Never A Choice (The Choices Trilogy (Book 1)) (8 page)

“You are right. It is my business and unless I’m very much mistaken your attendance is mandatory and
that,
Miss Thorne makes
you
my business. ” He grips my hips as I make to move out of his hold, grinding gently. I find myself inexplicably pushing back against him, welcoming this slow erotic dance. I’m lost, my head drops to the door with a crack and the shock of pain breaks through this thick fuzz.

“May I go now?” I can barely breathe.

“May I go what?” He still has his lips pressed to my ear, his breath is warm and my body responds with an involuntary wave of prickles to my skin.

“May I go . . . Sir.” I release the breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. He stands to move away and I sag slightly at this loss of connection.

“Good girl. . . . . Yes you may leave.” His voice is low and commanding. “Oh and Miss Thorne,” I turn to see the heat and desire in his eyes, “I take
my
business very seriously. Until next time.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

“Yes Sir.” I pull the door so hard I nearly knock myself out in my rush to leave that room, that space, that man. The stale air in the corridor is stifling and I run to the main doors and burst out into the Quad gulping for fresh air before I faint. I have no idea what just happened in there but I do know I can’t let it happen again and next time I’ll tell him as much. I’ll just keep my distance when I do.

I HAVE HAD a number of lectures this week and none of them played out like the one with Mr Stone. The Lecturers have been enthusiastic and insightful, at worst some may be a little dull but none of them behaved like Mr Stone. I become more and more irritated after each lesson that I am unable to bring myself to participate. Even in Mr Wilson’s seminar where he positively encouraged me to engage. I really wanted to. I had something to say but every time I tried, I had this hideous flashback of hundreds of eyes silently staring at me, with pale faces of sympathy and relief. Relief it wasn’t them under the spotlight. My mouth dried and my throat felt like sandpaper. Mr Wilson looked with kind eyes and patted my hand at my failed attempt and deftly moved to someone else.

By Thursday evening I was ready to put an end to my misery. I was ready to fight. Mr Stones’ second lecture would be very different, for me at least. I had my speech prepared, something along the lines of, ‘How dare he . . . Did he have any idea how insensitive . . . and something about being a coward and a bully, but I would wait and see how the first part of my tirade played out before I resorted to more insults. It didn’t go unnoticed that although the theatre was full I had empty spaces either side of me this week. My leg bounced nervously as the clock on the wall blinked closer toward seven o’clock, my stomach knotted uncomfortably and my palms were clammy. It felt more like a high noon showdown. The door opened and I held my breath only to let it out instantly in disappointment as Mr Wilson stepped through.

“Mr Stone is unable to present this evenings’ class but I do have his notes so I will take the lecture. I will do my best and hope you are not too disappointed.” He grinned at the room and there was a little ripple of laughter. I did feel disappointed. Strange that I didn’t feel relief, after all I don’t do confrontation as a rule so I should feel relieved but no; I definitely feel disappointed. There wasn’t going to be a confrontation. No fiery exchange, no burning tension, no heat at all The next week was worse.

“So spill . . . you are so out of sorts Bets I’m ready to send out a search party for my missing best friend.” Sofia climbs under the covers, wriggling to get comfortable next to me whilst precariously balancing a a steaming mug of hot chocolate in one hand.

“I think I should stop calling her . . . she just get so upset and it breaks my heart that I can’t comfort her, you know.” Sofia had caught the tail end of my telephone call with my mum. I had such a terrible day I just wanted to hear her voice. It was a long shot she’d know who she was speaking to but sometimes I just need to hear her softly spoken words of nonsense. But it’s selfish of me and I always feel much worse after.

“I’m sure she appreciates your call. Even if she doesn’t know who you are it’s still nice talking to someone different for a change and it’s not like you’re trying to sell her a change of mobile provider.” Sofia slips her arm around my shoulder pulls me against her in a protective hug.

“I might as well be.” I let out a deep heartfelt sigh. “It’s actually better when she doesn’t know who I am and we can talk about nothing and everything. It’s when she remembers bits or suddenly recognises my voice and I can almost hear her struggle to recall more. That’s when she breaks and I’m too far away to do anything about it. I know I’d make it better if I could cuddle her. We’d make us both better with a cuddle.” I sniff back the building sadness and allow the comfort of Sofia’s’ hug to work its own magic. It’s a constant sadness and it’s just bearable most of the time but today it just got the better of me.

“But that was just one call and it’s not like you haven’t had many just the same so whats new and if you tell me you’re just tired I will just say the same; you’ve been tired before.” She pulls back and I catch her narrowed but kindly scowl.

“I don’t exist.” I slowly breathe out my poor explanation.

