I twirl a lock of my hair, bring it to my mouth and chew on it.
"Horrible habit." She frowns.
"It helps me think." I push off from the counter, begin to pace. "I have a big meeting tomorrow. If I get the account…"
"You will."
My phone dings. I stare at my bag.
"You going to see who it is?"
I shake my head.
"Want me to?"
I raise my shoulders, and let them drop, "How much worse could it get, huh?"
She reaches for my bag, pulls out my phone, reads the message.
"Who is it?"
She drops the phone into my bag.
"It’s nothing."
"Karma!" I scowl, then flounce over to her and check the screen. There's a new text message.
SmellyGuy: You have one week to pay the rent or else...
Right! I drop the phone into the bag, then for good measure zip my bag shut.
"Vanilla or chocolate?" I cross the floor to the tiny refrigerator, pull open the door of the freezer.
"Is that a trick question?"
"Yeah. No."
"Do I have a choice?" She returns to the settee.
"Nope." I chuckle, pull out the carton of vanilla ice-cream. "I did the shopping so..."
Karma sinks into the sofa, "Your tastes are boringly predictable."
"Yeah, well, I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am." I grab the carton of ice cream, straighten.
She blinks. "Is that from On the Waterfront?"
I chuckle. "You've been paying attention to my trivia quiz emails, huh?"
“Bet you can't guess which movie this is from? She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.”
I pull out two plastic spoons, then join her.
"Too easy." I scoop up some ice cream, "10 things I Hate About You."
Her face breaks into a smile.
Strange word games the two of us have. Spouting dialogues and having the other person guess the film it originated from is one. Words don’t cost, and they comfort. We can use them to weave a world in which we are safe, away from the nightmares that haunt our lives.
"My turn." I pass the carton to her. "Gotta celebrate the Now. Live in the moment."
She licks the ice-cream from her spoon, scoops up more. Her forehead scrunches.
"Give up?" I snatch the ice cream carton from her.
She frowns, "Okay, which is that from?"
I snicker. "None, that was all moi." I lick the remaining ice cream from my spoon.
She grabs at the carton, then peers into it. "Gah! Not fair, you finished it."
I chortle, "See, you shouldn't underestimate me." I hand the empty carton to her. "Now shoo, I need to work on the deck for tomorrow's meeting.
"Brilliant!" She brightens, "I have the right set of clothes for you."
4
“Y’know, I could eat a peach for hours.”
— Face/Off. Director: John Woo
Sin
"Have a good day, Mr. Sterling."
Peter my chauffeur pulls my Aston Martin up to the curb in front of my offices. The heritage building on the South Bank is prime London property that I acquired after a bitter bidding war. It does the job, I suppose. I swing open the door and Max bounds ahead. He pauses in front of the homeless man next to the entrance.
His sign today reads: The Devil returned to Hell by two.
I approach the homeless guy, drop a wad of bills into the upturned cap in front of him. "Byron, again, huh?"
As always, his face doesn’t change expression. The two of us are similar that way.
The degree of separation between the man in the palace and the one on the street is less than seven, son.
My father’s words echo in my head. He hated the homeless. Perhaps it struck something primal in him. This dread of losing everything, finding himself out on his luck, had intensified after the incident. He'd lost his job soon after, hadn't been able to afford the money for my mother's cancer treatment, if it had not been for my friends. Yeah, I have a few… Six, to be precise. The kind who’d stab me if I turned my back on them.
Figuratively speaking… In business, I mean.
Best if you never trust anyone, not even your friends. There is no way you can be hurt then, right?
I walk toward the heavy glass door where Max waits for me. I push it and he bounds ahead of me. The receptionist glances up; her face flushes.
"Good morning, Mr. Sterling."
I frown. "How long you been here?"
She blinks.
"You deaf, girl?"
"N… no." Color fades from her cheeks, and her color matches the wall behind her.
"Answer the question."
She gulps. "A week."
"You’re fired."
"But…"
"You're on probation so no need to go to HR; you can leave right now."
She splutters, "My fault, Sir?"
"Don’t like your face."
That is true. Also, because I am getting a little tired of her loss of composure every time I walk by. Reminds me of what my position in this city is all about. Something I hate.
I walk up to the elevator, the doors swish open, and I step inside. Seems the elevator maintenance company can keep their contract... For now.
"Stop." A hand appears in between the doors, halting their progress. A woman steps in. "Sorry… I can't afford to be late, I—" She looks up.
Green eyes stare at me, pink hair tied up into a knot that is already coming undone. The pale creamy skin of her neck colors. It reminds me of someone. I snap my gaze to her face and her jaw drops open. "You?"
The door slides closed. "About time," I glare.
She frowns, "You’re acting as if you were expecting me."
"I was." Wisps of candy-fluff colored hair cling to her flushed cheeks. My fingers tingle to whisper it off of her face. The fuck—? I slide my palm into the pocket of my pants.
"Are you stalking me?" She chews on her lower lip and my dick twitches.
I widen my stance, "And what if I was?"
"If… if this is your idea of a joke—" Her shoulders go rigid; she glances up and around the corners of the steel cage.
"No cameras."
Her gaze pops back to my face.
"It’s a private elevator." I punch the stop button and she draws in a sharp breath.
The elevator jolts, then halts. "Oh, hell." She pivots, slaps her hand on the door.
"Too late." I lean a shoulder against the steel wall.
She swallows, "Why… why did you do that?"
I fold my arms, "Not for the reason you are thinking."
She sidles away. Her shoulder brushes the wall opposite me, and she jerks upright. "Wha… what reason would that be?"
I scan her features, down the arch of that neck—it’s quite stunning, actually—down to the thrust of her breasts. Today, she’s wearing a jacket that pulls in her shoulders. Clearly, it’s a size too small for her. It’s buttoned in the front. The material strains at her chest, showing off her curves.