Charlie
“Legally, he can do it,” Julie confirms as she scans over the document I had printed. “He’s offering you voluntary redundancy.”
She flicks through it, searching for something. “I don’t get it. It’s a bit strange that the CEO of the Nexus Group is getting involved in low-level details like this. He’s got hundreds of employees. Doesn’t he have bigger things to worry about?”
“I’m the pathetic little sister. I’m an inconvenience,” I mutter, taking my anger out on my wardrobe. I’m searching for an outfit for dinner with Ben, and with the force I’m yanking the hangers, I’m likely to break the pole. “I’m not the right calibre for his company, and he needs to get rid of me quietly, so I’ll be a good little girl at Tristan’s parties.”
“It would appear like that, yeah.” She shrugs.
I shoot her a look. “I didn’t want you to agree with me.”
“Then don’t ask.”
“So, what do I do?”
She pauses. “Do nothing yet. You have ten days to think about this. Get your anger out with angry sex. Then you’ll think straight. In the meantime, let him sweat.”
Ben and I are going to dinner tonight with some of his friends. It’s a great opportunity for me to get out of my sex slump and stop festering over Danny Walker.
One of the perks of having a stinking rich brother is that you get freebies like access to exclusive restaurants and private members clubs. Usually, I decline because I can’t be bothered with the ordeal of getting dolled up for these places, but it’s time Ben saw me for the vixen I am. It’s make or break time.
We’ve been put on Tristan’s guest list for the new sushi restaurant in the Shard, meaning we get fifty percent off the bill. He would pay for my entire bill without blinking an eye, but I’d rather not feel like a charity case.
Reliable Ben is at the door promptly at 7 p.m. and does a double-take when he sees me.
“Wow.” His mouth hangs open. “I forgot you could dress like this.”
I open my mouth to tell him off, then falter. When was the last time I’d dressed up for Ben?
Any time there is mention of a restaurant, I’m diving into my elasticated stomach-expanding trousers. The priority has always been food over fucking.
“Wait until you see what I’m wearing under this.” I wink at him and grab my coat.
***
We are guided through the restaurant by a beautiful creature, and I silently thank myself for finding the willpower to dress up. Waitresses are never just waitresses in these bars; they are models with a canny ability to make you feel as attractive as a stone.
The restaurant is typical Tristan, a sky-high terrace with river views of the Thames through floor-to-ceiling windows while a live jazz band serenades in the background.
London’s most gorgeous people have been gathered in red velvet booths. It’s a beautiful scene. You need to be rich, beautiful, or an oligarch to make the cut, or in our case, freeloaders of the rich.
At the table sit Mikey, his girlfriend Sarah, John, Bernice, and a couple I’ve never met. They look chuffed. I’ve clearly earned major points for landing us a table when getting one is notoriously difficult.
Ben wraps his arm around my shoulder and beams. “Tony, Andrea, meet the missus.”
My shoulders stiffen. A flood of panic, fear, claustrophobia, and nausea wash over me. When did I become a missus instead of Charlie?
“Hiya,” I reply shakily, taking a seat next to Sarah.
The men are gathered on one side of the table, and the girls on the other. A tactical move by Mikey and John, no doubt.
“We were just talking about how beautiful these are,” Sarah says as she points to the white flowers in the middle of the table. “They would be perfect on my two side tables in the marquee.”
I brace myself for a long night.
Sarah is talking about her wedding. Apparently, she is frenzied with preparation even though the event is over a year away.
Feigning interest, I smile.
“Gorgeous,” Bernice gushes. “Mixed in with lilies, right?”
John has been getting heavy hints from Bernice that she would also make a wonderful bride.
“Naturally,” Sarah replies with a chuckle. “You know, finding the right wedding florist is an absolute nightmare. I’ve had five interviews already, and I still haven’t found a satisfactory one. Five! I keep having these recurring dreams that I arrive at the marquee, and the flowers are sitting on the wrong table lopsided.”
