Breaking Leila (15 page)

“Boring as
fuck. You’d best be entertaining.” That freshly-fucked gleam shone
in his eye–was he thinking about it?

“Erm…I’d
planned a fascinating discussion on my holiday allowance and
probationary period.”

“Leila, you
could be telling me the winning lottery numbers and my mind would
still be elsewhere.” He cocked his head. “In the gutter, most
probably.”

“I like the
gutter.” Oops. “That came out wrong.”

Beneath the
table, he trapped my bare leg between his. “Shut up.”

The waiter arrived with a bottle of Champagne and opened it
with a crisp
 
pop
.

“Are we
celebrating something?”

“You, of
course.” A smile played on his lips. “Your glittering future career
with Bach and Dagier.”

“I haven’t even
had a contract yet.”

“Considering
another offer?” He wasn’t talking about work anymore. A teasing
edge scored his voice.

The froth rose
in my glass and I ducked to hide behind it.

He sat back in
his chair. Stared at me. “I know about you and Matt,” he said.

“What do you
mean?”

“I’m not
stupid, Leila. He may as well piss all over you.”

I cocked an
eyebrow. “I was never much for water sports.”

“Don’t bullshit
me.” Joseph tightened his legs around mine. “Are you involved with
him?”

“Not in the way
you think,” I muttered.

“What
 
do
 
I
think?”

“I don’t know, but
 
you
 
were the one who decided to
involve him in the first place. Don’t try to make me responsible
for the way he’s acting now.”

“Apologies for
being such a big, bad wolf. Not my fault he needs a big pint of
man-the-fuck-up.” One hand toyed with his open collar. “Are you
sleeping with him?”

“No.” I was
uncomfortable. Beginning to sweat. “Shall I be honest?”

“I’ll know if
you’re lying.”

I took a moment
to compose myself.

It didn’t
work.

“He and I have
talked about it. About what happened, I mean…about liking each
other. We agreed that when all this is over–”

“What do you mean,
 
all this
? Do you mean me?”

I nodded
slowly.

“You actually
 
like
 
him?”

“Is it any of
your business?”

He squeezed my
leg harder. “Yes. It is.”

The waiter
arrived and Joseph ordered for both of us. I hadn’t even looked at
the menu.

“Are you angry
with me?” I asked finally.

He smiled.
Gulped down the Champagne. “No. A little surprised, maybe.” He
released my leg, sitting back. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know
what the rules are in this game. I don’t know whether I’m bending
them or breaking them entirely.”

“Who says we’re
playing a game?”

“That’s what it
feels like.” I reached for my own glass and the bubbles burst
sharply on my tongue. “I mean, feel free to enlighten me. Any time
you like.”

He smiled
again, taking the glass from my hands and circling his fingertips
over my wrist. “I like you. Can’t you tell?”

“Yes, but…” I
squirmed in my chair. “I’m not sure where this is going.” Please
don’t offer to shack me up as your mistress. Please, please…it’s so
unoriginal.

“Me either,
especially if you’re planning on running off with Gordon as soon as
I untie you.”

I considered
tugging my wrist away but his warm, warm skin…I loved the way it
simmered against mine.

He was checking
my pulse. Measuring the snares. Jesus.

“Should I be
considering another offer?”

“Consider
whatever you like, Leila–just be fucking honest about it.”

Our starter
arrived–a pea and mint risotto–and I busied myself with the
cutlery. Why was he being so roundabout in his proposition? What
exactly did he think he’d bought?

The food
signalled a change of subject and we slipped into a discussion
about my possible contract–the one I hadn’t officially been offered
yet. It dragged awkwardly through the main course and, feeling both
nauseous and guilty, I declined desert. The Champagne and its
frosted loveliness made me doubt my own self-control.

Our walk back
to the office steered through a park where the trees swayed in the
sunshine. Joseph reached for my hand. I should have pulled away,
shouldn’t I? Friends could knot fingers, but that wasn’t what we
were.

Our palms
warmed together. His thumb slid over mine. Cyclists pedalled past
and he tucked me behind him–like we’d done this a million
times.

