My ears are assaulted by the creaking bed and a headboard slapping against the wall upstairs. The rhythm quickens, followed by two loud moans, one male, one female.
Does this guy ever stop? It’s midweek, not even the weekend.
That’s Frank the Shagger, one of my housemates, upstairs. We don’t talk too much but I know intimate details about his love life, like some sick peeping tom. It’s the closest thing I have to a love life. That and listening to the foxes mating in the garden. There’s been a drought since him.
My phone says six a.m.
I feel dazed like I went to sleep ten minutes ago. Am I awake? I’m not sure. It’s so hard to get up when it’s dark outside.
Megan’s first alarm goes off next door. She won’t wake up; she never does. Her snooze button is banged more times than a hooker. The alarms will go off every ten minutes until I wake her. I, on the other hand, wake up with her first alarm.
Megan and I live in a house-share in Tooting, South London, with six random strangers. We moved from Wales a few weeks back and it’s been a culture shock. The only rule you’re taught is to ‘mind the gap’ in the underground. Megan and I had to pick up the others the hard way such as standing on the RIGHT side of the escalator. Standing on the left will earn you a scolding. Also, always have your ticket ready at the barrier and don’t dither. In fact, any dithering inside the London zones is not permitted.
And the one that nearly got me wiped out—some cyclists are colour-blind and cannot see red lights.
The house is a three-story Victorian built for a large family, not eight separate lodgers living separate lives. Ironic, given our setup is like the college house-share, except now we pay three times the rent. How can eight strangers know such intimate details about each other? I know Frank the Shagger’s orgasm moan, four people in the house form a nightly snore choir, and everyone knows I have irritable bowel disease. We barely talk but walk to the shower in our towels. Rafal, the Polish guy living on the floor below, doesn’t even bother covering his butt cheeks.
I force myself out of bed, bang on Megan’s wall to wake her up and gather my toiletries. That’s the thing about house-shares, you have to keep everything in your bedroom, or they disappear. Tiptoeing out into the hall, I try the bathroom door on our floor. Damn. Someone is even earlier than me. I venture downstairs, avoiding the creaky floorboard to check the other bathroom. Bingo, it’s free.
Except for the surprise in the toilet staring up at me. I’m entirely bemused. Rafal’s got hands; I’ve seen him use them to steal my food from the fridge. Can he not learn how to use them to flush a toilet?
The joys of communal living are that no one can have a shower simultaneously. Someone is hogging all the water in the bathroom upstairs, so I rotate myself like a chicken roasting on a spit in an attempt to wash myself with my allocated dribble.
I’m nervous as hell. This is the first day of my two-year trainee contract at Madison Legal. The Madison Legal, the most prestigious law firm in the UK! Also notoriously competitive, so I’m damn proud of myself. Madison Legal doesn’t just expect you to have a first-class honours degree. No, you must be an excellent, well-rounded human being. Hence my extensive charity work last year.
Of course, I didn’t follow up on the lying, cheating asshole’s offer of a referral. I’ll never work for Dawson Law if I know he’s got friends there.
I roll my tights up my legs and inspect the finished product in the mirror. The advice online for lawyers was ‘keep it simple with a neutral tailored suit or a timeless sheath dress.’ I’m in a black shift dress with a fake designer leather bag.
Will they spot I’m a fraud?
The house starts to creak as people wake up. I bang on Megan’s door one last time before heading downstairs. She started in a North London hair salon two weeks ago, promoted to a senior stylist. The commute is killing her. It’s only fifteen miles, but it takes an hour and a half door to door.
That’s London for you.
I open my bread bin, ignoring the droppings of last night’s dinner on the kitchen counter. There’s no time to get annoyed with the farmyard this morning.
The expensive gluten-free bread I bought yesterday is gone. Thieving bastards! From now on, I’m going to lick every single slice of bread front and back.
I take a cup out of the top cupboard.
What the…?
It’s so dirty I’m better off pouring the coffee straight into my face.