Honestly, if you are going to have a nightmare about wedding flowers, at least imagine killer weeds suffocating the groom.
“You’re so lucky,” Bernice says loudly, throwing eyes at her boyfriend. “I’ll be a pensioner by the time John proposes.”
“You’re only twenty-eight,” I point out. “Plenty of time.”
They laugh between themselves.
“Charlie, you never change. Such a free spirit.”
“What about you Andrea, how long have you been going out with Tony?” Sarah excitedly leans towards Andrea, hopeful for an extra number for her hen party.
“Six months,” Andrea replies shyly. “I guess it’s early days.”
“Six months! Mikey and I moved in together after six months. We just knew it was right.”
Bernice nods in agreement. “Although I had to wait nearly a year for John to take the next step.”
“I think we’ll take it slowly,” Andrea gets in quickly before they invite themselves to her and Tony’s home-warming.
“Ben and I have no plans to move in together any time soon,” I tell them bluntly.
Bernice waves her hand dismissively at me. “You’ll change your mind soon. Just you wait.”
The talk teeters off to a discussion on Andrea’s blue shoes and what a great bargain they were but inevitably veers back to weddings.
“… I said to her, are you having a laugh? Brown rolls with the goat’s cheese salad?”
“… sometimes they just don’t appreciate how much work goes into a wedding. Do they think the corsages just magically arrange themselves?”
“… the chairs are going to be wrapped in white linen with gold rimming, and NONE of the legs can be seen.”
“… waitresses can’t be too pretty.”
“… was I being mean when I told Shelley to lose some weight to be a bridesmaid?”
“… but bridesmaids can’t upstage the bride so she can’t lose too much weight.”
“… I think the priest actually fancied her a little.”
They blather on for about an hour and a half while I quietly get drunk by myself, nodding and murmuring at suitable moments. At the other end of the table, Andrea does the same. I have a feeling Tony is going to be dumped after tonight.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. If I time it right, they will have moved onto the digestives before I return.
I’m walking back from the bathroom, staring at my phone, when my face crashes into a wall of warm, hard muscle.
“Sorry!” I start, but stop abruptly when I meet the familiar cold stare.
“Charlie.” His eyes drop down to my ankles, then follow a path up my bare legs, waist and breasts, before settling back on my face with a frown.
“Danny,” I choke out, ignoring the somersaults in my stomach as he says my name.
He clears his throat. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Likewise,” I fire back. “Why are you here?” I glare at him. “I specifically asked Tristan if he was coming here tonight.”
“I’m not here with Tristan.”
I turn my head to see leggy Jen watching us. She flashes me a fake smile.
“Excuse me,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “I need to get back to my table. Unless you want me to move tables? Or restaurants if I’m too much of an inconvenience?”
We stare at each other, the tension flowing between us like a live wire.
Such a damn pity I want this jerk’s hard cock inside me.
I wrench my gaze from him and step around him.
“Wait.” His hand engulfs my lower arm, and I feel myself stiffen under his touch. “Can we start acting like adults? All this melodrama is giving me whiplash.”
I look at him flatly. “Maybe when you start treating me like one? You failed to tell me that you were planning to buy my company and get rid of me. We even talked about Dunley at the party! How embarrassing. So excuse me if I feel a little put out. You had this planned for ages, didn’t you?”
His pause gives me my answer.
To my left, a camera phone clicks, and we both turn to see a Walkie groupie taking photos for the ‘gram.
“Don’t fucking start this here in the middle of the restaurant, Charlie,” he growls, his arm tightening around mine.
“Don’t you fucking start.” I jerk my arm away from him. “You don’t have to worry about me embarrassing you here, Danny. Or in the office or at Tristan’s parties. It was much nicer when we ignored each other.”
I march towards the table without looking back.
“What’s he doing here?” Ben asks when I return to the table.