“Is this a ‘if a tree falls in the woods’ . . . existentialist thing that us mere catering students won’t understand?”

I chuckle. “Not exactly, today in the Lecture, Mr Stone . . . it was like I didn’t exist. No eye contact, no humiliating exchanges, no heated glares and definitely no erotic embraces.” I told Sofia the next day what had happened in my first lecture and each day she called for an update. I knew he was about because I had heard other students talk about him, spotting him with Mr Wilson or just walking across the Quad but I never saw him.

‘You’re upset because he didn’t humiliate you this week? You are so strange.” She barks out a short laugh. “ Tell me . . . are you more upset that you didn’t get to vent all your pent up irritation or are you more upset that you didn’t get to release more of that pent up heat?”

“I’m not upset he didn’t humiliate me but I am more upset he didn’t acknowledge me at all. Did I imagine it ?”

“Did you imagine the hot male grinding against you . . . hmm . . . I doubt it. It’s his loss honey but I am happy he’s at least sparked an interest because frankly that’s a first. We just have to tend to that little flame and make sure you don’t stamp it back out.” She plants an aggressive kiss on my head.

“Trust me I’m happy if it gets stamped out.” I snort.

“So you wouldn’t want a repeat? You’d be happy if he just acknowledged you with a nod or a handshake?” Her tone is mocking but I think seriously about her question. My body is too quick to respond to the idea of a repeat but I shake my head and the accompanying visual away.

“It’s for the best.”

The next evening after Uni and I change into my work uniform which is a simple black skirt, matching tight fitted blouse which I pair with my sneaky black timberland boots, for comfort. Anthony Jr is a little more forgiving than his father who insists his waitresses wear proper shoes with at least a small heel. I can barely walk after a night out in heels let alone shift after shift. I skip downstairs and enter the kitchen, the rich aromas of tonight’s specials hit me with the same intensity as the heat from the cookers. It smells wonderful, I think I’ve had a smoothie since breakfast but that could easily have been yesterday, my tummy rumbles and I realise I’m starving. Still my shift officially started ten minutes ago and we will be fully booked tonight. Fridays are always hectic, so I doubt I will have the chance to grab anything to eat until we close.

“Mmmmm that smells so good Joe.” I grab my pad and tie my apron twice round my waist. “What’s the special?”

Joe is Sofia’s uncle and head chef, he sets the menus’ for the restaurants and is the most amazing talent in the kitchen.

“Take a seat Bets and I’ll set you up a plate.” He winks at me and points to the stool at the end of the workstation.

“You trying to get me fired?” I turn to make my way into the restaurant and squeal as I am lifted clear of the door and plopped roughly on the stool.

“You will eat! Don’t want you losing any of those curves and I’ll have Anthony’s bollocks if he says a word.” He grins and casually waves a very large shiny knife.

I laugh but try to get up again. “They’re probably swamped already, save me some for later.” It’s no use, he growls angrily.

“I’ll force feed you if I have to girl, and that’ll hurt you more than it will me.” He tilts his head and with a pleading tone to his voice he says. “Come on Bets you’re hurting my feelings, I’ve never had to force anyone to eat my food don’t make me start now?” He places a large warm bowl of fresh ravioli stuffed with ricotta and spinach in a simple sage butter. It’s not the special but it is my favourite and judging by the smug grin fixed to Joes’ face he knows he’s got me. I cut the first piece and can’t help an exaggerated moan escape my lips.

“Heaven on a plate Joe, as always.” There is no way I can manage to finish this huge portion but I tuck in as he explains the specials. There is a seafood; Frutti Di Mare Gratinati which is baked shellfish, topped with seasoned breadcrumbs and baked until golden served with fresh bread and lemon wedges and a Costoline Di Agnello Ripiene, which are lamb cutlets stuffed with Gruyere cheese, Parma ham and sage; they are then fried in breadcrumbs and served with a green bean salad. “Yum.” I smile. “Not going to having any trouble selling those tonight.” I push my plate away as Joe raises a brow.

“I’m not going to fight you on this Joe, that was delicious but I can’t eat another bite.” I blow him a kiss and dash for the safety of the restaurant. I was right, it’s heaving, all the tables are full and the bar is starting to fill with people waiting to be seated.

The main rush of the evening has ebbed and I am starting to do a final clear of the tables. My section has a few tables still to clear and Lilly is the only other waitress that has a few tables tucked away in the booths that edge the back and side wall. Customers linger, enjoying their after dinner drinks and who seem a little reluctant to leave. The front door opens and I inwardly groan, it’s late but it’s not unheard of that customers might still want to take a table at this time. I sag in relief when I see Sofia’s face. She goes to grab my arm and lead me away.