Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Faye

I’d known it was inevitable, but still the sight of Topaz hunched over Andy’s desk while he blatantly tried to guess my mobile’s security PIN was enough to drain the blood from my face. So much for my happy little jaunt to the bank and back.

“You’ll never get it. It’s a totally random combination,” I announced.

Topaz shot upright with a gasp but Andy didn’t flinch.

“Now you’re back I can stop guessing,” he said. Topaz made some blathering excuses before he waved her from the room, but I was hardly listening. Andy waited until the door clicked shut before he skimmed my phone back across the desk. “I just need his number, I can handle the rest.”

“Handle what, exactly?”

His expression darkened as he turned his laptop screen in my direction. “This. This fucking... travesty.”

If he expected shock horror he was sure to be disappointed. The picture on screen was old news. I’d seen it, approved it and signed the thing off long before I left Italy.

“Thanks, but there’s really nothing to handle.”

The scowl was etched across his face. “And you’re happy with this, are you? Not bothered that your face is going to be on every dirty cow’s Kindle screen the planet over? He can fuck right off if he thinks he’s using this picture to sell his seedy little porno book.”

I didn’t even attempt to argue the literary beauty of Vincent’s work. It would have fallen on deaf ears. “I gave him permission,” I said. “In writing. Signed, sealed, case closed.”

“Is it fuck,” he said. “What’s his fucking number?”

I couldn’t help but smile at his zeal. “I signed it off, Andy. My signature.”

“Queen fucking Elizabeth could have signed it off for all I fucking care, Faye.”

I focused on the twitch at the corner of his perfect mouth. “You’d be wasting your breath.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.” He stared right at me. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want your face on his poxy book.”

“It’s not that simple...”

“It is that simple.”

“Andy, seriously. I signed it off. End of.”

“Past tense. Permission fucking withdrawn. I have great lawyers, Faye, we’ll sue him for every penny he’s got, I promise.”

He rooted through his papers, pulled out a business card and began dialling before I could speak. The business card was one of those uber posh ones, watermarked on a thick, expensive grain. My hand was on his before he’d been connected, guiding the handset back into its cradle. “Thank you, I really appreciate your concern, but stop. Please.”

He didn’t let go of the phone. “If you’re worried about speaking to him...”

“I’m not,” I lied. “Look, I knew he’d be using that picture. It’s no big deal, he’s in Italy and I’m here, he’s busy writing books and I’m busy running a club.” I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, though. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.”

He swallowed, but kept his expression deadpan. “I mean it, Faye, we could fight this.”

“And I mean it when I say it’s no big deal. It’s just a picture.” I ignored the worms twisting in my stomach.

He gestured to the screen. Bird in the Bush. The title still made my heart race. “Topaz said you’re this Magpie woman, whatever the fuck that means, and what’s all this dubious consent shit? Did he hurt you?”

I forced a smile. “Maybe there’s some of me in Magpie, but she’s just a character. It’s just fiction.”

“Just fiction?” His eyes were so demanding. “Because if it isn’t...”

“It’s hardly a biography. Maybe I was a muse for Vincent, maybe some of it is loosely based on real life, but it is just a story.” My heart was thumping so loud I feared he’d hear it, but he let out a sigh.

“Fine.” He dropped the phone and pushed the business card back amongst the paperwork.

I used the opportunity to retreat to my desk. “Cheques are all banked. What next?”

He swivelled his chair to face me, and the fine hairs on my arms bristled. “Just answer me one thing. Why did you leave him?”

I hesitated for only a second. “End of the road.”

“End of the road?” I could feel his stare, hot on my face. “Why?”

“I wasn’t with Vincent, Andy. I stayed to help him organise his Venice events. It didn’t work out. We weren’t a couple. Not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“Not like anything.” I shrugged. “We messed around occasionally, mainly in public. That isn’t a relationship.”

He paused for a long moment. Long enough to catch me off guard. “You loved him.”

The pang of heartache took me by surprise. “I never said I didn’t.”

He turned the laptop again in my direction, my sad eyes haunting me across the fucking room. I looked away, busying myself with the rest of the mail.

“What was going on when this was taken?”

“Nothing.” I laid out the membership ID photocopies, the invoices, too.

“Don’t try and make a dick out of me. Breezing back in like nothing ever happened might seem like the best option to you, but I want to know what I’m fucking dealing with here.”

My hackles rose. “Piss off, Andy. You’re dealing with nothing. I’m back, end of conversation.”

