Dirty Bad Wrong (12 page)

“He won’t fuck me!” I wailed. “Seriously, Rebecca, it’s not possible. You’re setting me up to fail!”

“I’m setting you up to test your resolve, there’s a difference. Seducing James Clarke will be an easier bag than seducing Masque, believe me.”

“It will be impossible!”

“No, it will be
difficult
. That’s the point. He’s a tough cookie, you’ll have to be persuasive. Succeed and you’ll get your time with Masque, that’s a promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

I weighed it up. Whichever way I looked at it felt completely unobtainable. James would blow me out again and I’d look a fool, and then I’d lose my shot with Masque altogether. All bad. I sighed. “You’re such a bitch, Rebecca. You know I’ll fail.”

“If you want Masque enough you’ll make sure you don’t.”

“Have any date rape drugs lying around I could borrow?”

Her eyes twinkled, and she pulled me in for a kiss. I resisted at first, mouth fixed in a stubborn little line, but she won me over. She pulled away, smiling. “You won’t need date rape drugs, Lyds. He’s tough, but he’s not that tough. Just be yourself, and don’t let him escape before he’s given you his cock.”

“I’m myself every day, he hasn’t offered it so far.”

“I’ll give you some advice. James likes to be confided in, he likes vulnerability. Open up to him, as sweet little Lydia Marsh on a night out in the big bad world, and you’ll get your guy.”

“I can’t open up, Bex, you know I can’t.”

“And there’s your challenge.”

“Like I need any more hurdles on this ridiculously impossible quest of yours.” I rolled my eyes. “He won’t want me.”

“That’s up to you. It’s your future with Masque at stake, take it or leave it.”

“Why do you even want me to fuck James Clarke anyway? Does the idea get you off or something? Mr corporate screwing your new little pain slut?”

“You’ve got me there. Yes, it does,” she laughed. “I think you’d be good for each other, you both need to let off some steam.”

“Oh, so it’s a two-way mercy mission now, is it? Get us both laid at the same time? You’re really serious, aren’t you? I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!” I removed myself from her arms, leaving the sofa to check myself out in the full-length mirror. “And what about this?” I pointed at my battered body. “How the hell would I even begin to explain this, if I ever even got that far?”

“Be inventive. Lights out... panties off only... Use your imagination.”

“When I fail at this, and lose my job in the process, you’re giving me another shot at Masque, Bex, as well as free rent until my life is sorted again. This is totally unfair.” I marched away to the sound of her cackling.

“You won’t fail, Lyds, I have every faith in you.”

I shot her the finger before I slammed my bedroom door, and only just caught sight of her poking her tongue out at me.

***

James

Trevor White wasn’t listening to a fucking word I was saying. He nodded in all the right places, but his beady little eyes were fixed well and truly on Lydia, and Lydia alone. She stared ahead oblivious, hanging on every word I said. I was relieved. A two-way street and I’d have struggled to hold myself back from throat-punching the sonofabitch. This Lydia Marsh shit was becoming unbearable to the point that I’d been checking out employment ads. A decent management position, far away from London and far away from my cat-eyed temptress. I don’t think she even realised the effect she was having. The girl had no fucking idea how sweet her perky little ass was, or how one watery flash of her eyes could drive a man to insanity. Her humble oblivion made her even more fuckable.
I had to get out of this.
Calm down, James, keep it together.

I took a sip of water and continued my presentation, making every effort to ignore Trevor and his grubby little advances. Lydia was better than him, out of his league, even if he did own a shiny gold Jaguar and a part share in a racehorse. Wanker.

I was about to break for lunch when a mobile started bleeping in someone’s handbag. I gritted my teeth in annoyance, and gritted them harder still as I realised it was Lydia’s phone that was going off. She blushed, and shot me a look of apology, scrabbling to put the thing on silent. Trevor leant in close to catch a glimpse of her message, and I found myself thumping the projector screen behind me with a falsely-elaborate point. It got his attention and for a moment I stared him out with eyes of death. He raised his eyebrows in surprise before I yanked myself down enough to shoot him a smile. He lapped it up, moment forgotten.

Finally we broke for lunch and I virtually marched Lydia down the corridor for a ‘five-minute-co-worker-catch-up’. Trevor hovered, keeping a shifty eye on us from the meeting room doorway.

“I’m really sorry about my phone,” she gushed. “I was sure I’d turned it off.”

“Clearly not,” I snapped. “Is he bothering you?” I tilted my head in Trevor’s direction.

Her eyes widened, naive and oblivious. “Who, Trevor? No, why?”

“He’s practically slavering over you. It’s an embarrassment.”

She burnt up, the perfect amount of rouge flooding her cheeks. “He just seems friendly.”

“He’s more than friendly. He’s like a dog sniffing a bitch on heat. He’ll start humping your leg if you’re not careful.”

