Trust Me to Know You (2 page)

If he remembered me from my photocopier rescue, he appeared uninterested in my presence and the lack of recognition reinforced my lowliness in the proceedings - a mere intern and insignificant.

He wanted an appraisal of the project and its status. “Well, fill me in quick,” he said with impatience. “I’ve only got five minutes.”

I watched with my toes curling as my boss blustered his way through the salient points of our discussion.
When the work I had done was mentioned, Mr Lucas turned in his seat and directed his eyes at me. Were they always so intense? I took a deep breath and held my ridiculous thoughts in check.

“Show me,” he snapped his fingers and I passed him the documents. “You did this with
the
new software kit?” he asked me. Trapped by
his blue eyes my pulse rate rose dramatically.

Breathe, goddamit!

“Yes, sir. I used it all the time in my last post to do these calculations,” I replied with a clear voice.

“These look good,” he hesitated and took his mobile from his pocket. The ringtone must have been on vibrate. “Yes, Carla, I’m coming now.” He stood up and held on to the documents.

“I’ll keep these,” and then he was gone out of the door, not even a thank you.

A whirlwind first encounter, but I did not bother with over-
analysing the psychology of my encounter with the Jason Lucas, Managing Director, Chief Executive, whatever! The man was way out of my league and I concentrated on the rest of my day, shelving my dredged up sexual yearnings back to their rightful home: forgotten. At four
o’clock, my desk phone rang.

“Gemma Marshall,” I said on pick up.

“Carla Duke here. Mr Lucas wants a meeting with you. Tomorrow eleven o’clock, come up to his office.” Certainly not a request but an order; she made the directive clear in her voice.

“Sure. Err why?” I asked. My heart was thumping.
What did I do wrong?

“He wants you to bring your laptop and show him the software you’ve been using.”

Oh, thank the lord!
I slumped in my seat with relief.

What did he want
to see me for? Silly thoughts out of my head now!

“I’ll be there,” I said brightly, attempting to sound unfazed.

I was planning on going for a drink with friends that evening. In the end,
I decided I needed my beauty sleep before such a tumultuous meeting. Not that sleep came to me as
all night I tossed and turned while
lying on top of my bed. I made a solitary figure laid out in my t-shirt and knickers, my increasingly wet knickers – I
could not stop seeing blue eyes and blonde hair.

The dying summer heat lingered in my apartment and the resulting humidity appeared to have
concentrated in my bedroom. I ha
d lived in the unappealing place for over three years. The rooms had grown increasingly shabby and tired with the wallpaper peeling off in the hallway and the bedroom carpet threadbare at the edges. The cupboard spaces were crammed with my things. My untouched
neglected hobbies and interests stuffed into inadequate storage facilities. Books shelves stacked with
well-thumbed
romantic novels, textbooks and self-help books. The latter I had ceased to read as they were of no help whatsoever.

Though cluttered I kept my little flat clean, very clean. I had been conditioned to clean regularly and I had not lo
st the habit.
At least I did not use a toothbrush. I smiled as the ludicrous memory remerged briefly. Only
now I was following a train of reminiscences and they were going in the wrong direction. How I wished
the blurred images
could be readily dismissed, back to where they lay buried and one day may be eliminated. The sudden arrival of unwanted recollections put a dampener on my pathetic arousal over an unavailable executive.

I was screaming. The terrifying sound was in my head. I
did not think I actually was screaming aloud. I was drenched in sweat, soaking cold damp perspiration. I could not remember the details of my nightmare and the moment I sensed the screaming I buried the fear and repulsion. Looking about the room, as the street lights flooded through the gap in the curtains, I calmed down. The darkness did not scare me. It was being alone which hurt and frightened me. I was very alone, not just physically, but mentally I was solitary and empty.

I lay there on my bed and pined for a life long gone, a happy-go-lucky Gemma Marshall, who had enjoyed the company of others, who had
shared herself and was confident in her abilities, her special skills. That Gemma Marshall
I feared was destroyed. Tears, the silent unfulfilling kind, streamed down my face wetting my ears and then
down on to the pillow.
My career was all that was left now, my refuge from madness.

Next day I was quaking inside. My inner strength, the one I had tucked away, came to my rescue and I looked outwardly confident,
as I knew I could look. The lift took me to the top floor where
Mr
Lucas reigned from on high. It seemed he occupied the
entire floor, which included
an expansive lobby with potted shrubs and polished white tiled floor. My heels clicked and echoed around the open space. No
carpets to hide somebody’s approach and I felt as if I was walking the stone cold
floor of a cathedral nave. I walked through the glazed double doors into the inner sanctum where
Mr Lucas’s Personal Assistants presided over his appointments and correspondence.

He had three Personal Assistants and
Carla was the chief.
Her demeanour demonstrated her status as his gatekeeper, first point of contact and filter of timewasters and annoying trivial matters. Set back from her desk were two others. Melissa, a slightly timid looking woman who did the
legwork
for Carla and, I had been told, was under Carla’s thumb. Whether
it was true or not, I could not
tell, but she did glance up and give me a welcoming smile. Next to her,
with his head buried behind folders and files was Oliver, Mr
Lucas’s researcher. Andy had told me the man was tasked with finding out anything
Mr
Lucas needed to know with regard to business, finance or legal issues. A demanding role I decided.

“You can go straight in, Miss Marshall,” Carla Duke stared up from her desk looking me up and down and not hiding her leering gaze. She was attractive with long dark hair tied back and braided.
Her extravagantly long finger
nails must hinder her typing abilities. However, after a cursory glance at me she returned to her keyboard and preceded to type at a galloping pace.

