Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Faye

Andy punished me hard for my refusal. Not in a good way, either.

Seven days straight. Seven days of corporate professionalism. Seven days on the bar with Topaz and hardly a word from Andy to either of us.

He breezed by, barked out orders, and left us to it. Day after day after day.

I took it at first, sucked it up and did my job. I learnt the ropes and kept the regulars smiling, resuming friendships with the old crowd and striking up new ones. My old friend, Raven, brought me into the loop on her burlesque night Thursdays, and together we tweaked old plans and made new ones. I met her girlfriend, Cara, and she threw some ideas into the pot for an Explicit Dirty Dancing contest, with a gold plated dildo trophy for the winners. We had great ideas, and lots of them. Perfect ideas for taking Club Explicit into a whole new era. A community era.

I took them to Andy, but he merely grunted, unimpressed.

As the second week started I’d had enough. More than enough. I was pissed off and riled up, and sick to fucking death of his dismissive sulking. I’d had a bad morning.

A really bad morning.

I didn’t grace him with a knock at the door. I charged in with purpose, armed with a can of polish, a feather duster and enough determination to pull down the Berlin wall single-handed. I pulled my old desk from the corner, dumping the printer, and shredder and piles of old paperwork on the floor, and then I cleaned it. Dusted it off with gusto as he watched me from across the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?” I snapped. “I’m sick of playing barmaid. You pushed it too far.”

“I haven’t even started yet.”

“I’m a fifty-fifty partner, I’m done with your sulking.” I dragged the desk across the room until it lined up with his, just like old times. Then I wheeled the spare chair around, grabbed a handful of biros and an Explicit notepad from the stationery drawer. “Where can I get a phone?”

“You don’t need a phone,” he grunted. “Or a desk.”

“Fine. I’ll take yours.” I’d grabbed his handset before he could stop me, trailing it to my station and plonking it down on the corner.

He scowled as he came to claim it back. “Don’t be so fucking childish. I need that.”

“You’re the one who’s being childish,” I said. “I didn’t fuck you. So what? I was tired, I had blisters on my feet, and I was in bed. This is ridiculous, Andy. Fucking ridiculous. Maybe I did want to fuck you. Maybe I would have done, if you hadn’t been such a fucking prick about the whole thing. You could’ve just asked again. A different night, but that would have been too reasonable, wouldn’t it? Too easy?”

“Have you finished? You think this is all because you said no to sex? Do I look like some kind of desperado to you?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, of course not. I was drunk. You made the right call.”

“I made a tired call.”

“You said you’d work bar, you’re working bar.” He stole the phone back. “That’s what we agreed. That’s what you agreed.”

“Not like this!” I hissed. “Pulling pints while you ignore me 24/7.”

“And what did you expect it to be like? Us holding hands and skipping about the place like nothing ever happened? This isn’t the fucking Waltons. Get back to the bar, Faye, do your fucking job.”

I folded my arms. “My job is here.”

“We played for it, you lost. A deal’s a deal.”

“So, we play again.”

“Nice try.”

“Don’t do this.” I slammed my palms on the desk. “I’m good at what I do, that’s why we went into business. I know what I’m talking about. I have ideas, good creative ideas. Don’t fucking ignore me, Andy. I won’t be fucking ignored!”

“Drink delivery arrives midday. You can rearrange the spirits. Get as creative as you fucking like.”

“I’m not arranging the fucking spirits! I’m not leaving this room. It’s my office, too!”

He tugged the desk away from me, angling it back towards the corner until I slapped his hands and attacked his fingers. “Stop it, Faye. You’re making a fool of yourself.” I fought him like a kid, clinging onto the desk leg like a limpet, holding tight as he tried to shove it back where it came from. I gave it up with a sigh, yanking his tie in frustration so hard it almost toppled him off balance. “What the hell’s got into you?”

The messages on my phone, Andy. Ten of them in a row. Ten messages from him, all this morning. Begging, pleading, promising. But I don’t want to go back there, I need something to cling onto, a reason for staying.

I gave up the fight, flopping back in my chair. “Nothing, Andy. Just nothing.”

“Faye? What the hell’s this about?”

“You,” I lied. “It’s about you. The way you treat me like a second class citizen. The way you ignore me.”

“I treat you just like anyone else.”

I scowled to hide the upset. “But I’m not just anyone else. I’m your business partner.”

“Who walked away three years ago. You walked. Don’t preach to me about being ignored, Faye, you’ve got a fucking cheek.”

“Yes, yes, yes. I fucking walked. And then I walked back.” I picked up a biro from the floor, twirled it in my fingers, round and round. It took him by surprise when I launched it at the wall. It spotted black ink across the magnolia, and Andy’s face looked like I’d given him a slap. “I’m done. I’ll call a lawyer, we’ll get this sorted properly.”

