wasn’t sure how she felt. Yet.’
chapter six
day off
Not going into work today .
Not dragging myself from this bed, leaving this flat and going into that office .
After yesterday, Renée could do with a reminder as to why she employed me. A day answering the phone and dealing with Martha should do that.
Renée had done the decent thing yesterday and cancelled the meeting, then returned an hour after her blow-up and dropped a king-size bag of Maltesers on my desk. She was extra nice to me and even answered her phone without sighing first, which were her ways of saying sorry. She’d never say the words, but with Renée, actions often spoke louder than words. In fact, actions replaced words.
She’d apologised in her own way, but today would serve as a practical reminder of how much I contributed to the office. How non-useless I was. W hat is wrong with you? I chastised myself. Has a demon possessed your brain? Since Saturday morning you have about five evil thoughts for every normal one .
I tugged the soft, squashy duvet over my head, hiding from the light intruding through the windows. I hadn’t pulled the blue curtains across last night and now the light was combining with the tequila, beer and champagne to swell every blood vessel in my head while shrinking my skull. I needed to neck a gallon of water then go back to sleep within ten minutes, or I’d feel wretched all day.
‘Does it feel as though someone’s used your head for a football?’ Greg asked in a pained voice.
I didn’t mean to, honest to goodness I didn’t. It just happened. (I used to think ‘it just happened’ was a phrase uttered by those who’d got caught out and couldn’t think of a proper excuse, but, seriously, it just happened.) After that near-compliment in the cab and thinking the longer we left it, the harder it’d be to get back on track as friends, I’d said to him, ‘Look, come back to mine and let’s talk. Properly.’
Greg had half-shrugged, half-nodded, a kind of non-verbal ‘whatever’, so I’d told the taxi driver to head straight for Horsforth . . .
I’d let us into my flat and Greg had acted like a first time guest, lurking in my corridor, waiting for me to turn on lights and flick on the radio. He even followed me to the kitchen but stood in the doorway like some kind of double vampire – unable to enter a room without express permission.
‘Coffee?’ I asked.
‘Thanks,’ he mumbled from his place leaning against the door frame.
I made him coffee – white, no sugar – and, when I turned to give it to him, found he was right behind me. I jumped a little because I hadn’t heard him approach, then offered the fat blue cup across the short distance. He took it, set it down on the white worktop.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked. He brushed my nose-length fringe away from my face, then rested his fingers on my cheek. He often did that, claiming he wanted to see my eyes while I was talking to him. Rather than swatting his hand away as I usually did, I took his fingers away from my cheek, then lowered his hand for him. His eyes seemed to register the lust that had bolted through me.
‘Well, we . . .’ I began.
Greg dipped his head and kissed my neck.
I gasped as my body contracted with desire. ‘We shouldn’t really . . .’
He pushed down my dress and bra straps and kissed my shoulder.
‘Really, be doing this.’
He pushed away my hair from the other side, planted his juicy lips on that side of my neck. My body contracted again.
‘We should be talking . . .’
He pushed down the dress and bra straps of that side and planted his lips on that shoulder. ‘Talking about how, er, how, this will affect . . .’
Greg ran his tongue along my collarbone and my knees became mush.
‘Affect, erm, affect Matt and Jen’s relationship.’
Greg’s tongue stopped. He stopped. With a sigh he straightened up. ‘To be honest, Amber, I don’t care how this will affect Matt
chapter six
day off
Not going into work today .
Not dragging myself from this bed, leaving this flat and going into that office .
After yesterday, Renée could do with a reminder as to why she employed me. A day answering the phone and dealing with Martha should do that.
Renée had done the decent thing yesterday and cancelled the meeting, then returned an hour after her blow-up and dropped a king-size bag of Maltesers on my desk. She was extra nice to me and even answered her phone without sighing first, which were her ways of saying sorry. She’d never say the words, but with Renée, actions often spoke louder than words. In fact, actions replaced words.
She’d apologised in her own way, but today would serve as a practical reminder of how much I contributed to the office. How non-useless I was. W hat is wrong with you? I chastised myself. Has a demon possessed your brain? Since Saturday morning you have about five evil thoughts for every normal one .
I tugged the soft, squashy duvet over my head, hiding from the light intruding through the windows. I hadn’t pulled the blue curtains across last night and now the light was combining with the tequila, beer and champagne to swell every blood vessel in my head while shrinking my skull. I needed to neck a gallon of water then go back to sleep within ten minutes, or I’d feel wretched all day.
‘Does it feel as though someone’s used your head for a football?’ Greg asked in a pained voice.
I didn’t mean to, honest to goodness I didn’t. It just happened. (I used to think ‘it just happened’ was a phrase uttered by those who’d got caught out and couldn’t think of a proper excuse, but, seriously, it just happened.) After that near-compliment in the cab and thinking the longer we left it, the harder it’d be to get back on track as friends, I’d said to him, ‘Look, come back to mine and let’s talk. Properly.’
Greg had half-shrugged, half-nodded, a kind of non-verbal ‘whatever’, so I’d told the taxi driver to head straight for Horsforth . . .
I’d let us into my flat and Greg had acted like a first time guest, lurking in my corridor, waiting for me to turn on lights and flick on the radio. He even followed me to the kitchen but stood in the doorway like some kind of double vampire – unable to enter a room without express permission.
‘Coffee?’ I asked.
‘Thanks,’ he mumbled from his place leaning against the door frame.
I made him coffee – white, no sugar – and, when I turned to give it to him, found he was right behind me. I jumped a little because I hadn’t heard him approach, then offered the fat blue cup across the short distance. He took it, set it down on the white worktop.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked. He brushed my nose-length fringe away from my face, then rested his fingers on my cheek. He often did that, claiming he wanted to see my eyes while I was talking to him. Rather than swatting his hand away as I usually did, I took his fingers away from my cheek, then lowered his hand for him. His eyes seemed to register the lust that had bolted through me.
‘Well, we . . .’ I began.
Greg dipped his head and kissed my neck.
I gasped as my body contracted with desire. ‘We shouldn’t really . . .’
He pushed down my dress and bra straps and kissed my shoulder.
‘Really, be doing this.’
He pushed away my hair from the other side, planted his juicy lips on that side of my neck. My body contracted again.
‘We should be talking . . .’
He pushed down the dress and bra straps of that side and planted his lips on that shoulder. ‘Talking about how, er, how, this will affect . . .’
Greg ran his tongue along my collarbone and my knees became mush.
‘Affect, erm, affect Matt and Jen’s relationship.’
Greg’s tongue stopped. He stopped. With a sigh he straightened up. ‘To be honest, Amber, I don’t care how this will affect Matt
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