Trust Me (Trust Me, Find Me 1)
I can feel my head beginning to pound again. He’s the very last person I want to see right now.
“I thought you were gonna sort it,” I fling at him under my breath.
“Annie, honestly I tried, but they wouldn’t listen.”
His whispering smarminess makes my nostrils flare. What did I ever see in him?
“This whole thing’s bloody ridiculous.”
My fingers scour my bag for my security pass, so I can get out of there.
“That’s what I told them too.”
I fling the lanyard around my neck.
“I really don’t understand why I can’t work whilst they’re looking into it?”
“I know, it’s ridiculous… But, apparently, it’s company policy?”
I stare at him hard.
“Yeah, right.”
I slam the desk drawer shut.
“And we all know how good you are at sticking to that.”
His eyes flash me a warning, as a couple of staff peek at us from behind their workstations.
Why should I keep it together?
But, people are beginning to take an interest in us. If I leave calmly, there’ll be nothing to gossip about. Annie Evans has left the building. For a late lunch, or a client meeting.
“Use the time to take a break. You look tired.”
Great! First, I get suspended, and now he tells me I’m looking like shit.
“It’ll only be for a week, or so. They’ll be in touch when they’re done.”
“Lottie’s a super appointment. You said so yourself.”
“I’ll keep working on it for you.”
He reassures me with an emollient smile.
“Trust me.”
CHAPTER 3
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It feels odd, finding myself midweek in the middle of a mall.
I’ve spent the last couple of hours aimlessly mooching around. Trying on clothes I’ve no intention of buying, spraying myself with free perfume samples, waiting for Stacey who’s meeting me as soon as she finishes work.
How has this happened? And, so fast?
I sit across from Stacey in the pseudo Italian-American restaurant chain, sampling happy hour cocktails. Mojitos, to be precise. Which I'm drinking way too fast. The deep crooning of Dean Martin fits my mood perfectly, as he sings on a loop in the background.
“What I don’t understand is, who told HR about Lottie?”
I prod my straw maliciously at the bruised and wilted mint in the crushed ice.
“Only Seb knew that we were at uni together.”
Stacey checks her phone.
It slams into me hard. What an idiot I’ve been for not seeing it.
Has he engineered all of this?
Did Seb flag the appointment to HR, as soon as I’d ended it with him?
Because I’m now a problem he’s trying to get rid of?
Stacey watches the penny drop.
“So?… He’s a shit.”
She grabs two menus from the holder and tosses one to me.
“What d’you fancy?”
“No idea.”
I’m so mad with him that I can’t focus on the ketchup-caked menu in front of me, let alone decide which carb-laden offering to choose.
“I’ll just order another one of these.”
I deliver another mortal wound to the mojito-flavoured slush.
Stacey’s menu squelches shut.
“Annie, you need to eat or you’ll be ill.”
"I’m already sick. Sick to the back teeth of the bullshit that’s just gotten me suspended."
She pulls a face, and I try to swallow my bitterness.
“Have they said who’ll be looking after the division while I’m off?”
Stacey squirms and plays with her necklace.
“That was quick.”
“Seb called me this afternoon and asked if I’d step up for a while.”
Draining the last watery dregs, I try to process all of this.
In a way, it’s a relief. Stacey’s a safe pair of hands and I won’t have to worry about work. But if I’m not worrying about that, what am I going to be doing? Sitting in my flat, watching daytime television?
Or, God forbid, going home?
I was there for three days at Christmas, and that was long enough, with my Dad in the state he was in.
I shut that out of my mind. I don’t need any more guilt. Not today.
I give Stacey a weak smile. It’s not her fault that she’s got dragged into this.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad it’s you. I hope you asked for a pay rise?”
Stacey’s mouth curls. She has.
“Use the time to take a break.”
“Doing what?”
“I dunno. Take a holiday? Clean your flat?”
“I s’pose.”
“Apply for other positions? There are plenty of senior customer services roles with much better pay,” she adds hastily.
“Hmm… but not one where I get to shag my boss.”
We both start to giggle.
“I didn’t like to say this before, Annie, but you have heard the rumours about Seb, right?”
I had. There was a marketing manager who’d left suddenly a couple of years back.
“Oh God, Stace! Is that what everyone’s saying about me too?”
Stacey sucks noisily on her straw.
It’s confirmed. Our fling has not gone unnoticed.
???
“So, how long will you be here for?”
Jason gave Sion a hand to unload the luggage from the Volvo Estate parked tightly on the South London suburban street.
“A couple of weeks, tops. Is that alright?”
“Yeah, ‘course, mate.”
It was late, and he had to be up ridiculously early the next day.
Sion shut the boot of the car and Jason carried the two sports bags to the house. Sion handled the two reinforced metal cases himself.
“Stay as long as you like. I’m not gonna be here much, though. Got a couple of runs to Vegas this week.”
“Sin City, eh? I quite fancy a night at the tables,” Sion said, stacking the luggage neatly in the spare bedroom. “Catch a few rays. Crash a pool party or two.”
“One day, my friend. But this time, I’ll be laid over in an airport hotel, far away from the roulette wheels and the Cirque du Soleil.”
Sion grinned at his old special forces buddy.
“Still, doesn’t sound too bad. I bet, getting laid over in Vegas is a
regular occupational hazard for you guys?”
Jason shook his head.
“Yeah. And I haven’t heard that before.”
Sion patted his friend warmly on the shoulder.
“Great to see you, man.”
Jason’s eyes met his warily.
“You here speccing out another job?”
Sion took off his jacket and jumper. The flat was positively tropical after the dampness of the old Welsh cottage.
“Yeah. This one’s a bit on the risky side. But, y’know how I like the top end jobs.”
“Interesting. Fill me in on the details.”
“The less you know, the better.”
They both knew that was true.
“Ever think of doing a normal job?” Jason yawned, “Like the rest of us?”
“What, like Farmer Jac? Or like you, Mr Big-Bucks Commercial Airline Pilot?”
“Okay, whatever.”
Jason went to the fridge and grabbed them both a beer. Prising off the tops, he handed one to his friend and they both slumped onto the sofas in the living area.
“I mean it, Sion. One day, mate, they’re gonna catch up with you.”
“Not while I’m still two steps ahead of ‘em… Cheers!”
Sion’s short-sleeved t-shirt revealed the lower edge of his tattoo as he took a swig. A large Welsh Guards battalion emblem that Jac and Sion had done, before their first tour of duty.
It had been Jac’s idea.
A week before they flew out to Camp Bastion, Jac took one for the team and Sion got a cover-up for his scars. In particular, the thick blue carved-in marks that the older boys had given him on his first night in the children’s home. It was a deletion of the inked-in reminder of the worst time in Sion’s life.
The worst, that was, until he’d done six months in the dusty deserts of Helmand. There, he gained new scars that couldn’t ever be etched away. Unless you could tattoo your brain.
“Jac sends his regards, by the way.”
“How’s he doing’?”
“Fine when I left, but I’m not so sure how he’ll be in the coming days.”
“Why’s that?”
“Annie’s dad, the guy he rents the farm off, he topped himself last night. They’ve been trying to get in touch with her, to come home.”
“Annie?”
Jason took a swig.
“As in THE Annie?”
Sion nodded.