One eyebrow raises in the sexiest manner I have ever seen. Sort of a cross between mild amusement and mild annoyance.
“You’ve come to those conclusions about me by looking at my kitchen?”
My cheeks flush. Is he mad? I can never tell with that perfect fucking poker face of his.
“Everything’s stacked neatly, like in order. That’s all I’m saying.”
“And how would you know anything about that?”
I search his face, trying to determine whether or not he’s annoyed, when he leans in, narrowing his eyes. He seems genuinely interested in my answer.
“My brother was in the army…”
“Was?”
My body stiffens, and my throat clogs. The mere mention of my brother has me on edge.
“He joined the Coldstream Guards when I was fifteen, did two tours in Afghanistan…” I stop for a moment, my composure starting to slip. I take a deep breath.
“Did he not make it back the second time?” Glad that he asked so I don’t have to go into detail, I offer a small smile and meekly nod my head. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I close my eyes, guilt riddling every part of my body. I deliberately don’t make a habit of ever talking or thinking back to that part of my life. That part is dead now—buried. I knew back then things were never going to be the same again, and I was right.
“It is what it is, I guess.”
“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”
I frown at his questioning. Not once has he bothered to ask me anything personal the whole time I’ve worked for him. I guess now he’s forced to because of the storm.
“No, it was just him and me.” Deciding to change the subject, I say, “Where did you learn to fight like that?” If he wants to ask prying questions, then so will I.
He eyes me a second, a faint hint of some emotion there, but I can’t quite figure out what. He picks up a biscuit, breaking it in half. “I’m a black belt in karate.” He pops the biscuit in his mouth and starts chewing, and my eyes can’t help wandering down to his lips as he does.
Focus, Bri. Focus.
I’m about to ask him to go into more detail, when he speaks again. “How are you feeling after… you know… what happened?”
I can’t help but wonder if he’s only asking that question to veer away from him, or if he truly cares enough to ask. Either way, I answer him. “I’m still jumpy and sometimes wake up during the night thinking someone’s in the house.” Not to mention the fact that Chris and I haven’t had sex in what feels like forever. This is definitely a record for us, but we both realise I almost got raped. I doubt anyone would want to jump into bed with someone for a while after that.
“That’s only natural. Do you know who they were?”
I shake my head. “I have no clue.” Thinking about that third guy, I frown.
“What is it?” I flit my head to Charlie, questioningly.
“It’s like you’ve remembered something about that day. What is it?”
I shake my head. “It’s just silly really, but one of them never talked…”
“Never talked?”
I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately, and what Frosty said. I always had my suspicions, but the attacker’s silence plus what Chris revealed today about Brandon not turning up for work this past week has it almost cemented that it is him.
“Yeah, one of them never spoke at all. It was almost as if he was afraid to, like he knew I’d recognise his voice, you know?”
“You sound like you already know who it is. Have you been to the police with your suspicions?”
Nah, cause Chris is the police, judge, juror, and executioner all in one. That’s not something you can divulge over a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive biscuit, though, is it?
“I take it by that look you haven’t even reported it to the police?”
What fucking look am I giving this guy that makes him read me like a book?
“What’s the point of it? The police don’t do diddly-squat.”
“You really believe that?”
I narrow my eyes at him then nod my head. “Yes, I really do believe that. I can’t tell you the countless times things have been reported to the police, but the victims are just ignored.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
Woah, Charlie’s getting very personal now. The heat in this kitchen seems to have turned up a few notches.
“Can we talk about something else?” I almost whisper back. Again, we’re going back to a time in my life I don’t want to look back at. My mother was an alcoholic, sometimes bringing unsavoury characters back to the house when my dad wasn’t around. I can’t even guess the amount of times I had to call the police because one of the guys was getting full-on or violent towards me or my mother. The police would come, turf the guy out of the house, and see how shit-faced my mother was. However, as long as she was in the house to take care of me, (the irony), they would just piss off back to the station. I learnt my lesson early enough to realise that the police really don’t give a shit.
An uncomfortable silence descends upon us, so I take the opportunity to grab a biscuit and dip it in my tea. A sound I can only describe as a slight snort makes me look up to find Charlie smiling. A very rare sight to behold.
“You’re one of those,” he says, motioning with his head to the biscuit in my hand.
“What?” I smile back too as this is much better than the tension we had only a moment ago.
“You’re a dunker.”
I shrug my shoulders and bite into the soggy biscuit. My favourite. “Nothing wrong with dunking.”
“And you talk with your mouth full. Great.” A laugh erupts inside of me causing me to almost spit my biscuit out. Charlie gets up quickly, retrieving some tissue and handing it to me. “Here, before you spit bits of biscuit all over my table.”
I take the tissue and wipe my mouth, making sure to chew everything before I reply. “You know, you’re like the male version of Monica Geller.” He frowns deeply, proving that he doesn’t have a clue who I’m on about. “From Friends.”
“Ah, I don’t watch stuff like that.”
“Stuff?” I feel almost offended. “That stuff is only the greatest piece of television you’ll ever watch.”
His chest moves with a silent laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Don’t you ever dunk?” I ask, dunking the remainder of the biscuit in my tea then taking a bite.
“Dunking is for the uncouth.”
I nearly spit the biscuit out again, my brows raised. I wait to chew the remainder before I reply. “So you’re saying I’m uncouth.”
“Did you hear me say that?” he quips back.
“No, but you implied it.”
“Implying is not saying.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Whatever, big man.” I stiffen the moment those words leave my lips. Way too personal a statement for my boss. “Sorry,” I quickly say, my head turning away.
Back to feeling awkward again.
“Where do you see yourself in ten years, Bri?”
My eyes widen. Of all the questions I’d expect him to ask me, that would have been the last on my list. The moment the shock wears off, my stomach ties in knots. I know where Chris sees us in ten years. He’s told me about it often enough.