Is it even legal to masturbate in an office? Regardless if he owns the company? I’ve no time to consult the resident lawyer, Julie.
He knows I’m here. I’m so not prepared for this. Everything I said before was Big Girl Talk, empty bluffs, shit-talking.
Sure enough, the buzzer goes. He doesn’t waste time.
I freeze, gripping the inside of the door.
“Did you order a takeaway?” Cat walks into the hall and stares at me questioningly. “It doesn’t open by leaning against it, you know?”
“Cat.” I hyperventilate. “It’s Danny Walker.” She halts mid-step.
“Here?” Her eyes widen, and we both jump as there is another persistent buzz. “How do you know it’s him?”
“The car was outside.”
“Oh,” Her mouth falls open. “Are you going to let him in?”
“I don’t know,” I swallow, staring back at her. “My head’s spinning from the shots. I can’t think straight.”
It buzzes again.
Julie charges into the hallway. “Who the hell is buzzing?” “It’s Danny Walker.” Cat looks at her meaningfully.
“Here?” Julie barks.
I nod, biting my lip.
“Interesting,” she smirks. “Damn it, girl, you have him by the balls! Take them!” “I don’t know what that means.” I hiss back.
“It means take control, Charlie,” says Julie incredulously, yanking a button open on my black dress. “This is your territory. Seduce him.”
Before I can stop her, Julie leans over me and presses the button to open the door.
“And take off those massive pants, for fuck’s sake!” She hisses. “He’ll see you have no VPL.
Works every time.”
I hear the outside front door of the house open and slam shut, then heavy footsteps climb the stairs.
There’s a loud knock on our flat door.
Cat scuttles down the hall, grinning, followed by Julie mouthing ‘take them off.’
In the absence of a well-thought-through strategy, I wipe my pants off and stuff them behind the radiator.
On the other side of the door, he clears his throat with more than a hint of impatience.
I stealthily retreat a few steps into the hallway to pretend I haven’t been hiding behind the door, then take loud deliberate steps back towards the door.
Trying to slow my breathing, I swipe the latch and open the door meeting his gaze head-on.
“Danny?” I say, my voice pitched too high.
He’s wearing his tailored blue suit from work minus the suit jacket. The white shirt is rolled up to his elbows, showing his gorgeous tanned arms layered with small dark hairs.
His eyes rake down my body and back up again, a cynical smile reaching them as he fixes his stare back on my face. I feel it in my gut.
“Nice dress. Suits you”.
“What are you… why are you here?” I stand in the doorway, shifting my weight from one foot to another.
For a moment, he looks taken back.
“I’m here to apologise.” Not a single speed date came close to making me quiver like that dry Scottish voice.
He looks at me pointedly. “Can I come in?”
“I guess.” I open the door wider, and he follows me down the hallway.
Stevie and the girls are sitting transfixed on the sofa, blatantly eavesdropping. They might as well have popcorn in their hands.
“Mr. Walker,” Stevie mumbles, looking to the floor.
He greets them with a curt nod then turns to me. “Can we go somewhere private?” “We only have one living room. So… it will have to be my bedroom?” Hesitance flickers over his face, then he nods his consent.
“Ok,” I shrill, mentally visualising the state of my bedroom. “This way.”
He follows behind me, the scent of his cologne filling the hallway. Damn, that’s delicious.
I push open the bedroom door. It’s worse than I imagined.
“I wasn’t expecting visitors” I flinch as his eyes scan the room. There are clothes and underwear mixed in with shoes and books all over the floor. Like I’m boycotting wardrobes.
“Take a seat,” I beckon to my pink armchair in the corner.
He lifts a collage of large pants from the armchair, holding them out in his hands.
“What would you like me to do with these?”
Shit. My time of the month pants. Nobody on this earth should be exposed to those except for me.
“I’ll take those,” I say, snapping them from him and bundling them under a pillow.
He squeezes into my dainty chair, looking entirely out of place, his thick legs spreading outwards.
He’s too big, too manly, too overwhelming for my room. It dawns on me that this is the first proper man I’ve had in here.
I perch on the side of the bed, facing him, very aware of my pantyless state. If I move my legs at all, he’ll see everything.
“Drink?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“No. I’m ok. I’ve got a work call after this. I can’t drink anymore this evening.” He smiles politely, leaning back in the chair.
After what?
I watch him, not knowing where to go from here, then break the silence.
“Have you been out this evening?”
His shirt looks slightly crumbled, and there is a faint smell of scotch coming from him.
“I did the opening speech at a startup awards ceremony,” he explains casually. “Over in Canary Wharf.”
Of course he did.
Presenting at an awards ceremony is just another night for him. No different to the movies or a takeaway.
“See any companies you want to take over?”
“A few,” he replies deadpan, my sarcastic tone wasted on him.
“Where were you tonight?” He studies me with a hint of suspicion.
“At an 18 to 30 something speed dating event,” I admit.
“18 to 30,” He repeats slowly. Something flares in his eyes, annoyance, perhaps? It’s gone before I can decipher it. “What about the Ben bloke?”
“We’re not together anymore.”
“I’m single,” I add for the avoidance of doubt.