“It’s ok, honestly. I’m fine. I can handle it.”

I sighed, forcing a lighter tone. “I think it’s going well in there.”

“You’re doing great,” she smiled. “Really great. You’ve covered everything from our end perfectly.”

“The phase two section was all from your project plan, Lydia. It’s your success too.”

“Wow, thanks.” Her eyes glowed with life. “I’m really glad you liked it.”

“Shall we grab a sandwich? Get out of here?”

She grimaced, knotting her hands together. “I already agreed we’d eat with them, I’m sorry. I didn’t know not to. Trevor told me they were putting on a buffet the minute we stepped through the door.”

It didn’t surprise me. I forced a smile. “No problem, Lydia. They are the client after all.”

I led the way back up the corridor, dying inside as Trevor took my Cat’s-eyes by the arm and schmoozed her on into the dining hall. I should have been grateful to him, relieved at the possibility of her disappearance from the open market, but all I felt was hate.

***

Finally, we were out of there. I sank a double-scotch at the bar and ordered in a bottle of red. The afternoon had dragged like a bitch, every second leading up to the inevitable moment that Trevor White would make his move to hijack our evening. I’d stepped in before Lydia could even blink.

“Sorry, Trevor, we’d love to, we’re back-to-back with office catch-up calls until nine. Some other time, though.”

He couldn’t argue, feigning politeness and waving us away for a ‘pleasant evening’. It would be. Now.

“I really thought he was coming with us,” Lydia said, eyes sparkling in amusement. “He looked so put out when you said we were busy.”

I handed her a glass. “Did you want him to?”

“Did I want Trevor White to join us this evening?” she smiled. “No. Why would I?”

“He’s the senior partner of one of the largest law firms in the country. He’s got a gold Jag, part share in a racehorse and a villa on the Spanish coast. Plus he’s still got his own hair, and most of his own teeth. He could be your next Mr Comfortable.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Another Mr Comfortable is the last thing I want.”

“Really? Why so?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m the new-model Lydia Marsh.
This
Lydia Marsh is wild and free and single. She doesn’t want TV nights or lights-off sex on a Tuesday evening.”

“I guess she doesn’t want Trevor White, then.”

“No, she doesn’t,” she grinned. “She doesn’t want a relationship at all.”

“Welcome to the club,” I held up my wine and she clinked my glass. “Single and sane, private and proud.”

“You remembered,” she said. “Is it up in your living room yet?”

“Sure is. I had it printed in Stencil font, 180 point size. Takes up my entire mantelpiece.”

“Liar,” she laughed. “I might get Rebecca to make it up as an art print for you, when’s your birthday?”

I nearly choked on my wine. “Sorry?”

“Your birthday, when is it?” Her smile was sweet and unsuspecting. Interested. Only Rebecca knew my birthday, if she even remembered. Maybe my sisters, if they could ever be arsed to send a birthday card.

“June Nineteenth.”

“Gemini,” she said. “The twins. Multifaceted and complex.”

The beast burnt beneath my shirt. She had no fucking idea. “Yes, I’m a Gemini. If you want to believe in all that mumbo-jumbo.”

“I’m a Scorpio. Born on Halloween.”

“I really did pick the right housemate for the lovely Rebecca, then, didn’t I? It doesn’t get much more goth than a Halloween birthday.”

“Quite true.”

“Aren’t Scorpios supposed to be the weirdo star sign? You don’t seem all that weird to me, Lydia Marsh, I think it’s all baloney.”

A sly smile lit up her face, hitting me straight in the dick. “Looks can be deceiving, James Clarke.”

I raised my glass. “Quite true, Cat, quite true.”

Once again she had no fucking idea.

I drank quickly and Lydia matched my pace. We’d retired to a table at the far end of the restaurant, nestled amongst some oversized ornamental plants, and the dim lighting dilated her pupils perfectly. She looked divine, naturally sexy, dazzling with life, a different girl entirely to the one I’d found in the kitchen all those weeks ago. The conversation flowed much more easily than I was accustomed to, glossing over anything too personal and landing on a healthy dollop of work talk mixed with personal history, ambitions, funny stories.
She
was funny, and sharp, and interesting, battering me with questions without being invasive. I found myself sucked into her, compelled by her strange green eyes.

We ate heartily, and happily, complementing the chef on his fine culinary talents, but after dessert Lydia’s demeanour shifted a gear. She became nervous somehow, edgy. Her dainty little fingers played with her wine glass, twirling it round and round in front of her. She was a puzzle I’d love to solve, an enigma that vexed me, snaking up my backbone like a creeping vine.

“Is something troubling you?”

Her eyes widened as they met mine, and she swallowed nervously. She smiled to hide it, but I caught it anyway. “I’m fine.”

I let it drop, pouring out the final dregs of wine between our glasses. “I’ve enjoyed this evening,” I said, in an attempt to smoothen her disposition.