Breakfast aborted.
By the time I reach the Tooting underground station, it is 7:20. My belly is full of butterflies. Can I do this every day until retirement? It was a mission just to iron the dress.
The average walking speed per hour is two to four miles; Londoners accelerate to 1000 horsepower minimum in rush hour so either you keep up or you’ll end up trampled on the ground.
I join the fight to board the train. How can the Northern Line be so busy already? It’s incredible what we subject ourselves to in rush hour. In any other circumstance, I wouldn’t allow myself to be spit-roasted between two strangers. On the underground, we are just one big angry mass of germs, saliva, sweat and much worse.
My phone buzzes as I’m nearing the stop for the Madison Legal headquarters. Surely Mum has remembered this is my first day at work? Nope, it’s Megan wishing me good luck.
Emerging victorious through the sea of London commuters, I stride down Fleet Street, the heartbeat of London’s elite law firms.
Then I’m standing in front of it.
Madison Legal London headquarters. Sex on bricks. That’s not me exaggerating; it won ‘London sexiest office space’ last year. Even if you don’t work in law, you’ll know the building, thanks to its sexy architecture.
The imposing twenty-storey building with the sleek logo stares down at me defiantly.
I follow the crowd through the revolving doors into the elegant lobby with its double-height ceilings and am swept along to the large reception area at the far corner.
“Hi,” I squeak to the brunette behind the desk. “I’m meeting HR at 8:30.”
Behind her is a fish tank that stretches from floor to ceiling. She flashes me a bright smile. I wonder if Madison Legal is paying to get her teeth whitened. “Name please?”
“Elly…Elena.” I show my ID as instructed in the email.
Her eyes flit to the screen then back to me. “Okay, Elena. Take the elevator to your right to the tenth floor.” She smiles kindly at me and hands over the pass.
After a few swipes of the pass at the barriers, I am in an elevator with the swarms of Madison staff. With each floor, my anxiety levels rise.
These people could write the manual on the lawyer dress code.
The elevator dings open, and I’m on the tenth floor. I’m greeted by a view of St Paul’s Cathedral through floor-to-ceiling windows. Holy shit…this is my office? People pay good money for this view.
A well-dressed man is waiting at the lifts.
“Hi, I’m Elena Andric.”
He holds out his hand, which I reluctantly take, weary of my sweat glands working overtime. “I’m Jeremy, one of the HR leads.”
We exchange niceties in such a manner that tells me Jeremy is tired of greeting the new recruits. I follow him into a room where about twenty people are milling around, some looking as nervous as I am.
I’m not good at networking. I can’t work a room the way Megan can. I need to warm up and focus my energy on a small number of people until I feel safe in numbers. So I stand awkwardly in the corner, smoothing down my dress. There’s another girl with the same tactic taking refuge beside the coffee stand. We play the shy game, smiling at each other and looking away until I have the guts to walk over.
“Hi, I’m Elly.”
“I’m Amy.” She looks relieved.
“Are you on the trainee programme too?” I ask. Stupid question, of course, she is.
She nods. “Everyone in this room is. Are you nervous?”
“Terrified,” I admit.
“Me too,” she whispers. “But we have lots of presentations today as part of the employee induction programme, all the admin stuff, office tour, welcome to the company, et cetera. I think it will be a gentle start.”
Her words make me relax a little.
There’s a dull roar around the room as we wait for something to happen. The same conversation echoes through every huddle. What’s your name? Oh, that’s nice. What university did you go to? Oh, that’s nice.
Jeremy clears his throat loudly. “We’ll be heading into boardroom five now to kick off the induction programme, 9 a.m. will be the Madison Legal introduction, 10 a.m., mission and corporate values, 11 a.m., our CEO and Managing Partner, Mr. Kane, will be saying a few words to welcome you to the firm.”
It sounds like Amy’s right, today will be easy. Just relax, listen and take notes.