He folded his arms, blocked my path before I’d even shifted. “That’s absurd. It’ll cost a fucking fortune, drag us both through a load of shit that I quite frankly don’t have time for.”

“I just want a desk, and a phone and a fucking desk tidy... Is that too much to ask?”

“It wouldn’t work. I don’t share.” He straightened his tie, adjusted his collar. Checked himself out in the mirror on the far wall. “We’d argue day and night over fucking paperclips.”

“How about we just take it in turns?” I looked up at him, and my eyes were welling, I could feel it. Too fragile, much too fragile. “Think back to when we started, to all the ideas we had. All the ideas I had. You used to like them, you used to listen.”

“That was a long fucking time ago.”

“You remember, though?”

“Of course I remember. I remember everything. I’m the one who stayed.”

“You wouldn’t even need to be here when it was my go. Take some time off, go on holiday. I can handle the place, I swear.”

His eyes were hostile. “I’ve been here seven days a week since we opened. Every day, Faye. Every. Single. Day. You think I’m just going to abandon ship because you want to play Club Manager? Not pissing likely. What’s going to happen when you get bored and flit off again?”

“I’m not going to.” I groaned. “Jesus, Andy, give me a chance. Please.”

His hands were in his hair as he paced up and down.

I dug my phone from my pocket, stomach turning to find another message icon. I cleared it without reading, then looked up lawyers on Google. Commercial lawyers. I dialled the first number I found. “Hello? Yes, my name is Faye Devere, I have a company law dispute I’d like to speak with someone about...” Andy’s face turned white before my eyes. “Yes, a limited company, that’s right. Club Explicit Ltd. The company number? I’ll just grab it for you.” I was reaching for the printed notepad when Andy grabbed the handset from my hand and cancelled the call in a heartbeat, eyes black as coal.

“Don’t,” he said. “No fucking lawyers, Faye. It’ll bring a whirlwind of trouble.”

“You don’t want to play it out, and you don’t want lawyers. What do you want?”

“I’m thinking,” he snapped. I gave him time, eyes drawn to the muscles in his thighs as he paced. “I won’t share and you won’t back down. So we play for it. Seven day terms. That’s all we ever play for. If one of us wins three weeks in a row the fourth is a moot call. It goes to the other. If you let me down, Faye, I swear I’ll never work with you again.”

“Seven days.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s a short enough timeframe that either of us can fuck off and get some space if we need it.”

“Fine. I like it.” I tipped my head back, stared at the ceiling. “You want to do the playroom again? You can go first.”

He shook his head. “We need another way. Something less... invasive.”

“Draw straws?” I said. “Flip a coin?”

A flicker of inspiration and he was off like a shot. “I have just the thing.”

***

Andy

I hid the twisting of my gut behind a veneer of calm. The woman was wired, fucked up somehow. I flashed her a look over my shoulder as I rummaged in my drawer. She wasn’t close enough to peer inside, thank fuck.

This power share was a non-event, it would never work. A short-lived novelty and it would be all over. I’d be calling my own lawyer and ironing out the cracks. The cracks. Chasms, more like. In the meantime I’d play the game. Maybe she’d be long gone by the time necessity came calling.

The idea filled me with relief and dread in equal measure.

I found what I was looking for and held it up with a flourish. “Lucky coin.”

Recognition flashed across her eyes. “I haven’t seen that in a long time.”

“Haven’t used it in a long time.” I sat down at my desk, and Faye wheeled her chair opposite. A solid gold coin, made to order. One side showed a woman riding a man, her head high as she had her way with him. The other side was reversed, the man pinning the woman down, fucking her hard. A switch coin of my own design. One simple toss and power was assigned. A kingmaker of sorts. I’d had a lot of fun with that coin in years gone by. A smile flickered on my lips at the memories. “You remember how this works?”

She held out a hand and I passed it over. She flipped it in delicate fingers. “Much more relevant than heads or tails.”

“Quite.” I gestured for the coin, but she held it high.

“I don’t trust you with it,” she said. “You might have a trick.”

I sighed. “It’s a fucking coin, Faye. Nothing sinister. It’s not weighted, there are no tricks.”

“Even so.”

I shrugged, impatient. “Fine. You toss.”

“And this is it? The winner is set for seven days?”

I nodded. “Our weeks will run from Sunday morning to Sunday morning, just after we close. It makes sense to do it that way. This week will be slightly shorter, but we’ll live with that. We’ll lock up from the Saturday shift and toss the coin. Deal?”

“Fine. Let’s do it.” She kept the coin in her fingers, playing with it. “What are the rules? Winner has complete control?”

“Within reason,” I said. “No major refurbishments, no major policy changes, just day to day authority.”