“Eating. Exactly like us,’ I snap, and immediately regret it. “Sorry.”
Ben’s brows furrow. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“Like he’s going to kill me?” I mutter.
“No.” He scowls. “Like he’s going to eat you.”
His scowl deepens as he stares over my shoulder. “He’s watching you right now.”
I’ll give Danny Walker something to watch.
“Ignore him.” I lean into Ben and slide my legs between his. Then I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in for what might be the longest, most passionate kiss of our relationship.
Grinning, Ben releases himself from my lock. “Let’s get the bill quickly.” He signals to the waitress.
She walks over, smiling. “It’s your lucky night. Your bill has already been paid by the gentleman on the corner table. As an olive branch to Charlie, he said?” She raises her eyebrows hoping we’ll understand what that means.
The others look equally confused and ecstatic.
As I flip around in Danny Walker’s direction, he raises his glass with a curt nod.
Incredulous, I stare back at him.
“Is that … Danny Walker?” Bernice gasps. “Danny Walker is buying our dinner?”
“Prick,” Ben says, grimacing.
The waitress’s jaw drops. “The Danny Walker?”
There’s a barrage of questions about why Danny Walker is buying our six hundred quid dinner.
“How do you know him?”
“What did we do to deserve this?”
“Aren’t we going to thank him?”
“No,” I reply through gritted teeth as I restrain Andrea from running at him.
If this arrogant git thinks he can throw money at the situation, he has another thing coming.
“Excuse me, Miss?” I turn to face the waitress. “How much is his dinner bill so far? I’m going to repay the favour.”
“About three hundred pounds, give or take.” She looks at me blankly. “You want to pay for his dinner?”
This is going to be an expensive night.
“Charge it to my card.” I plaster a smile on my face as I hand her the card. “Can you give the gentleman a message, please?”
“Of course.” She beams, delighted to have the excuse to talk to him again. They always are.
“Tell him that, unlike all his other women, I won’t be bought.”
***
“Did you have a good night, honey?” Ben whispers in my ear as we snuggle up in bed.
I smile at him fondly and lie. “The best.”
“Sorry the girls were wedding mad. I hope it wasn’t too boring for you.”
“It was fine.” I run my hand down his manly jawline affectionately, and he kisses me softly on the nose.
Ben really is a great guy. He is good to look at, good to me, and good to old ladies crossing the street. The man is a catch, and I don’t deserve him.
“Are you happy, Charlie?” he asks softly, his eyes full of fear and hope.
“Yes, Ben, of course.” I pull him close, and we share a comforting embrace. Why do I feel so guilty?
Ben drifts off to sleep quickly, content with my answer. I watch him sleep, wondering why I’m feeling so restless myself.
I finally fall asleep at 4 a.m., and I dream of a white wedding where I’m walking down the aisle, and everyone is smiling at me, but something’s wrong, and I can’t figure out what it is. Is my bra too tight? Is my tan too orange? Ben is waiting at the end of the aisle.
“It’s the missus,” people are shouting. “It’s the missus.”
I jerk up in bed as I wake up in a sweat.
I look down at Ben’s beautiful silhouette under the blankets, and panic rips through me.
A missus wears rollers, large support bras, cashmere jumpers with pearls on them and carries tissues in their pockets. My mother is a missus. I am most definitely not.
***
Danny
“You’re late,” I mutter, watching the stunning hostess take off Tristan’s coat.
“When am I early?” He grins, handing her a twenty.
She purrs back at him, and I roll my eyes. Tristan has women hanging off him everywhere he goes; bars, offices, gyms, churches …. He even had the audacity to pick up a nurse when I was having shoulder surgery.
He nods to the three empty glasses. “I see you’ve started without us.”
“Long week,” I grimace, downing my third scotch.
I nod curtly to the waitress for the same again. Unlike Tristan, I’m not charming.
“Here’s Knight.” He nods to the club door where Jack is being led in through the curtain. “I can always rely on him to be later than me.”