“And what are you dealing with? Pissing hell, Faye, just talk to me, will you?”

I dropped the empty envelopes in the bin before I met his eyes. “No.”

“No? Just fucking no?”

“Just fucking no. Drop it, please.”

He folded his arms, leaned back in his chair. “You can’t have it all ways. You want to come back here like nothing’s happened, you want your cosy little desk back next to mine, you want to play your little games in the playroom. All that comes at a price, Faye. I want honesty. I want commitment. I want some fucking answers.”

“And I want to get on with running my club. Thanks for the desk, but it really doesn’t buy you a free pass to Faye Devere’s life history, break up 101. I’m not that cheap or that fucking generous.”

And with that I’d offended him. Again. His walls came up, lips pressed tight as he angled his chair back away from me. “That’s fucking gratitude for you.”

“I shouldn’t have to be grateful for being allowed into my own club.” I waved the membership IDs in the air. “Where do these go?”

“It’s your club. You should fucking know.” His screen switched to email, and he typed away to some supplier or another. Ignorant prick.

I rooted through drawers until I found the correct file, fighting back the urge to fist pump in victory. I could fit back in here, with or without Andy Morgan’s precious permission.

Telling him so landed me back on bar duty, but it was worth it.

Roll on fucking Saturday, and the next bastard coin toss.

***

“He cares,” Topaz said, handing me another batch of juices for the fridge.

“He’s a control freak. Knowledge is power,” I replied.

“That, too.” She kicked the empty box aside and opened another. “But he cares. You didn’t see his face when he first saw that cover.”

“I can imagine,” I scoffed. “Don’t want to create a spectacle now, do we? Have people talking? That will never do.”

She frowned, and I felt surprisingly bad. “It wasn’t like that. I think you’re being harsh.”

“I’m not the one making him beg to help out in his own club.”

And he’s not the one who walked away for three years straight. Topaz didn’t say it, but her expression did. She had one of those faces, one you can read a mile off. I suspected it would make her truly beautiful in the throes of orgasm.

She stared at the bottles and not at me. “I’m sorry about the cover. I should’ve spoken to you before I showed him.”

I could hardly hold it against her. “You’ve known him a long time, you don’t have to apologise for loyalty.” I smiled. “Really, it’s ok. He’d have seen it sooner or later.”

“Later, probably. He’s not much of a reader.” A smirk lit up her eyes. “Can you imagine him reading them? The Magpie books, I mean.”

The thought gave me shivers. “He hasn’t got the attention span. He can’t even read his own horoscope without getting bored halfway through.”

“Just as well, eh? The things you get up to. I mean Magpie. Not you.” She laughed, a nervous laugh. “She is you, isn’t she?”

“She’s a character,” I insisted. “I suppose there is some of me in her.”

“The guy she talks about at the beginning of book one. Was that Mr Morgan?”

My blood really did run cold, prickles dancing along my spine. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t?! Magpie says she’s leaving a nobody, just a man who should’ve meant something. A partner in every way but the one that really mattered. I remember everything about that book.” Her eyes glazed over in that hero-worship way again.

“I didn’t feel like that in real life,” I lied. “Creative license.”

I arranged the bottles in the fridge, nice and neatly to appease Mr Perfect. Topaz was on a roll, quoting this and that from those fucking books. Things I’d forgotten I’d ever said, and certainly ever done. It felt unpleasant, like she was sniffing at the crotches of the panties in my laundry basket. Still, I’d signed up for that, made my personal life public domain in the flimsy disguise of fiction. The dread of Bird in the Bush thrummed right through me. She’d never look at me the same again after that instalment. Never.

I had to change the subject. “Have you never tried to fuck him?”

My question cut through her rambling in a heartbeat, and the bottles clanked as she lost her grip on the box. “Sorry?”

“Andy. Have you never tried it on? He’s always here, you’re always here. There must have been ample opportunity.”

“I, um... no. Never. I’m not really his type.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know,” she smiled shyly. “I mean, look at me. I’ve got green hair, and he’s like Mr Polished.”

“Mr Polished who owns a sex club for deviants and weirdos,” I said. “And the green hair’s cute. You’re cute. Universally. You shouldn’t put yourself down.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “Like I said, Mr Morgan doesn’t notice me. I’m not naive. There are so many beautiful women in this club. If he’s not going to fuck them, he’s hardly going to look twice at me.”