“Count yourselves lucky,” Jeremy continues. “Mr. Kane rarely has the time to do this. We are extremely honoured today.”
“Oh.” Amy digs me in the ribs with her elbow. “Tristan Kane is talking to us!”
Ugh. I hate that name. Still, I can’t hold one man’s mistake against them all.
Two hours, and a corporate vision presentation later, my attention is waning. We have two full days of people talking to us to get through. Amy and I bagged seats in the front row. I take a large sip of coffee to perk up as I have to appear extra attentive for the CEO up next. We’ve been waiting fifteen minutes for him so far.
There’s a knock and a woman pops her head around the door. “He’s ready now.”
Jeremy beams at us. Every head turns to the back of the room to get a good look at the man entering behind the woman. I can’t see his face from the front row. As I strain my neck, I catch sight of stubble shaped around a chiselled jaw. It’s not until he is halfway up the aisle that my blood runs cold.
Oh. My. GOD.
It can’t be.
It’s him.
He can’t be…
“Our managing partner and founder of Madison Legal, Mr. Tristan Kane.” Jeremy claps his hands earnestly, and the room follows suit.
I move my hands together, but no sound comes out.
This makes no sense. He told me he worked in property.
But he was a liar.
Fear seeps into every pore of my being. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Something like eight million people live in London, one of them is bound to look like him.
He’s closer now.
No, it’s definitely fucking him.
The source of my three-day production line of orgasms that sent my oxytocin levels off the charts. My natural Viagra. The guy I thought was a fling, then thought was a love interest then realised was a lying cheating bastard.
The guy that fucked me hard then fucked me over.
My fight-or-flight response kicks in for the second time around Tristan, who I now know as Tristan Kane, CEO. And for the second time, flight wants to win. I need to escape, hide, combust, fast-forward time, pull a fake fire alarm, bomb scare. Something. Anything.
Instead, I sink into my chair, but in the front row I will be right in his line of vision. What’s he going to do when he realises it’s me?
Terminate my trainee contract?
This is so messed up.
I clutch my notepad to my chest like armour. I wonder if I could put it in front of my face and pretend to take notes. By the time the owner of this 8000-employee strong global company arrives at the front of the room, I’m feeling full tremors in my hands and legs. Breathe, Elly. Breathe. He might not even recognise or remember me. He’s probably had a million one-night stands since then.
Gone are the jeans and T-shirt and in their place, is an expensive tailored dark blue suit. It moulds perfectly around his athletic physique. I imagine my fingers running across it and mentally slap myself. I wasn’t building him up in my head. He is drop-dead gorgeous. Sometimes, I think I imagine him differently, better.
When those intense blue-grey eyes that haunted my dreams collide with mine, my heart stops.
Oh. He recognises me all right.
It’s as if we’re caught in a vortex, our eyes pulling towards each other.
His eyebrows rise, a slow smile spreading across his face.
I look down at my feet, unable to keep eye contact. A deep blush soaks into my cheeks spreading outwards until my ears feel impossibly hot. Maybe I am going to combust after all.
“Hello. I’m Tristan Kane, managing partner and founder of Madison.” There’s that low dry voice. The voice that makes my breathing rushed. How many nights have I dreamed of a new happy ending to our story, where that voice said exactly what I wanted it to?
Now he’s here, in the flesh, in my worst possible nightmare.
If my presence has fazed him, he doesn’t show it. Rather than standing behind the podium, he just leans in front of it, a few metres away.
Looking right at me.
Stupid nerd, Elly. Sitting in the front row. Too close. He’ll be able to hear my pulse from there.
I’m too wound up to focus on what he says. All I can see is the wide-open stance of those thick thighs, the relaxed posture, and his easy breathing as he delivers an unhurried speech and I wonder how he can be in this ridiculous state of calm when I need a fucking ambulance?
I fixate on my notebook, taking a few useless notes on the company vision.
“This is an intensive two-year trainee contract…” He leans against the podium, his hands in his pockets.