“I heard that,” Jack responds as he flashes a large smile at the hostess. With her heels, she’s at least six feet and almost face to face with Jack. Looking sheepish, he sits down. “I did a quick pit-stop at Yoga Teacher Sara’s.”
“You dirty dog.” Tristan laughs loudly. “I hope you’ve washed your hands.”
“Pale Ale, please.” Jack smiles at the waitress and winks at us. “Better wash my mouth out too.”
“Jesus, Jack.” I shake my head. “It’s not even dinner time yet.”
“What’s up with you, Walker?” he asks as he loosens his tie. “You seemed really uptight on the phone.”
“Is it Jen?” Tristan raises his eyebrows at me.
I stare at him. It takes me a second to register who he’s talking about.
“No.” I almost laugh. Jen is not a problem at all.
“The acquisition then?” he prompts, looking at me in confusion. “I’ve never seen you this unnerved before.”
I grind my teeth together. Why am I so uptight?
I lost a sale worth ten million a year in revenue last week, and that didn’t faze me. What the hell is wrong with me?
“It’s not Charlie, is it?”
I give him a double look. Why’s he bringing up his sister? It’s day three of being in the office with her, and I’m wound up so tight I’m exploding at everyone. They think I’m a monster, just like she does.
“Mate, you don’t need to worry about how I’m reacting. I get it,” he says when I don’t respond.
“She didn’t take it well, Tristan.” I sigh, wondering why I’m straying into this conversation. “Has she spoken to you?”
“No, not really.” He shakes his head. “I’m getting radio silence which is why I know she’s upset.”
He stops talking, distracted by the waitress placing our drinks tray on the table.
“You did what you needed to do.” Tristan shrugs. “She’ll come round. She’s just proud. It’s the first company she’s ever worked at, and she’s been at it a long time, so she’s emotionally attached.”
“She’ll snap your offer up when she realises what a dick you are to work for.” Jack laughs. “Doesn’t she read the papers?”
Tristan smirks. “To Danny the Destroyer.”
They raise their glasses in a toast, and I roll my eyes.
“‘Walker wipes out another competitor in his quest for domination‘ was the headline last week,” Tristan chuckles.
“Don’t start.” I grimace. With every takeover, my reputation gets dragged through the mud further. I’m the poster boy of the evil tech industry. “And quit with that fucking name,” I add. “It makes me sound like a comic villain. Which I am, according to Charlie. She’s furious. No employee has ever talked back to me like she has.”
“That’s Charlie, hot-headed.” Tristan chuckles.
Hot-headed? More like downright fucking difficult. Spurting out whatever is in her head without thinking, doesn’t she know how to act in an office?
“I saw her at the restaurant last night.” My jaw tightens. “You didn’t say she would be there. She nearly burst my balls in the middle of dinner.”
“She can burst my balls anytime.” Jack gives a low whistle. “Sorry, Tristan, but the girl gets hotter every time I see her.”
“Careful, Knight,” he growls. Tristan would send both of his sisters to a convent in the mountains if he could. Since Tristan’s dad did a runner and left Tristan with the three Kane women, he took on the dad role, which involved vetting boyfriends. The minute there was even a whiff of any of us going near Charlie, he would have our balls in a vice.
“As a peace offering, I paid for her and her friends’ dinner,” I explain. “It backfired,” I continue through gritted teeth. “She threw it back in my face. When I went to pay my bill, she had already paid it. She said something about me trying to buy her.”
Tristan throws his head back, laughing. “You just can’t seem to win with Charlie. What did you do to rub her up so much the wrong way?”
I squirm in my seat as I recall the look she gave me after she crushed her breasts against my chest. It was as if I was the worst man in the world. I can do no right with the woman. I pay for her and her friends’ fucking cocktails, and she takes a strop?
His brows lift. “Want me to talk to her?”