A group of
sixth form school girls sat cross-legged in a copse of silver
birch. Their green blazers and checked skirts looked fresh against
the turf. They giggled, threw bits of paper at each other. One
brushed another’s hair as they poured over a magazine.

Joseph watched
them.

“You can blink,
you know,” I teased.

“I’m not
looking.”

“Liar.” I
elbowed him in the ribs. “Maybe I’m looking, too.”

“Oh?” He
squeezed my hand. “So I’m looking. They’re hardly my type,
though.”

I thought back
to the old uniform I had worn for clients on occasion, the one I
would have worn with Aidan tonight. “You sure about that?”

“Leila.
Schoolgirls are like sports cars. They’re nice to look at, but
they’re impractical. In the end, they don’t do what you need them
to do.”

I had to stifle
my smile, he looked so serious. Then I stole a glance back at the
lithe-limbed shadows beneath the trees. “Is that so?”

“It’s true.
They won’t let you take them up the arse. They’re rubbish at
sucking you. You want to ride them at a hundred miles an hour, but
you end up doing forty in the sixty zone because you’re too fucking
scared of damaging them.”

A giggle
trembled to a riotous guffaw. I couldn’t stop.

“You’re meant
to be appalled.” He laughed.

“Oh, I am–”

“No, you
aren’t.” Another hand squeeze, then he let it slip away. “Best not
do that near the office.”

I bit my lip
and thrust my numb fist into a pocket. “No.” A beat. “Thank you for
lunch.”

“My pleasure.
Now…back to the playground, hmm?”

* * * *

We escaped
early–just past five–and I found Matt in the lobby.

“Do we have
time to run to Selfridge’s?” I asked.

He shrugged.
“Sure. Why’s that?”

“I need to pick
up a wedding gift.”

We fell into a
heaving exodus of people at the tube station, all hurrying off to
start their weekends. As we boarded the carriage, Matt took my hand
to keep us together. The heat I’d felt from Joseph flashed up my
arm and settled to a contented simmer. I was ever a slave to the
thrill of two.

When we
re-emerged in daylight, I let him lead me through the busy suits
and the swinging laptop bags, the scraping heels and the buzz of a
thousand iPod headphones. Selfridge’s porcelain department seemed
comparatively quiet.

I held up a
square white plate, its paper-thin edges curving gently upward.

“What do you
think?”

He stared at it
hard for a moment. “I’m not sure I have an opinion on Wedgewood,
Leila. Except for the fact that the cost of one dinner service
would probably pay for a whole team’s worth of rugby kit.”

“Okay. No
Wedgewood.” I lowered the plate onto the display panel and followed
him through to the liquor department. “Maybe alcohol would
work?”

“When does it
not?”

We stared round
at walls lined with glass barrels and wooden tankards.

“How come
you’ve left it until now, anyway?” he asked, inspecting a huge vat
of green spirit called Sea Monster.

“I changed my
mind at the last minute.”

“What were you
going to get?”

I paused,
holding up a bottle shaped like a boat and pretending to size it
up.

“I…you don’t
want to know, Matt.”

He came up
behind me, easing the bottle from my hands and setting it down. “I
don’t want us to have any more secrets, okay?”

I gulped, remembering what Aidan had said.
 
He might react better than you
think
. I turned to face him. “I was going
to…erm. Tonight. I was going to perform for some of Will’s
friends.”

Matt’s brow
furrowed. “Perform?”

“With a guy I
used to do jobs with.”

“Oh.” He
stuffed his hands into neat trouser pockets. “You mean, like a
show?”

“But I said I
wouldn’t do it now,” I said hurriedly. “So not to worry. I’ll just
get something else instead.” I couldn’t look him in the eye, and
stalked off to browse the whisky.

He followed.
“Did you used to do that kind of thing all the time? Perform, I
mean?”

I shrugged.
“Only once.”

“Was it in
front of a lot of people?”

“Maybe four or
five.”

His breath
disturbed the curls at the back of my neck. “With the same guy? Who
is he?”

