He needs to calm down and not allow her to get to him. I make an effort to defuse the situation with humour.
“Yeah, Miss Harris offered to give me the number of her plastic surgeon. I’m thinking of going up a few cup sizes. You know, get myself a nice pair of beach ball boobs.”
Jay’s mouth twitches, his eyes gleaming with affection when they land on me for a second. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long.
“You don’t need a boob job,” says Una, her disinterested gaze on my chest before moving to my neck. “It’s that god-awful scar that’s the problem.” She says it like she’s telling me she enjoys sugar in her tea, the barb barely registering on her radar, but Jay’s reaction to her words is the exact opposite.
He takes two strides toward her. “Oh, you really need to get going, Una. I’ll never hit a lady, but I’ll slap a bitch.”
Her pouty mouth falls open as a huff of outrage escapes her. “Is that a threat?”
Jay rolls his eyes. “Just get the fuck out.”
“Fine,” she hisses. “I’m leaving, but just know that this little case of yours is never going to get to trial. Mr Scott will offer you a sum of money during mediation, and you, Mr Fields, will take it.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
She slams the office door shut behind her, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Jay’s eyes connect with mine, and I can’t help it — I burst out laughing.
“Did you just use the phrase, I’ll never hit a lady, but I’ll slap a bitch? Oh, my God, Jason, that was classi
c! You are officially my new hero.”
He rubs at his neck and walks over to sit on the edge of my desk, grabbing my hand and placing it on his chest. He rubs my palm over the fabric of his shirt. “Sorry. I need your touch to erase the fact that she had her demon claws on me. And I was only trying to piss her off by saying that. I don’t hit women, not even thoroughbred bitches like Una Harris. And don’t listen to her, by the way. There’s nothing about you that needs changing.”
The sincerity in his eyes makes me catch my breath, but I can’t address the compliment. It makes me feel too much. “I can’t believe she came here. What is she on?”
“A whole medley of uppers and downers, if my detective work is anything to go by,” Jay deadpans. “Anyway, let’s forget about her. I came to take you to lunch in the park. This day is a sight for sore eyes.” He goes out to the hallway, and retrieves a brown bag with sandwiches and two takeaway coffee cups.
“Oh, you really do know the way to a woman’s heart. The double-C: caffeine and carbs.”
“Yes, yes, I do. Now get your cute ass out of that chair and come with me.”
“Is this…what do you call those things that you don’t do, but for me you’ll make an exception? Oh, yes, a date. Is this a date, Jason?” I love teasing him.
His mouth curves in an almost smile as he brings his hand to my neck and gently squeezes. “It might be.”
He offers his arm, and I take it. Instead of driving, we walk to the park, finding a clean picnic table to sit down and eat at.
“Who’s Mr Scott?” I ask as I sip on my coffee.
Jay gives me a sideways glance. “Say again?”
“Una Harris said that Mr. Scott will offer you a sum of money to drop the case. Who is that?”
“Right, yeah. Brian Scott. He owns the newspaper.”
“I’ve heard that name before. He’s like Ireland’s answer to Rupert Murdoch or something, isn’t he?”
“Or something.”
“Is there any amount of money they could offer you that you’d take? Just out of curiosity.”
His mouth draws into a thin line, his answer immediate and final. “Nope.”
“There’s probably no point in bothering with mediation, then.”
“Probably not. But we’ve got to go through the entire process, Watson. Let them think they can take us. You know, like in a freak fight when some little rangy guy gets into the ring with a big hunk of muscle. Everyone thinks the muscle will win, but then the little guy turns into a fucking tornado and surprises the shit out of everyone.”
I smile at his analogy. “So, are you the little guy?”
His arm slides around my shoulder, tucking me into the side of his body. “In comparison to The Daily Post, yes, I am.”
I melt at his closeness and take a slow bite out of my sandwich before glancing up at him. “You know what, Jay, I can’t wait to see you turn into a tornado. I think you might have it in you to surprise us all.”
His only response is a small, knowing smile, and we eat the rest of our lunch in companionable silence. On the way back to the office, Jay gets recognised by a couple of women as they pass us by.
“Disgraceful what he did to that poor man,” one of them tuts, her snooty nose raised high into the air.
“He should have been arrested,” another one adds.
I lace my fingers with his, running my thumb along the inside of his wrist. “Ignore them.”
“I am.”
“Everyone thinks their opinion is the most important, even when they have no clue about a situation.”
“I know.”
As the women go by us, I pull him into an alcove by the shop next to our offices. His eyes are on the retreating women for a minute before he focuses on me, his pupils dilating. I remember him telling Michelle that was a sign of arousal. Hmm, I think I like that.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He runs his fingertips over my collarbone. “Hey, Watson. What’s up?”
“Can I have a kiss before I go back to work?” I ask shyly, licking my lips.
He grins and bends his head to me. “That depends.”
“On?”
“What are you making for dinner?”
I wrack my brains for ideas on what he might find appealing, settling on the most obvious man food. “Steak.”