“That’s crazy,” I said. “You’re stunning. Trust me on that.”

She actually laughed aloud, poor little cow. “Thanks,” she said. “But it wasn’t me he was all over in playroom two the other day, was it, legs eleven?”

“That was my fault. I started it.”

“Gah,” she smirked. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s my boss crush, and I can dream. I’d just have liked to have had him once, you know? Just one crazy night, for the memories.”

I took the last two alcopops from her hands, taking them to the bottle opener instead of the fridge. “There’s always time,” I said, handing her one.

“Now that’s crazy. He’s loopy about you. Pissed off, and grumpy, and out to make your life as miserable as humanly possible for as long as humanly possible, I don’t doubt. But still, he really wants you.”

The idea thrilled me way more than it should have.

And way, way more than I wanted it to.

***

Faye

“He’s... he’s... nobody. A man who should’ve meant something. We should’ve meant something. Life works out weirdly sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Lights twinkle from the plains down below, stretching out towards Venice. This is a magical place. Vincent Blackthorne smells divine. His scent on the breeze is exotic and dark. Black treacle and amber. He’s bigger than I expected from his author photos. His thigh is so thick against mine. My Prosecco is going down well.

“This man, he’s your partner?”

“Business partner. A partner in every way but the one that really matters.”

“And you want more?” His eyes twinkle. Searching. He wants me. I know he wants me. The thrill sizzles through my drunken limbs. I only came for a signed paperback. This is crazy. Crazy.

“Wanted more. Funny thing, how much you can want someone you shouldn’t have.”

“Shouldn’t or couldn’t?” he smiles. “This man... did he fight it as hard as you?”

“No,” I sigh. “There, I said it. How liberating. He didn’t want me. Only my brain. We make money together. He wants that. Just that.”

Warm fingers brush the hair from my bare shoulders. His breath on my neck. Vincent Blackthorne’s breath on my neck. My fucking God. How fucking surreal.

“This man must be an idiot,” he says.

“He is,” I laugh. “He’s such a prick. He’s uptight, and controlling, and difficult, and a workaholic. He always has to be right. All the fucking time. He’s an idiot.”

“His loss is another man’s gain.” Vincent’s voice is like satin. His touch, too. “I, too, want your brain.” His lips touch my neck, and I shiver. He feels so good. “But I also want your body... I want your laugh... I want your soul, my sweet bird.”

Shit. I’m drunk. So drunk. And his words sound like heaven.

“Stay with me... stay here...” He turns my face to his. “Say you will stay with me. I need a muse, my beautiful magpie. A beautiful creature to inspire my beautiful words. You will be her. You will be my muse.”

“Stay? On holiday? My flight goes tomorrow...”

Dark eyes capture me. Solid hands take mine. I’m floating on air, high in the Prealps, in the gaze of a master. “No holiday,” he breathes. “Just stay…”

I’m nodding. I can’t even believe that I’m nodding, but I am.

He smiles, perfect white teeth. “And what about this man? What about the man who could have meant something?”

I hold out my glass for more Prosecco. “Fuck him.”

***

Andy

“And what about this man? What about the man who could have meant something?”

My magpie dazzles me with her beautiful eyes. They sparkle like the bubbles of Prosecco in the lamplight. She holds out her glass for more. A toast, her smile says, before she answers my question about that man. The man waiting for her back home. That stupid man who let his beautiful bird flutter into my open arms.

“Fuck him,” she says.

And I know my pretty bird is here to stay.

Fuck him.

The words jumped off the fucking screen at me. Who’d have fucking thought the Look Inside option on Amazon would give you such a perfect fucking snippet.

Infuriating, snotty fucking cow, waltzing back in, wanting everything on a silver platter without so much as the courtesy of a straight fucking answer. Turns out I was finding my own. Fuck him. He’s a prick. He’s an idiot. I flicked my lawyer’s card around my fingers over and over. I should make the call, man up and start sorting out my fucking mess. Maybe I could own up to my oversights. Offer her a deal to be gone and finished and out of my fucking business, once and for all.

We’d never make it any length of time in the same airspace. Especially not now I knew how things really fucking went down in Venice. Not without killing each other.

Or at least causing each other grievous bodily harm.

My cock betrayed me at the thought, totally and utterly. Un-fucking-real.

Fuck him. He’s such a fucking prick. Such an idiot.

I slammed the card back in the drawer, and dialled the bar extension.

***