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***
Faye
He sorted me out a telephone extension, as promised. A laptop, too. I watched him the whole time he set me up, waiting for some chink in the veneer. But none came.
My mobile buzzed repeatedly in my pocket, until finally he fixed me in a steady gaze.
“Who is that, Faye?”
I shook my head. “Just junk.”
“Right.” He didn’t believe me, and I didn’t expect him to.
My hand was shaking as I took out my phone, the strange magnetic pull still strong from overseas. I couldn’t bear to look at my notifications, couldn’t bear for all the open-mouthed comments as Facebook went Vincent Blackthorne crazy. “I’ll turn it off.”
His fingers grabbed for my wrist as I held the power off button, and the touch was electric. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Like I said, it’s just junk.”
“If he’s bothering you, Faye...”
I changed the subject, pasting on a smile. “This is great. To have my old desk back, it means a lot. Thanks.”
He couldn’t resist the snipe. “It’s not a marriage proposal.” Despite the snark in his tone he squeezed my wrist just a little bit tighter. The urge to unravel stretched its limbs, the need to be consumed by a force stronger than me, stronger thanVincent.
I took a breath, pushed it aside. “Still, thank you.”
“We’ll see if you’re still saying that at the end of the week.” He let go of me, and walked away, only to return with a pile of mail. “Today’s,” he explained. “Accounts paperwork can go in the tray, cheques can go to be banked. He handed me a paying in book. “Down the road, same place it used to be.”
“I remember.”
“Good.” He leaned over me to sort the envelopes into piles. His hand on the back of my chair, his shoulder against mine, and the scent of him, like a desert breeze, hot and oriental. “You get a feel for this without even opening them. Start with these, they should be the cheques.”
I found I was touching him, gripping his arm, fingers tight around the solid flesh beneath his shirt. His face was so close to mine, much too close. He swallowed. Dark eyelashes fluttered. “…Don’t do this, Faye.”
My fingers traced their way up to his shoulder, until they were ghosting along the tender skin of his neck. He closed his eyes. “...Don’t.”
“…I want to thank you. I want to feel like I belong here again.”
“Then sort the mail. Take those cheques.”
I let out my breath. “Ok.”
He retreated to the safety of his own desk, where he buried himself in his laptop and barely looked at me. I organised the cheques, recorded them on the incoming spreadsheet, and tallied them up for the paying in book.
“I won’t be long.”
I picked up my mobile, but thought better of it. I left it on my desk, instead.
***
Andy
I was gasping for caffeine by the time Topaz brought coffee. She set it down and glanced at Faye’s empty spot.
“Yes, that’s her desk. She’s gone to the bank,” I said.
She smiled politely, almost making it clean out of the room before I called her back. She approached slowly, wary of what was coming.
