Miss Spelled (13 page)

Geneva purrs as they smooch for what seems like an eternity. His breathing could rival that of Darth Vader. Finally, they stop.

‘Geneva. It’s been too long.’

‘Yes, it has. I’ve been waiting for those lips. What else do you have for me, Hunter Wincott?’ she drawls. ‘Ooh, there it is. Is that all for me?’

‘Every glorious inch, baby,’ he says. ‘They don’t call me Hunter Wincock for nothing.’

It’s hard not to laugh at their 70s porn dialogue, but the waves of sexual attraction between them are so strong I have trouble standing upright, or maybe that’s the cosmos.

‘Why haven’t you called? I haven’t heard from you in months,’ he says.

‘I’ve been busy,’ she says. ‘You know me, too many men, too little time.’

‘What on earth are you doing here with Aiden St. James?’

She throws her head back, strokes his crotch and says, ‘I’m marrying him, on Sunday.’

‘What?’ Hunter’s face is pure confusion. He shakes his head. ‘Why?’

‘Long story. It’s convenient, gets me out of a bind,’ she says, using her other taloned hand to stroke his lips. ‘Aww, are you jealous? I didn’t think you were the marrying kind.’

‘I’m not. I think you could have made a better choice, that’s all.’

‘Well, Hunter Wincock, why don’t we move up to your room. You are staying here, aren’t you?’

‘Mmm, I am,’ he groans as she strokes his crotch a little faster.

‘Good. I’ll meet you there. Give me five minutes to fob off Aiden.’

True enough, within five minutes, she’s gone. So too is Hunter.

* * *

It is so tempting to try to talk to Aiden that I decide to leave early for fear of launching upon him and revealing myself as the crazed woman who insisted that we were engaged. Upon arriving home, Mel wants to know everything. She is horrified at my recounting of events, and in all honesty, none of it sits well with me either, even if it may work to my advantage.

Clearly Aiden is about to make a huge mistake come Sunday, and seems to be ignorant of Geneva’s motivations and behaviour. My natural instinct is to tell him, but why would he believe me? My boss and supposed lover is his adversary. That places me in an awkward spot to strike up a conversation, let alone trust, and don’t even get me started on ‘don’t shoot the messenger’.

Hunter is already at his desk when I arrive the next morning. He looks worn out more than tired. Shagging all night will do that to a person. Let’s face it, he’s not 24 years old anymore.

‘I need a coffee. Double shot, skim latte,’ he says to me, without looking up from his computer screen. ‘And something to eat, something high in protein, low in fat.’

‘Jesus! Good morning Lou, how are you? Well thanks, Hunter, and you? I’m great. Shagged my brains out last night and now I’m in need of sustenance. Would you mind getting some for me, please? Sure, Hunter, no problems. It would be a pleasure, seeing as you asked so nicely!’

‘What?’ he says, looking up at me.

‘Um, nothing. I just…um…’

He throws his pen down on the desk and pushes his chair backwards.

‘You’re cut about last night, aren’t you?’ he says.

‘What?’

‘You were expecting to be on my arm at the function, come back to my suite and stay the night, and it didn’t happen. So now you’re cut. Gone all sulky.’

Not quite
.

‘Look, it was convenient but now I’m moving on,’ he says.

‘Right. Okay.’ What am I meant to say? Is he expecting tears?

‘You can’t expect a man like me to be interested in a relationship with someone like you, Lou. I’m out of your league,’ he says, getting out of his chair and making his way over to me.

‘Uh huh?’

He places his hands on my arms, at arm’s length and says, ‘Just be grateful that it happened at all. Treasure your moments with me in your memories. I know it must be hard for you to accept it’s over.’ He takes his hands off me and starts to walk toward the mirror where he combs his hair with his fingers. ‘I can’t say you’ll find anyone as good as me in your future. Hell, you probably won’t even come close,’ he grins.

Now he’s licking his fingertips and grooming his eyebrows. My need to burst out laughing is almost impossible to suppress.

‘After all, my kind doesn’t marry your kind. You can’t polish a turd, Lou.’

I’m
a turd? Again? If this wasn’t so comical, there’s every chance that last comment would be really insulting. Again.

‘No doubt you’ll meet a nice mechanic or perhaps plumber, settle down and raise kids.’ He tears himself away from his own reflection, walks over and puts his hands on me once more, before he finishes, ‘Good luck with that.’

