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“Of course. Seems… super legit. Um, so…”
“Sorry about the whole… stripper thing.” He sighed and scrubbed at his face, managing to not smudge the paint at all. Then he reached for a tear-drop shaped decanter on his desk and poured a glass of dark liquid. “I should’ve noticed straight away that you’re not… It’s just been a shit week.”
“No problem.” I shifted awkwardly on my feet. “Sorry about, uh, telling you all that depressing stuff about me.”
“It’s fine.” He waved a hand and drained his glass, then poured another. “Seemed like you needed to vent.”
“Yeah.” I paused, thinking about it. “It felt kinda good to say it all out loud. Even if it did make me realise just how sad my life has become.”
He made a face. “It doesn’t sound… that sad.”
“I told you I iron my underwear.”
His strange pink eyes darted to the front of my slacks, which made my belly dip. Just as quickly, he looked away again to down his second drink. “Yeah, well. I’m particular about my clothes too.”
“I’m not. It’s just a habit I got into because my ex was all weird about creases, and I’m still doing it for some reason, even though no one sees them but me.”
“Ah.” He side-eyed me as he poured a third drink. “Recent break-up?”
“No. Four years ago now.” I paused. “He left me for a hippy called Sage. They go to orgies a lot.”
Holt choked slightly on his drink, letting out a raspy cough as he pulled the glass away. “Why did your ex tell you that?”
“He didn’t. Sage writes about it on his blog.”
Holt gave me an odd look. “Why do you read his blog?”
I sighed. “I dunno. I haven’t for a few years, but when Marcus first left me for him, it was like a compulsion to go on there and read it.”
“Ah. Well.” He shrugged, back to watching me over the rim of his glass as he sipped his drink. “Marcus is an idiot.”
My cheeks grew warm. He’s just being nice because five minutes ago he was telling you to dance for him while talking about your sad, pathetic existence. Don’t read into it.
“Anyway.” Holt cleared his throat. “My friend Axel will escort you back upstairs. He’ll be here shortly. Then we’ll get security to let you into your office so you can retrieve your keys.” He gave me a tiny, amused smile. “You can go home and watch EastEnders in peace.”
Fear streaked through me at the mention of Axel. Before I could stop myself, I was blurting, “So he’s not going to kill me?”
Holt paused. “What?”
“You’re not… bumping me off because I stumbled on your basement wrestling thing?”
After an awkward silence, his mouth twitched. “No. Like I said, it’s all above board. However…”
That one word made my entire body clench up. This was where the threats started. If you ever tell anyone what you saw here…
“It would probably be best if you didn’t mention it to your co-workers,” Holt continued cautiously. “Or anyone else working in the offices upstairs. It’s a very… exclusive club. In a sense.”
“Sure. Of course.” I nodded rapidly. “Won’t breathe a word of it. To anyone.”
“Wait, what am I saying?” Holt suddenly laughed, then drained his fresh glass. Wow, he was really knocking them back. “You won’t remember anyway.”
“Um… huh?”
He waved a hand. His posture was a little looser, his eyes softer as he reached for the decanter again. “Axel will make you forget all of this.”
“Uh…” I looked around the office nervously, as if this Axel might appear from thin air with a chloroform-soaked rag. “Do you mean that in, like… the threat sense?”
Holt snorted into his glass. “No, just the literal sense. Axel is an ailyn. He can wipe memories. Well, it’s more like he fucks around with the timeline in your head. Makes you forget chunks of it and stuff.”