People around me lean forward in their seats so far, they’re at risk of falling. Except for me, I’m rolling my head into my neck, personifying a tortoise.
I was expecting an old codger. Why didn’t I research Madison Legal’s owner? I was too busy searching forums for information on how to get into Madison Legal and what their interview questions were. Though I checked the website and would’ve remembered if that face graced it.
“You’ll get a broad range of experience and get to shadow some of the most competent lawyers in the world,” he says. His fingers drum lightly against the podium.
I’m going to stalk the shit out of this bastard online when I get home.
He keeps talking but I can’t hear him. Maybe I’ll start applying for other trainee contracts too. Dawson Law also offered me one.
“If you want to be a behind-the-desk, paper-shuffling lawyer, then you should walk out the door now.”
I’m in eyeline with his dick. I stare at his crotch, getting flashbacks. To my horror I drop my pen and it rolls along the floor stopping near his feet. What if he thinks I’m trying to get his attention?
He continues talking without missing a beat but bends to retrieve the offending item and steps towards me. Those intense blue eyes focus on me, the same eyes that looked up at me as he devoured me.
I suck in sharply. One half of my body is in full panic mode and the other half is dying to get laid.
With an eyebrow raised, he stands right in front of me and offers me the pen. As I reach out to take it with a shaky hand, his fingers touch mine.
Beside me, Amy gives me a funny look.
“So enough about Madison.” Tristan paces slowly across the room, putting his hands back in his pockets.
Smug, arrogant bastard, swaggering around like he owns the place. Because the motherfucker does.
“I want each of you to give a brief intro, so I can get to know you a bit better.”
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse. I chew hard on my pen.
He starts at the back of the room, meaning I’ll be one of the last, giving me plenty of time to stew into a frenzy. In turn, everyone says their name, where they’re from, and what university they’ve come from. Like it’s the easiest task in the world. Soon it’s Amy’s turn. I hear her voice beside me as if I’m underwater.
I can’t do this.
I take slow deep breaths from the pit of my stomach as advised in my public speaking classes.
It’s my turn. Don’t they realise I can’t talk?
“Um.” I start in a pitch too high. “Uh, hi, I’m Elena Andric. Elly for short. I moved from Wales to London two weeks ago to join Madison. I studied Law and Criminology at Swansea.” I don’t breathe through the entire speech.
But you already know all that, Mr. Kane.
“Elly,” he repeats slowly, stopping in front of me. “Nice to have you at Madison.”
I’m on fire now, the heat from my cheeks enough to sizzle sausages on.
As cool as a CEO, he moves to the next trainee.
For the next forty-five minutes, I sit stiff as the room laps up every word that comes out of that lying, cheating heart-breaking bastard boss’s luscious mouth.
Only when he leaves the room, striding off for another meeting, can I breathe properly.
Amy turns to me, both hands flying to her mouth. “Oh no, Elly! You have ink all over your mouth.”
Same disastrous day, just later.
I’m a quivering wreck. After the inductions, I am shown to my desk and introduced to Sophie, the lawyer Amy and I will be shadowing. She explains everything to us at a snail’s pace without being patronising so I instantly warm to her. I log in to my email for the first time and proudly set my signature.
Elena Andric, Lawyer, Madison Legal.
An email appears in the inbox that makes me bolt upright in my chair.
Elena (or Elly?)
I hope you are settling in well. I need to discuss a matter with you.
I’ll be expecting you at my office at 5 today.
Please treat this as confidential. My PA will let you through.
Tristan Kane
CEO
Madison Legal
I read the email over and over again. No hint of tone. Should I pack my bags now? For so long, I fantasised about bumping into him, about our encounter being different. In some fantasies I knee him in the bollocks, in others it’s a scene akin to Jack and Rose on the bow of the Titanic, except he’s taking me from behind.
But not like this, not threatening the career that I spent thousands in student loans over.
Of all the law firms in all of London, my dirty summer fling had to own this one?