Mr Lucas’s office was vast, as you would have expected from the owner and managing director of a
significantly sized company. There was a l
arge, unadorned oak desk with monitor and keyboard set to one side, documents organised neatly across the other side. There was the necessary conference style table with six modern, unfussy straight-backed chairs set around it. Elegant abstract pictures lined one wall to the left of his desk and behind the desk a wall of glass with the
blinds drawn to hide the bright sunshine. The other wall had a door and two rows of shelves. No books on them only a series of
small African styled figurines in naked poses.

Mr
Lucas rose from his desk as I entered. He looked almost welcoming and indicated we were to sit at the meeting table. I had decided to keep my eyes off him as much as possible.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Marshall,” his voice had changed from yesterday, gone was the harsh edge and inste
ad more softy toned. It had not
lost any authority though and I responded positively to its timbre.

“Please it’s Gemma.”

I smiled my radiant curly lipped version as I aimed for the personal touch – did he expect me to call
him Jason? I laughed inwardly,
no chance of such informality. I placed my laptop on the table and opened up the lid. Before I left my desk, I had checked and rechecked the battery level, not wanting to face the embarrassment of a power failure.

He sat next to me as I fired up the software. He edged his seat closer so he could see the screen and I felt like the lid of a seductive chemistry set had been lifted up. He was perfumed and it was the pervasive odour of manly cleanliness: shower gel, after-shave and minty breath. I desperately tried to remember what I had sprayed on my body earlier in the morning. Had my own perfumed aromas survived a day of crowded buses, office air conditioning and the smoked salmon sandwiches I had made for lunch. I was tempted to whiff my armpits and again I reminded myself the exercise was pointless - what did he care?

“Talk me through what you did,” he leant forward on his elbows, chin resting on his hands.

My attempt at dismissing my meandering thoughts were useless as I could hear his breath and sensed his body warmth.

My skin tingled – breathe
and focus
– I repeated.

Stow it Gemma
, I yelled to my wayward psyche as she nudged from her hiding place and then I put my work brain into gear.

I explained my methodology and was pleased my hands did not
tremble on the keyboard. He asked really incisive and good questions, far more insightful than my boss did at the meeting. A couple of times I squirmed trying to come up with the best answer. Then he sat back and arched his back, hands behind his head.

“I’m sorry, Gemma, I forgot to ask if you wanted a drink,” he turned to face me and not the laptop.

“That’s fine, I’m not thirsty.”

I kept my eyes on screen, as I did not want to look at him
even if it seemed rude. Definitely too handsome to observe him closely and I knew I
had the potential to unravelled right before those incredible eyes.

“So you couldn’t get tickets to the charity concert then?” he remarked.

I blanched. He had heard my conversation with Penny. Now he was going to lambast me for time wasting. Had I unearthed the real purpose for my visit?

“Uh no, didn’t expect to get any...” I trailed off nervously.

“You like choral works then?”

How did he know about obscure classical musical works? I was quite aware my tastes were eclectic and disparate in nature. Very few people I encountered would be interested in my musical palate. I was rather dumbstruck. I had not expected to converse on personal matters.

“I prefer the Gloria,” he lowered his hands. “This is good stuff, Gemma, I’m impressed.”

He was back to talking about work again. I was disorientated, what did he actually want from me? I was a mere intern working on a low-level project.

“I don’t take many interns on but your CV was intriguing,” he said as if reading my thoughts.

Jason Lucas saw my resume?
Is this what the MD normally does with interns?

“I’m glad you did, sir,” was all I could say in reply.

“Tell me about your last job. What did you do?”

I described my basic job description and it mirrored the one I was doing in his own company. Having graduated with a first class degree, I had spent a few months in a menial job before landing a good graduate training post in a respected company. It had be going well for me, not that I told him that, as it would open me up for probing questions. I had been earmarked for promotion and I had been given additional responsibilities right up to when I quit.

I had made acquaintances at my last job though not friendships. By the end of the working day, most people had to face long commutes out of the City to the suburbs. Nobody really wanted to stay after hours for drinks in a pub. Most of my office colleagues had families, children or spouses to spend time with or other interests to occupy their leisure time. I had trudged back to my flat on the bus and did what I did in my spare time - my secret life, which I had avoided talking about to my colleagues.

I never mentioned to my former co-workers anything that gave away my lifestyle choices. I invented an active life based around visiting my family or attending evening classes. Not lies, just embellishments since I had minimised contact with my family and could not afford the cost of a good quality academic course.

My old company had sent me on relevant courses by the bucket load, mainly in the City
or somewhere outside the metropolis requiring a train journey in a crowded carriage.
From those courses, I gained sufficient grounding in the analytical skills and financial software packages I was using in my demonstration. I did not
doubt the quality of my resume, I had worked hard to build my career up and make something of my university education. Whether I wanted it or not, I had to work and bring in the money. Quitting my job
had been the right decision at the time and moving on was the next good decision. I did not want him questioning my background in detail
. Fortunately, after
glancing at his watch, he did not ask why I left my previous job. I would have been flummoxed trying to come up with a realistic answer, after all I had just told him how appreciated I had been by my old colleagues.

He listened to the tailored synopsis of my past life without comment and the attention he gave me was unnerving as he was clearly listening to what I was saying. He was not just being polite, he was absorbing me as if he was a sponge and I was laid out on a petri dish waiting to be sucked dry.

Then the strange encounter was over and with little ceremony, I was dismissed.

“You should get back to you work now, Gemma, I will follow this up with your manager, Andy.”

He rose and I scrambled to my feet too, collecting my laptop. Standing by the door,
he opened it and held me in his intense gaze once again. I looked at him. Straight into his bright blue eyes and for a few seconds we paused there.
A weird feeling passed over, as if we were in a mutual trance and then I was out of the door. I practically ran to the lift doors to escape from those eyes as they continued to burn into me.