“Ok.” She tossed the coin in the air and her eyes sparkled as they followed it. I was looking at her, not the coin when it landed. The sag of her shoulders told me I’d taken the week. A quick glance confirmed my win. Sure enough the man was fucking the woman. A thrill ran through me.

“Shit,” she said.

“You tossed. That’s the way it fell. Fate has spoken.”

She looked so sad I felt almost guilty. “I’ll go back to the bar, then. Congratulations, Andy. You win, again.”

“For the week,” I pointed out. “It’s hardly a win.”

Faye looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen her. Exhausted and agitated. She rose from her seat like a woman defeated. I scooped the coin up and into my pocket.

A niggle inside, something brewing. “What’s going on today, Faye?”

“Nothing.”

I reeled through her known family. A mum and dad on the south coast, one brother and three sisters, mainly living close to home. “Everyone ok?”

“Everyone’s fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

She picked up her mobile from my desk, and it buzzed in her grip. I couldn’t miss the flinch, the wide eyes. She didn’t check the message. “I’ll get on and sort that drink delivery when it arrives.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t look at me again on her way to the door, and I was glad she missed the warring emotions on my face. I felt myself caving, guilt and fear making me weak.

“Faye, wait.” I dragged her stupid old empty desk back into the centre of the room. Her chair, too. I even chucked a load of biros on there, and a notepad. “I’ll have to sort you out a phone extension, I think I have a handset downstairs in the storeroom.”

Her eyes were guarded. “Is this another game?”

“No game,” I said. “You can work here until you get too big for your boots or we argue to death before the week is up.” I gestured to her chair. “Just don’t push your luck.”

She sat herself down and arranged her pens in some rudimentary kind of order, then shot me the only genuine smile I’d seen from her in days.

It was a beautiful smile, but not nearly so beautiful as the words that followed it.

“So, what are we doing today, sir?”

Oh, the fucking ideas.

***

Faye

He sorted me out a telephone extension, as promised. A laptop, too. I watched him the whole time he set me up, waiting for some chink in the veneer. But none came.

My mobile buzzed repeatedly in my pocket, until finally he fixed me in a steady gaze.

“Who is that, Faye?”

I shook my head. “Just junk.”

“Right.” He didn’t believe me, and I didn’t expect him to.

My hand was shaking as I took out my phone, the strange magnetic pull still strong from overseas. I couldn’t bear to look at my notifications, couldn’t bear for all the open-mouthed comments as Facebook went Vincent Blackthorne crazy. “I’ll turn it off.”

His fingers grabbed for my wrist as I held the power off button, and the touch was electric. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, it’s just junk.”

“If he’s bothering you, Faye...”

I changed the subject, pasting on a smile. “This is great. To have my old desk back, it means a lot. Thanks.”

He couldn’t resist the snipe. “It’s not a marriage proposal.” Despite the snark in his tone he squeezed my wrist just a little bit tighter. The urge to unravel stretched its limbs, the need to be consumed by a force stronger than me, stronger than Vincent.

I took a breath, pushed it aside. “Still, thank you.”

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that at the end of the week.” He let go of me, and walked away, only to return with a pile of mail. “Today’s,” he explained. “Accounts paperwork can go in the tray, cheques can go to be banked. He handed me a paying in book. “Down the road, same place it used to be.”

“I remember.”

“Good.” He leaned over me to sort the envelopes into piles. His hand on the back of my chair, his shoulder against mine, and the scent of him, like a desert breeze, hot and oriental. “You get a feel for this without even opening them. Start with these, they should be the cheques.”

I found I was touching him, gripping his arm, fingers tight around the solid flesh beneath his shirt. His face was so close to mine, much too close. He swallowed. Dark eyelashes fluttered. “…Don’t do this, Faye.”

My fingers traced their way up to his shoulder, until they were ghosting along the tender skin of his neck. He closed his eyes. “...Don’t.”

“…I want to thank you. I want to feel like I belong here again.”

“Then sort the mail. Take those cheques.”

I let out my breath. “Ok.”

He retreated to the safety of his own desk, where he buried himself in his laptop and barely looked at me. I organised the cheques, recorded them on the incoming spreadsheet, and tallied them up for the paying in book.

“I won’t be long.”

I picked up my mobile, but thought better of it. I left it on my desk, instead.

***

Andy

I was gasping for caffeine by the time Topaz brought coffee. She set it down and glanced at Faye’s empty spot.

“Yes, that’s her desk. She’s gone to the bank,” I said.

She smiled politely, almost making it clean out of the room before I called her back. She approached slowly, wary of what was coming.

“I want answers, and I want them now. What do you know about Vincent Blackthorne?”

She wouldn’t look at me. “Pretty much everything.”

“Fine. What’s the latest? In a nutshell, please.”

