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I walked at a blistering pace into the office, taking the stairs two at a time. My dad had the ability to make a thirty-year old man feel like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Why do ye ask, Da?”
“Excuse me, son?”
Wrong question.
Even over the phone, I could feel my father’s hackles raise and his grey, bushy brows bunch together in a scowl.
I swallowed hard, waiting him out, as I rounded a corner and stared through the double glass doors to the accounts area and my office to a sight I did not expect.
“I’ll ask what I like!” Da spluttered down the phone. “It’s my business, like my father before me!”
“The audit is going fine -”
“Ye make sure your reputation is squeaky clean!”
“Is yours, Da?” I snapped back. “Because she’s reviewing the last five years of financial data, and ye were in charge for three of those.”
“How dare -!”
“I don’t have anything to hide so I don’t have anything to clean! And if you’re sayin’ you’re clean, too, then there’s nothing to worry about except how we are going to solve any problems they find!”
I took a deep breath and waited for my old man to react. My father wheezed and coughed. I panicked for a second, until I heard someone in the background say the physio was ready for him. Being wheelchair-bound, my father went for regular remedial massage for the pain in his back and to help circulation in his legs.
“I’ve got to go,” he muttered.
“Okay, Da.”
I waited such a long time for a reply I thought the phone had cut out, or he’d hung up.
“Stuart, ye can do this. Update your old man, ye ken.”
The phone went dead.
I grunted a curse as I skimmed several more texts from James, offering his opinion on what I should and should not do with my lips. I slipped the phone into my pocket and pushed the glass doors open. I had five precious minutes to lower my blood pressure and prepare for a phone call with the hotel chain to reschedule our whisky tasting.
But everyone in front of me was eating cake. It felt like the whole company was here in the accounts office, with Amanda standing in the centre of the celebration, under bunting that said ‘happy birthday’ in gaudy, reflective colours.
Sweat beaded my forehead as I slowly approached the group.
Amanda had only been here for a day and yet she’d gathered a large crowd of employees, announcing she’d bought sweet treats for the staff to celebrate someone’s birthday. I didn’t know whose it was and that made me feel even worse.
She then led them to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to…who the hell was having a birthday today?I couldn’t see over the backs of everyone’s heads.
My father had banned birthday morning teas four years ago, saying they were a waste of time and cake.
She’d worn yellow again; a silky looking blouse with a fitted black skirt. Damn outfit showed off her curves. All I could think about was popping open that blouse and plundering her breasts and her neck with my mouth.
I didn’t know I had become lost in my fantasy until the crowd had dispersed into little groups. Amanda stood in front of me, holding up a plate, and smiling, her red lipstick shiny and ripe.
“Stuart! Cake?”
Conversation stopped. Staff stared at me, like animals caught in headlights. Forks and spoons paused in mid-air, waiting for my reaction.
I swallowed hard, the rising tide of panic coming on swiftly and inevitably. Like it always did when I was in a crowd.
I lost it. I blustered for everyone to leave so I could make my call.