I am stunned to the point of paralysis. What the hell is this guy on, a Viagra alternative that gives him a hard-on for himself?

‘Now, coffee. Off you go.’ He turns me and pushes me out the door.

* * *

The elevator doors open with a sharp ping as I re-enter the 17th floor after a quick visit to Legal Addictions, the cafe next door. It’s taken me 15 minutes to stop laughing after Hunter’s dumping of me. What an arrogant arse!

‘Here you go,’ I say, handing over a coffee to Ella.

Still immaculately groomed, despite a sizey hangover, she looks in need of a caffeine revival.

‘Ooh, you are the sweet angel of mercy, Lou. Thanks,’ Ella says. ‘I’d thought about taking a sickie today, but figured half the office would be doing the same thing.’

‘No one would blame you.’

‘Strange thing is that everyone is here today, in varying states of being. I think they’re all scared to miss a day in case it costs them their job. Speaking of which, you’d better get that coffee to Satan’s progeny before he casts you into the pits of Hell,’ she smiles.

The phone rings and Ella answers it while I trot off to Hunter’s office. He doesn’t look away from his work or thank me as I place his coffee and high protein, low fat ham and turkey egg white omelette in front of him. Instead, he grabs the coffee, lifts it to his mouth, takes a sip — which obviously meets with his approval based on his facial expression— puts it back down and shoos me out of the office with dismissing wave.

Arsehole. Hopefully he spills it on his groin and gives his penis third degree burns.

Three hours later, Hunter messages for me to come into his office. Upon entering the room I become aware of a lingering smell, a bit like a toilet that hasn’t been aired properly. It’s not oppressive, but it’s there.

‘I need you to create a presentation,’ Hunter says, apparently not bothered by the scent. ‘I’m emailing it to you now. My outbox needs to be emptied and these couriered to the address on the front. I need a reservation for two at Florentines for nine tonight and my dry cleaning should be ready for pick-up.’

Hunter winces and looks uncomfortable for a moment.

‘Are you alright?’ I ask, not caring much if he isn’t. If he were to fall over and needed to be replaced, then that would mean the company would send Amelia, and Aiden might have a shot at saving jobs.

‘Yes, I’m fine. I’ve also emailed you a list of names. You need to organise appointments for each of them starting Monday. Those are the ones who will be unemployed by the end of next week.’ He smiles. ‘There will be two rounds of appointments for each, starting next Tuesday. I thought I’d give each person a chance to plead their case.’

My spirits lift. ‘You’re going to save some of them?’

Hunter laughs. ‘No, of course not, but it makes me look better professionally if I act as though I care. You never know when any of these people may be in a position to hire me as a consultant in the future. Never close a door, Lou.’

Suddenly, he winces again and then levitates slightly out of his chair.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ I ask.

There is a new smell in the room. Similar to the old smell but…stronger, fresher.

‘I’m fine,’ he says as he stands and puts his jacket on. ‘I’m going out. I’ve got a…meeting,’ he smiles, ‘With an old friend. Don’t ring unless it’s urgent. I’ll be back after lunch.’

Anger flashes through me. Geneva. How dare he!

‘But what about all the work you have to do? People here are waiting to find out what’s going to happen, whether or not they have a job to pay their mortgages, and you’re going out shagging? That’s not very professional, is it?’

Hunter walks towards me and stands very, very close. So close that I have to take a step backwards to regain a little personal space.

‘Let’s get this clear, Lou. This is my restructure. Not yours or anyone else’s. This is my merger and I will release information when it suits me. I was sent here, from the other side of the planet because…’ He pauses, bends forward and furrows his brows.

I extend my hands towards him and try to help him regain is full height. He quickly shrugs them away and struggles to tower over me again.

‘As I was saying, I am the one in charge around here, not you, so you’ll do well to remember…’

Whatever is happening inside him is painful enough to take his breath away. Is he about to pass out? Maybe it’s his appendix? Or a tumour? This could be really serious.

Suddenly, Hunter leans forward again and groans. He lays his hands on the nearby desk and lets it take most of his weight.

‘Hunter? What’s happening? Do you need an ambulance?’ I ask, making my way around to the phone.

‘Urgh…’

Hunter continues to hold onto the desk, his white-knuckle grip clinging to the glass top.