“Me, too, very much. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You deserve it.”

She seemed to be about to say something, edging a little closer and pursing her lips in that way she does when she concentrates. I knew her mannerisms far too well, too many hours spent studying her in the guise of professionalism. I waited for it, but her mobile cut us off, chirping away with some generically irritating ring-tone.

Her face paled, and for a horrible moment I figured it was Stuart or someone equally unwelcome.

“It’s my mum. I need to take this.” Her face was apologetic, even though it shouldn’t have been.

“Take your time, I’ll get another bottle,” I smiled. I took our empty glasses back to the bar, moving slowly. She held back, avoiding conversation until she was certain I was out of earshot. I made sure to head for the side of the bar out of her eyeline, so she wouldn’t observe my return, I ordered quickly before taking up position at the side of some foliage by our table. I could just about see Lydia, but was positive she’d never see me. I could hear her just fine from my location. I soaked up every word.

“Calm down, Mum. Just breathe... breathe, Mum, I can’t hear you... Colin? You mean the new Colin? Left where...? Oh, Mum! He did what...? Well, how could he?” She leant forward against the table, fisting a hand in her hair. She looked pained, agitated, scared. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. “Please say you didn’t give him all of it? Oh God, Mum. Why? You’ll be ok, I promise, just calm down, okay? We’ll sort it out.
I’ll
sort it out. I’ll call them tomorrow, I’ll set something up... they aren’t going to throw you out, not over a few arrears. How many?! Jesus, Mum, why didn’t you tell me?”

So, Rebecca was right. Lydia looked around, clearly keeping an eye out for me. She returned to her call, satisfied I was still at the bar. “You’ll get over him, Mum, you will... Don’t say that! He wasn’t right for you, if he was he wouldn’t have done this... He’s just another loser, ok? You’ll meet someone better... You said you wouldn’t give him any money, you promised after Steve! I’m not angry... I’m not shouting... Mum, I’m not, I promise. I’ll sort it out, I’m away with work right now, but I’ll try and get some time in the morning... It’s not like that! I can’t come home right now, you know I can’t, I have meetings tomorrow, but soon, I promise... Don’t be like that, you know I care! Mum... Mum? Mum?” She sat with her face in her hands, shoulders hunched in misery for long, slow seconds before she pulled herself together and looked around again. Her breathing was frantic. I watched her chest rise and fall in short bursts. She tried her phone again, calling and recalling over and over. I found I was burning up, gripping the wine bottle in a vice, our two fresh glasses clamped tight in my fingers. I composed myself, pasting on a smile before I reappeared, as though I’d just sauntered back from the bar.

“Sorry, they had to go to the cellar,” I said. She smiled but it was empty, fragile. She looked on the edge, a delicate little sparrow dithering on a twig. “Are you ok, Lydia? What’s happened?”

“It’s um... it’s nothing,” she pretended, waving away my question. Her breathing was still shallow. “My mum is having some problems.”

“Nothing serious I hope?”

She smiled a horribly sad smile. “It’s
always
something serious.”

“I’m a good listener, Lydia, indulge me.” I handed her a fresh glass, poured the wine. She drank it down quickly and held her glass out for a refill. I topped her up. “Talk to me, Cat’s-eyes. Maybe I can help.” A shiver ran up my spine as I realised my offer was genuine.

She was about to wave it all away, I know she was. Her eyes sharpened as she choked back the upset, and I was losing her, losing the moment. I resigned myself to the inevitable, the public-facing Lydia Marsh, who pushed the pain deep inside and offered up nothing but slick-smooth persona, but something seemed to change in her. She stared me out for long seconds, so intensely it was almost uncomfortable. I kept quiet, sipping at my wine while she worked out her next move. It surprised me.

“I’m not good at talking,” she said “But I’ll give it a try.”

“Please do.”

“My mum is a very emotional person, always has been, as long as I can remember. She has problems coping with life. She’s a good person, but she makes stupid decisions.”

“What kind of stupid decisions?”

“Men, usually,” she said. “She falls in love every other week, normally with losers with no prospects and loose morals. I guess they see an easy ride, easy prey. They move in and use her up, then leave again when she’s all spent out. She falls apart every time, says she can’t take it. She’s suicidal at least four times a year, depending on how many relationships go down the drain. If I’m lucky she’ll be happy for six months straight, but that’s unusual. Her men don’t usually stay longer than a few months. She’ll replace this latest one with another, and another after him. I give it three weeks tops, but in the meantime she’ll be a wreck. She drinks and she gambles her money away on the slot machines. She claims she doesn’t, but it’s always the same. I bail her out and she falls apart again, over and over and over.” She paused, looking across at me with honest eyes. They pounded me in the stomach so hard it almost pained. “So, there you go. That’s my world.”

“How do you bail her out?”