“Yeah. He’s a
good friend. He taught me a lot when I first started.”

“Were you ever
involved with him?”

I squared my
shoulders defensively. “Aidan? No. Well, for work, obviously.”

“But not
afterward.”

There was this
one time…

“No.” I
selected a large bottle and let it fill, brown liquid dribbling
slowly from the barrel. “Is that all?”

“I want to know what you did, Leila,” he admitted. “What it
was all like. I thought about what you said, that I should accept
that I hired a–well,
 
you
–and I figured I should be less prudish about the whole
thing.” He stood at my side now and I smiled up at him.

“That’s fair
enough.” I corked the bottle. I didn’t say it, but I knew his
thinly veiled curiosity exceeded fascination. He deliberately
tortured himself. Dystopia writhed behind those eyes and each time
he broke off a piece of Charlotte, she grew legs and claws to
batter at the inside of the closet.

“You’re aware
that the whisky is called Deep Throat, right?”

“Rather
fitting, don’t you think?”

The sigh came
from somewhere deep in his chest. “If only.”

* * * *

I had also left
it until the last minute to pack.

Back at the
flat, I threw all three of the outfits I had yet to decide between
into a suitcase. Then I remembered about Matt’s burlesque request
and chucked in several corsets. I owned many–there was nothing more
flattering. I only mourned the fact that I couldn’t wear them in
the office. Heels followed in rather classy plastic bags, as well
as a deluge of toiletries. I was half-way down the stairs before I
had to scrum back for knickers...and I am resisting all puns on
that line.

Matt and Toby
waited in the car. He drove a neat little Peugeot, shiny enough to
indicate that it only came out on weekends and didn’t suffer much
city smog. Matt leaped out to wrestle my suitcase into the
back.

“We’re going
for two nights,” he grumbled, “not two months.”

“I hope you
brought your floral tie,” I said cheerfully.

Toby vacated
the passenger side and held the door open for me.

“Cheers.” I
smiled at him graciously.

He shrugged.
“I’ve been told to be nice to you on pain of death.”

“Long, slow
death,” Matt added, ushering me in, “serenaded by Genesis.”

“He knows how
to torture me,” Toby said from the back.

“Our parents played nothing but Genesis on road trips,” Matt
said as he pulled out. “We used to cry out with lines
from
 
I Can’t
Dance
 
in our
sleep. We scared the people in neighbouring tents.”

“I can’t dance,
I can’t walk!” shrieked Toby, launching into a rather impressive
shimmy. “The only thing about me is the way I–”

“No more!” Matt
squealed in mock agony. He fiddled with a pile of CDs on the dash
and fed one in. A guitar crunched and yelped like a cat being run
over, while I recoiled in my chair.

“I forgot about
your death metal fetish,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He grinned at
me, eyes flashing. “Is it a deal breaker?”

I bit my lip.
“We’ll see.”

“Oh, give it a
rest already,” Toby grunted, kicking the back of my chair. “You’re
revolting, the pair of you.”

“Heh. He’s so
charming.”

“So at this
wedding,” Toby began, “will there be people, like, servicing each
other?”

I shoved my
tongue into my cheek and waited for Matt to bite. This would be an
amusing journey.

The tower
blocks, the traffic jams, the smoke-smudged skyline all melted away
into suburbs and silver birches, rolling hills and thatched
cottages. The transition, surprisingly mellow given the thrash
metal soundtrack, seemed to help Matt relax. Part of his process.
He was going home.

I was going
exploring.

We talked about
inane things: Toby’s biochemistry degree, the camping trips they
went on as teenagers, the slightly more glamorous holidays I went
on with my parents. That led to a debate on the merits and pitfalls
of being an only child. They couldn’t believe I’d never been
lonely.

“I was just
happy in my own company, most of the time.” I shrugged.

“But what if
something had happened to your parents?” said Toby.

Matt frowned.
“Leave off it.”

“Seriously
though,” Toby went on, “what if there was a problem? You’d have no
one to lean on, you’d have to sort it all yourself–”