‘You asked to see me?’ Alice’s voice wavers ever so slightly. I find I’m almost surprised she’d spoken in English, considering how in the elevator on the way up she’d mumbled in nothing but French. And let me tell you, none of it had sounded complimentary. It wasn’t just her tone which made me think I was in trouble because I’d also spent two hours in an office where the people around me murmured frantically while trying—and failing—not to send their troubled glances my way. I gather my employment is an issue. That no one knows what to do with me. That no one seems to know why I’m here.
I also gather Alice doesn’t intend on taking the blame.
Oh, I’ve been treated well enough, and I was even taken to the staff restaurant for lunch, which was pretty swanky. But I haven’t been issued a desk or a locker and not once has anyone mentioned my job.
Like the lanyard hanging around my neck, I feel like a visiteur.
‘Laisse nous.’
I don’t need to understand French to know he just issued a dismissal, confirmed as Alice darts from the room.
‘Bonne chance.’ Her gaze darts my way as she passes, shooting me a brief grimace of a smile. The door then closes with an ominous clunk.
I don’t move, at a loss what to think or say. Why am I here? Why in the world would he set up such an elaborate second meeting? This isn’t about sex, that much is clear. Not the way he looked at me earlier in the hallway. Not the way he’s looking at me right now.
My goodness, the man is like an artisan chocolate; mouth-wateringly tasty and wrapped to appeal, but with hidden layers of delicious his outer coating doesn’t reveal. I wish I could say the same for my outfit as I twist the belt on my dress, silently cursing its resemblance to a sack as, without officially acknowledging my presence, Remy strolls to his desk. With his back facing me, he begins sifting through a folder.
‘Róisín Ryan,’ he announces without turning. Points to him for making my name sound less like raisin than Alice did. Also, minus points for the low rumble of his voice that reminds me of that night. Like I need that kind of aural memory.
‘Born June twenty-ninth,’ he continues in that delectable accent of his. Despicable; I definitely meant despicable. ‘1994, in Knoxville, Tennessee, to the late Nora Ryan, nee Awad. That’s an Arabic surname, right?’ With the question, he turns his head over his shoulder, glancing briefly my way.
Okay, handsome. So we’ve established my ancestry is a little hodgepodge; a little Irish and a little something else. And while I don’t know what I was expecting, I’m certain it wasn’t this.
‘Do you investigate every girl you’ve slept with?’ I fold my arms across my chest, my hip seeming to cock with an attitude all on its own. ‘Send them weird gifts afterwards, too?’
‘Weird?’ He turns to face me then, negligently arranging himself on the desk, one leg bent, the other out straight. If you can’t man-spread in your own office, where can you? But this isn’t about his comfort. This is a declaration of strength, of dominance. He’s the big cat in the room. Or wolf, as the case may be.
Got it.
Loud and clear.
But, be warned, this little mouse also has sharp teeth.
‘A coffee machine?’ I reply derisively, fingers fluttering in the air, matching the inconsequence of my words, as though I’m used to receiving much more suitable gifts from my hordes of admirers. In truth, I appreciated every one of the things he sent, including the coffee machine, which I sold to help make my rent. ‘And now the weirdest of all, a job.’
I hope to high heavens that I’m not right about this.
I deserve a break. I need the money!
‘Am I to surmise you liked your previous position waitressing?’ He says “position” like it’s something dirty, and my spine stiffens instantly. His eyes dip from my face to my chest, and just as I think he’s about to twist the knife by making some comment about my boobs, he adds, ‘I much prefer your hair that way.’
What way? Like in one braid instead of two?’ Or could he be talking about my blonde wig? The wig I wasn’t wearing the night I met him. Could he have visited the Pussy Cat? I push aside the unpleasant thought. He can’t have, I know. I’d have noticed someone like him in there, and if he’d called on one of my nights off, it would’ve been marked on the board in the dressing room. There are always customers to be wary of, and the dancers in the Pink Cat would make sure everyone knew who to be cautious around. Often, the board would mention other customers of note.