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“No, Faye, I’m not. You’re the one who wants everything on her own terms and wants it yesterday. You’re the one who stormed in like a whirlwind, without so much as a fucking explanation as to why you were back. You’re the one who demanded the position you so easily deserted. You’re the one who initiated this fucking way of solving our differences, and now, after everything I’ve done to humour you, you’re still a little bitch with her ass in her hands.” His breath was ragged, angry. “You’re right. Itwasa mistake. It’s fucking done.”
Tears pricked but there was no way I was crying. I forced them back. “Fine. Suits me.”
“Suits both of us.”
“Good. It’s the right call.”
“Definitely,” he snapped. “I’m glad we got that cleared up.”
“What about the coin toss? Don’t think I’m losing my weeks because they no longer include sex.”
“We still toss. Rules still apply.”
“Great.” I forced a smile. “Well, we’d better get on, then. I’ll go back to the bar, I was working on cocktails.”
He gestured I was free to leave. “Be my fucking guest.”
***
It shouldn’t have bothered me. It was the right call, the sensible call, but still I festered all day. My cocktails were a disaster, and Topaz was quiet, keeping her distance as though I was in danger of exploding. I felt like it.
How fucking dare he? Cocky fucking bastard.
He’sthe one who always wants everything onhisterms, not me.
Mid-afternoon and my mobile erupted with Facebook notifications. Bird in the Bush was live on Amazon, available for the public a week earlier than expected. The world went Vincent Blackthorne crazy, racing to download their copy and dive into the next sordid Magpie instalment. They’d get their money’s worth with this little number.
They’d get their rocks off, and Andy would find out why I’d left Italy. He may find out through a tatty page of highlighted text in Topaz’s paperback copy, but he’d find out. It was only a matter of time.
I wondered where Vincent was, whether he was smirking to himself just a short way away, knowing exactly how messed up I’d feel at his presence, knowing exactly what game he was playing with releasing early. Knowing exactly that my days here were numbered, that I’d be uncomfortable, and stressed, and angry.
Of course he knew.
I bailed on my cocktail efforts and took to sorting out the stockroom. The physical effort did me some good, working off the stress as I rejigged the boxes. I arranged the toys in one section, and the cleaning supplies in another. I arranged the bar snacks in a way that was easy to reach without climbing over three mop buckets and a box of butt plugs. It looked good.
Fuck you, Andy Morgan.
I scrubbed down the wall space I’d cleared behind the boxes, gloved-up and dangerous with a spray bottle of disinfectant. I pulled out the trays under the shelves and swept out all the dust. I mopped the hard to reach bits behind the storage units, and I polished up the candlesticks we used on special occasions.
I was on the floor reassembling a load of old table decorations when the door creaked open behind me. I heard a jangle of keys.
“Time to go,” he said. “Topaz is locking up. I’m tired.”
“You’re leaving the club with someone else?” I sneered. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Don’t make me regret it, or you’ll have another four hours of doing that… whatever it is you’re doing.”
I held up one of the orchid displays. “Fixing these.”
“I forgot we even had those.” I heard his footsteps about the place, but I didn’t turn to face him. “Jesus, Faye, you’ve torn the place apart.”
“It’s better, no?”
“Yes, it’s better.”
“My God, don’t tell me that was actually an acknowledgement of something done well?” I gathered up the decorations and pushed them back in their box. “Fine, let’s go. I’m fucking knackered.”
His hand was on my elbow before I could protest, pulling me to my feet. “I can give praise, Faye. When it’s warranted.”
