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He had a fair point. “I’m not leaving. I’ll see you later.”
I went for the cancel button but he was speaking again before I pressed it. “Why did you leave Italy?”
I brought the handset back to my ear. “Sorry?”
“What happened in Italy, Faye? Why did you come back?”
The slur in his voice, only just detectable. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I grabbed a pillow, propped it under my head and folded the duvet over me. “I’m going to sleep.”
“How can I trust you won’t walk out again if I don’t know why you’re here?”
“You’ll just have to take my word for it. We’re both adults, Andy, we’ve both got skeletons in the closet.”
“Thethingyesterday, what was that about?”
“Thesex, you mean?” My stomach fluttered. “It was about nothing. Forget it happened. I have.”
“I think that’s a lie.”
I stared up at the ceiling. “Is this a thinly veiled attempt at phone sex? I’m too tired for this shit.”
He paused for a long time. “Come back to the club. We’ll drink whisky, you can tell me about Italy, and I’ll fuck you until we pass out.”
My heart pounded. Mouth dry. “I’m already fucked until I pass out, Andy. Knackered. My feet are sore, and I’m already in bed.”
“I’ll call you a taxi, and I’ll be waiting, right here. No dicking about, Faye, are you in, or out?”
I rolled onto my side, smiling into my pillow. “Goodnight, Andy. I’ll see you later.”
It felt strangely liberating to end the call.
***
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. Acommunityera.
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?”