“New book release in a few weeks,” she said. “Bird in the bush.”

“Why did she leave Italy?” I demanded.

Topaz fiddled with her nose ring. “I don’t know. Honestly.”

“You asked her about him, though, didn’t you?” I could see the fear in her eyes. “Answer the question, Topaz, I know you pissing well asked her. If I was going to fire you, I’d have done it by now. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

“She said he’s brooding, serious. A creative type.”

“A flouncy fucking fairy, probably.” I couldn’t hide my disdain. “He writes porn, doesn’t he?”

“Erotic romance, Mr Morgan. It’s not porn.”

“All the same bloody thing if you ask me.” I knew I was scowling. “What’s the deal with his books?”

She took a breath. “His latest series is about a woman, Magpie. He meets her at a conference, their eyes meet and there’s this crazy fated connection. She becomes his pretty bird, his muse. It’s very intense, very romantic. Very dark.”

“Dark?”

“It’s a turbulent love affair, jealous, and sexual and... well... it’s dark...”

“A crock of old shit,” I scoffed. I failed to mention my foray into the world of Vincent Blackthorne, an older book of his when Faye had just left. Pretentious fluff. Up his own arse and then some. I’d thrown the thing in the bin before reading past chapter two.

“I don’t think it’s shit. I think it’s real.” Topaz shifted her weight from hip to hip, stared at me. “She’s Magpie, isn’t she?”

“You fucking tell me.”

“Ok, then yes, she is.” She pulled her phone from her pocket, and her eyes were wide. “I didn’t know whether to ask her about it or not.”

“About what?”

“About this.” She turned the screen to my eyes and my breath caught. “It was only revealed today, I swear, and I haven’t even seen her… Even if I did, I’m not sure what I’d say.”

I gripped the phone, eyes wild and fucking crazy. Bird in the Bush. Book 4 of the Pretty Bird series. Sir Vincent Blackthorne. Like fuck he was a Sir. I’d never seen Faye look so sad as she did on that picture. Her eyes were glistening with tears, the tracks of which fell beautifully down her cheeks. Her lip would have been trembling, you could tell, a single moment of sorrow captured perfectly. Her eyes were big and dilated, and haunted. Brimming with fucking despair. And love.

The eyes of a woman in love.

It made me sick to my stomach.

“And this is his fucking book cover, is it?”

She nodded. “I didn’t know before today, I promise.”

I threw the phone back at her, angry fingers jabbing at the keys on my laptop. I looked up the piece of shit’s website, and Faye’s eyes took my breath for the second fucking time.

Topaz was reading the text aloud before I found it on screen.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Magpie is a broken bird. Spinning in Master Blake’s web in the heart of the Veneto mountains, her fate will play out on stage, during Blake’s most dangerous show of all.

His pretty bird is broken, but her beautiful pain only serves to bring her closer to Him. Her Master. Her Lover. Her everything.

Fourth instalment in the acclaimed Pretty Bird Series.

Warning: Contains aspects of dominance and submission which may disturb some readers. Dubious consent, multiple partners and sadomasochism. Please enjoy responsibly.

“What the fuck is this?”

“I’ve read the others,” Topaz said. “All of them. They’re pretty hardcore.”

I started clicking around the screen. “Where can I get a copy of this fucking book?”

“You can’t,” she said, simply. “It’s not out yet. You wouldn’t understand it anyway, it’s not a standalone. You have to start with book one.”

“Where can I get a copy of book fucking one then?”

“Amazon. Do you have a Kindle?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Do I look like the kind of guy who has a fucking Kindle, Topaz?”

I was scaring her. She twiddled her thumbs together. “I could lend you mine.”

“Please.” I stared at Sir fucking Blackthorne’s author picture. Some piece of shit black and white thing with his face hidden behind a Casanova mask. “How the fuck do I contact this prick?”

“You can’t,” she said. “He gets so much mail he has to employ a PR agency.”

I jabbed a finger at the cover on the screen. “This isn’t fucking happening, Topaz. This was a fucking mistake. If this thing goes to fucking print, I’ll sue the poncey prick for everything he’s got.”

“She must have given him permission, Mr Morgan. He’s not an idiot. His other covers were illustrations, bird cages and shackles and feathers.”

“She can damn well take her permission back then, can’t she?” I fixed her in a glare. “What does dubious consent mean?” She couldn’t even look at me. “Topaz, what the fuck does dubious consent mean?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Morgan, I don’t know what to say.”

I slammed my fist on the desk. “Tell me!”

“It’s … it’s dark erotica, forced submission that sometimes goes over the line.”

I put my head in my hands, temples thumping. “Get me that fucking Kindle, Topaz.” I looked across to the empty desk, and Faye’s handset sitting on top of it. “And while you’re at it, pass me that fucking phone as well.”

***