Then unexpectedly, a shrill noise like a leaky balloon fills the room, followed moments later by a gas so noxious that it strips the layers of every mucus lining in my body.

Was that…? No. It couldn’t be. Not from him
. But the smell is unmistakable.

‘Hunter?’

My hand has already made its way to cover my nose, even though there’s no memory of moving it there. Must have been an act of instinctual self preservation.

‘Hunter?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says.

The white-knuckle grip is gone and he is able to straighten himself up again.

‘What was that?’ I ask, although there’s no need for an explanation. Years of teaching primary school children has taught me many things about bottom burps, most of all how to ease the humiliation of the bottom burper. But his nastiness prevents me from being polite and the words are out of my mouth before there’s any desire to stop them.

‘I must have eaten something, it’s okay. It’s passed now,’ he says.

‘No kidding.’

Hopefully he’s right, because if there’s another one in there trying to get out, I will break the land speed record in leaving this room
.

It’s really, really hard not to laugh. Or choke. It’s a battle of epic proportions.

‘Right,’ I say, handing him his jacket. ‘You’d best be on your way, then. You don’t want to keep your old friend waiting. I’m sure she’s looking forward to…’

I lose the battle and burst into hysterical laughter as I visualise Hunter doing that in front of Geneva. Or better yet, during sex.

Hunter glares at me, but it doesn’t matter, because there are so many tears in my eyes I can’t see him properly anyway. Unfortunately, he can still be smelt though. He storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him. That must be my punishment, being kept in a room with such an horrendous smell.

Within seconds, Ella comes into the room.

‘What’s wrong? I could hear you laughing from the tea room. Oh God! What’s that smell?’ she says, cupping a hand over her mouth and nose. ‘Did something die in here? We had a family of rats living in here last year. Stinky little blighters they were. Are they back?’

That’s a new one, one man’s fart smelling so bad it’s mistaken for a family of rats! It’s enough to launch me back into hysteria.

‘Come on, let’s get out of here before we both die,’ I say.

Once on the safety of the other side of the door, I fill Ella in on what happened.

‘No way! Hunter Wincott farting?’

Still incapable of speech, I nod.

‘He must have eaten dairy,’ Ella says.

‘Dairy?’

‘Yes, he’s lactose intolerant, remember?’

My hand flies to my mouth, partially to hide my laughing. ‘Ooh. Whoops.’

‘Lou, you didn’t! Did you?’

‘He asked for a latte.’

‘He meant a soy latte, you goose!’ she says, joining in on the laughter.

‘Whoopsie, my bad.’

‘No, that entity in there is his bad! I think we’ve got some air freshener somewhere. Do you need to go back in there?’

My mind wanders to Hunter’s inbox. ‘Yeah, but I can hold my breath. Let’s leave it in there for him, a nice little greeting for when he gets back.’

‘Ooh, you are evil, Lou! But I love it.’

He hadn’t been lactose intolerant when we first met in London, so it must be a more recent development. Suddenly, a light bulb moment hits me. My brain glowing stronger than a 100 watter. Lactose! Just a little bit each day. Just enough to make him sick enough so he can’t work, but not enough to kill him. That’s it! Brilliant.

Dosing Hunter up on milk again isn’t an option. Easy to get away with once, by accident, but surely he’d be aware of what he can and can’t eat. Besides, it’s unlikely that cheesecake, ice cream and Devonshire teas are on Hunter’s high-protein, low-fat diet. He’d find out about my plan and fire me, which would put me further away from getting Aiden back and helping him.

I spend most of the morning Googling lactose. For something contained within every product that comes from a cow, lactose is surprisingly difficult to find by itself. Just when all hope is lost, Google delivers my secret weapon right to my laptop. It’s so exciting that anyone walking by could have thought my lucky lottery numbers had finally been drawn. Bovine colostrum. Great for building a healthy immune system apparently, and sounds delicious. Not.

But the good news is, it’s in capsule form. All I have to do is pull apart the gel casing and stir the colostrum powder into his food and coffee. He’ll never know. Until his bum starts trumpeting like Louis Armstrong on a jazz solo. Oh, and maybe a small amount of pain. Nothing agonising, but enough to put him out of action, while Amelia takes over his role and listens to Aiden’s plans. My only other option is to run him over with my car, but that wouldn’t be very nice.