“No,” I reply, too quickly. The less Tristan talks to Charlie about this, the better.
I know I was harsh with her over the redundancy offer. I thought giving her the offer myself would make it better, but it made it too personal. She knows exactly how to push my buttons, and I handled the situation like a jackass.
She’d been right, Mike was useless, and that wasn’t her fault.
I figured she’d be happy about the generous pay-out. I had her new company write an open start date into her contract, so she could take some time off and travel. Why wasn’t she happy?
Of course, Tristan knows that too, which is why he’s been acting so reasonable.
“Mate, I know I’ll get lynched for saying this,” Jack says. “But as a red-blooded male, I think you should keep Charlie out of your cesspit of a friendship circle. Half of the city’s financial district tried their chances at that party.”
My eyes widen. Drop it, Jack.
“They wouldn’t fucking dare,” Tristan growls, narrowing his eyes at Jack. “That goes for you too, Knight, get any ideas of my sister out of your sordid mind.”
Jack laughs. “I wouldn’t go there. I like having my balls attached to my body. It’s just a warning, Kane.” He shrugs. “She looks good. Every dick in that party was standing to attention. If you insist on inviting her to the same parties that you invite your sordid lecherous mates to, well, you only have yourself to blame.”
“Fuck’s sake, Knight.” Tristan glowers at him.
I need to steer this topic away before I’m exposed as a sordid lecherous mate.
“You’ve made your point, Jack,” I say. “Don’t make him as uptight as me, for God’s sake.”
“Maybe you’re uptight because the waitress is eyeing me rather than you.” Tristan grins.
“I can soon change that,” I respond, raising my glass to her suggestively. She gives me a flirty smile.
“She’s all yours.” Tristan smirks at me. “You and Jen aren’t exclusive then?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve made it very clear; I’m not interested in commitment.”
Jack tips his head back and laughs. “You’re forty-one now, Walker. You have a beautiful young human rights lawyer who wants to have sex with you every night despite you having the charisma of a cockroach and you still don’t want to commit? What exactly do you want?”
“Variety.” I grit my teeth.
“He’s got the right attitude,” Tristan says dryly. “No commitment, no chance of a fucking bitch ex-wife to deal with.”
“Hear, hear.” I raise my glass, thinking of my own disastrous divorce. “What’s the latest?” I ask.
Marrying Gemina was Tristan’s most financially and emotionally expensive mistake, eleven years on, and he is still paying for it. As far as divorces were concerned, his was as hostile as they come. The woman was pure toxicity, letting him think Daniel was his son while she was shagging behind his back. He spent four years believing that he was Daniel’s father, only to find out it was some bloke she met in a Monaco nightclub.
Now Daniel is six, and Tristan still treats him as a son but has few rights. He hasn’t a leg to stand on legally, meaning Gemina can demand extortionate amounts in spousal and child support to fund her diamond fetish.
Tristan’s brows form a deep frown.
I don’t know why I brought it up. It pains me to see how much stress the situation puts on him; it’s like a dark shadow over him. He needs to deal with it.
I know he lies awake at night worrying about never seeing Daniel again, that she’ll just take off with some geezer.
“She’s demanding I buy her a holiday home in France,” he replies flatly. “Says she needs to be near her sister.”
“You’ve already bought her two houses,” I seethe. “How many does she need?”
“If it’s not a house, it’s a boat or a car or a fucking island,” Jack says. “How do we sort this bitch out once and for all?”
“No, Jack, we can’t have her offed.” Tristan rolls his eyes. “I just have to keep paying if I want to see my son.” His face darkens. “I can’t lose my son.”
“You won’t,” I say quickly. “We have enough cash to keep paying her until we find a better solution. Like death.”
“Glad I chose a rich godfather.” He chuckles as I beckon the hot waitress over to us.
She sashays over.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I drain the rest of my scotch glass. “Hi.” I flash her a smile. “What’s your name?”