“Good answer. Okay, you can have a kiss. Just one, though.” His licks a line from my jaw to my earlobe, sending my pulse hammering. Then he grips my chin and sinks his tongue into my mouth. My breathing accelerates as I clutch at his shirt. His tongue moves in and out, and it’s a little lewd for a daytime outdoor kiss, but in the moment I don’t care. I moan, and his other hand grabs hold of my hip. Drawing away too soon, he nips at my mouth, and I whimper.
“What’s wrong?”
“I shouldn’t have asked for a kiss.”
“Why not?”
“Because now I’m not going to be able to focus on working, and I have a lot to get done.”
He laughs and slides his arm around my waist, guiding me inside and up the stairs. “You should let go in case Dad’s around,” I say quietly.
“Am I your dirty little secret, Watson?” he whispers deviously in my ear.
I use one of his own comebacks against him. “You love it.”
His response is adamant. “Yeah, I do.”
Inside, I settle back into my desk, and Jay goes to use the bathroom before he leaves. His jacket rests on the edge of my desk, and I only become aware of it because his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. Without thinking, I slide my hand in and retrieve the phone. A text message runs across the screen from an anonymous sender.
Tonight. Nine o’clock. The usual place.
My brain goes into overdrive as I quickly shove the phone back in his pocket and try to make his jacket look like it hasn’t been interfered with. What the hell is that message about? I come to the nauseating conclusion that it sounds a lot like a booty call. A night time meet-up. The usual place. God, is Jay seeing someone as well as me?
Instantly, my heart plummets from the lofty heights to which it had previously been soaring.
A second later he walks back out, grabbing his coat and shrugging into it. Leaning across the table, he gives me a soft, momentary peck on the lips before telling me he’ll see me later for dinner. I don’t even have the capacity to worry about Dad seeing the kiss because I’m still focused on the message.
It takes a couple of deep breaths for me to gather myself and sneak a peek into Dad’s office. He’s furiously typing into his computer, oblivious to the world, so it’s likely he didn’t see the kiss.
For the next few hours I mindlessly complete my work for the day, but the question about the text remains at the forefront of my mind. I need to know what it was about. I need to know it’s entirely innocent and that I have nothing to worry about. So I decide there’s nothing else for it.
I’m going to have to follow him.
Twenty-Three
As soon as I get out of work, I head for the bus and call Michelle. I haven’t spoken to her since Jessie’s party on the weekend.
“Well, hello, stranger,” she croons into the phone.
“Hey, how are you?” I reply, trying to sound chirpy.
“I’m okay. Well, I’m still a little hung over, actually. I ended up spending the entire weekend at Jessie’s place. I’m telling you, that girl knows how to keep a lady occupied. I know I’d had my sights set on the blond guy. Ben, I think his name was. But he vamoosed with his friend Stuart after Jay punched him for dancing with you, so that was a dead end. Anyway, I only left her place this morning and had to go straight to work. One of my colleagues pointed out that I had ‘freshly fucked’ hair. I was, like, mortified dot com.”
“Michelle.”
“Yes, Matilda?”
“That’s a delightful story, but please don’t use mortified dot com ever again.”
She laughs loudly down the line. “Fine. So, what happened with you and Jay? And don
’t say ‘nothing.’ I swear to God, if you say ‘nothing,’ I will find a way to teleport through this phone so I can strangle you.”
“Stuff happened, but we’ve agreed to take it slow. I really like him,” I gush, unable to hold back.
“Well, well, well! The girl who doesn’t like any man finally finds a man she likes,” says Michelle, sounding a mixture of smug and pleased.
“I didn’t not like any men. They just didn’t like me.”
“Oh, shush. None of that matters. Now you’ve got the bad-boy hunk to end all bad-boy hunks, so who cares about past failures? I have to say, I’m feeling a touch of the green-eyed monster coming on.”
“I thought you were all loved up with Jessie?”
“Loved up? Please. It’s just sex with the two of us. She knows it. I know it. We’re both fine and dandy with the concept. Now, back to you and Jay. Has he gone down on you yet?”
“Michelle!”
“What?”
“Where are you right now?”
“In the queue at Boots. I had to stock up on shampoo and conditioner. Why?”
“This is not a phone conversation you should be having in the queue at Boots. So, let’s wait until we see each other in person to talk about…those sorts of details. Right now I need your advice on something else.”
“Okay. I’m intrigued. Continue.”
I tell her about THE TEXT. Yes, over the past few hours it has become such a huge issue in my head that I now have to refer to it in all caps. Michelle listens and then mulls it over for a moment.
“Okay, I don’t think you should follow him.”
“Why not? It’s the only way I’m going to find out.”
“Eh, how about asking him?” she suggests, and I decide to let her sarcasm slide.
“Because, that would require me to be a mature adult, and it would also require me to admit to snooping on his phone. I’m not prepared for any of that. At least if I follow him, I’ll know for certain. If it’s a booty call, I can be all, We are over, sir! I said, good day! And then flounce off to nurse my wounded pride. If it’s something normal, like he’s meeting up with an old friend for tea and crumpets, I can nod approvingly to myself and scurry home happy that all is well with the world. Jay will be none the wiser of this highly bunny boiler activity that’s going on with me right now.”