Breaking Leila (35 page)

We headed down to dinner separately. The last to arrive–I’d
been on the phone to Mum and Dad–I took the only remaining
seat...next to Matt. Yves sat opposite and he blinked at me as I
sank down, evidently still half unconscious.
 
Hello, I work for you,
moron!
 
Matt
shifted, pulling his legs in so we wouldn’t touch.

I eyed Joseph
on the other end of the table and he smiled back innocently. He had
done this on purpose…charming.

“Are you okay,
Leila?” asked Sadie, leaning over to nudge me.

“Oh…of course.
Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“It
 
is
 
nearly eleven, technically,” said Poppy. “On home
time.”

“Glad I’m not
the only one,” I said, ducking my head to scour the grill menu.

“If I have any
wine, I think I might pass out.” Sadie smiled as her eyes darted to
Yves. I stifled a giggle.

We skipped starters and I followed suit with the men,
ordering a rare steak; I needed the fuel. Endlessly patient waiters
poured wine, and though they had better things to do than chat to
Yves about region and vintage, they answered his queries with
polite smiles.
 
Yes Sir, yes Ma’am.
 
In England, staff made that
kind of address with such irony.

“Tomorrow,
then,” Joseph said, looking pointedly at the trainees’ side of the
table. “You’ll be down in the conference room for nine AM sharp for
your pitches.”

“Can I go
first?” Poppy asked.

“We’ll decide
at random, though your enthusiasm is duly noted, St. Clare.”

“Does it matter
if it isn’t very long?” Matt’s voice was monotone.

Joseph narrowed
his eyes. “Depends what you mean by not very long. There’s a fair
amount to get through if you’ve done it properly.”

“Right.” Matt’s shoulders slumped.
 
I
 
had done this.
Must...not...crawl under the table.

Please, please
don’t screw up because of me.

“I’m sure you’re just very concise,” I said weakly, trying to
catch his eye. He shot me a look:
 
you can fuck right
off
.

Ouch.

The food
arrived then. I glanced around at Poppy and Sadie’s grilled fish
and felt like a glutton with my bloody meat and shoestring fries. I
didn’t have the energy to care, though. The serrated knife sank
through my steak as if it were butter.

“We go in to
greet Redfish on Tuesday morning,” Joseph went on. “It’s on the
itinerary–the breakfast meeting. We pitch in the afternoon and
negotiate on Wednesday. All going well, we close it up on Thursday
and take them for lunch on Friday, before we fly.” He paused for a
gulp of wine. “In the evenings, it’s likely you’ll be invited
out–go. Befriend them, get under their skin. It’s a lot harder for
them to say no if you get that right.” He glared at Yves over his
glass. “Just don’t get shitfaced.”

“I’ve got
expenses cards for all of you,” Sadie added. “You’ll get them on
Tuesday.”

Ooh.

“And don’t buy
them Champagne,” said Joseph. “It’s too presumptuous. You want to
impress someone, you get a good single malt–if the place you’re in
doesn’t have Scotch, you need to go elsewhere.”

“What about
Champagne cocktails?” I asked. The flavour of the one he’d made in
that hotel flooded my tongue, and the pomegranate was tart and
sweet.

“Don’t ask
stupid questions.” The words were firm, but a smile poked
beneath.

Sadie, Poppy
and Joseph all ordered little custard flans for dessert. I had no
room. Matt’s nervous twitches had spoiled my appetite. I didn’t
want to belong to him, but I could have so easily rested a palm on
his thigh under the table, would have relished the little sigh as I
teased him. Like eating the steak, I hungered for the meat but
barely bothered with the flavour beneath.

Maybe steak
wasn’t right for me. Just the most obvious thing on the menu.

Or maybe I was
shallow. Horribly so.

Chapter 16

As soon as we’d
finished eating, I made my excuses and Sadie walked back to the
lift with me.

“Are you as
tired as me?” she asked.

A hot yawn
rushed against my palm as I raised it. “Yep. I need my beauty
sleep.”

“I think I need
a beauty coma.”

“Sounds good to
me.” I giggled. “Though you need nothing of the sort.”

We stepped into
the lift.

“Ah, thank you,
Leila.” She reached toward the button for her floor, hesitated, and
switched to mine.

She knew I was
in Joseph’s room. She would have made all the bookings. Had she
kept it a secret?

“Have you got
any plans for tomorrow?” I felt obliged to make conversation as the
levels ticked by.

“Mostly
panicking that Joseph doesn’t have all his paperwork, getting Yves
out of bed in time for their breakfast conference, and then
panicking some more.” She nodded, as if to add a full-stop. “That’s
about the size of it.”

“Sounds
stressful.”

She shrugged.
“I like to be busy.”

“Very useful in
this field, although I mostly like to be lazy.”

“If you produce
such good results when lazy, you’ll be a partner before you know
it, Leila.” There was something knowing to her smile; I didn’t know
what to make of it. “He thinks a lot of you.”

“Uh…thanks.”
The bell rang and the doors slid open. I stepped out. “I’ll see you
tomorrow, then. Hope you get some sleep.”

“I hope so,
too.”

I spent a
moment wondering why the door didn’t work until I realized my key
card was upside down. Back in the bedroom, I kicked off my heels
and slid out of my dress, stumbling toward the shower. Nineteen
hours of wakey-time made for a very dull head.

My phone
shrieked as I sank on to the bed in a swathe of black towels.

“I’m here,
Lei-Lei!” Aidan cried. “The Big Apple, the metropolis, Gotham, the
city that never sleeps–except that everyone’s sleeping with
everybody–woop woop!”

I winced. “Good
flight, hmm?”

“Fucking awful.
Not everyone gets to go Geronimo tosspot class, you know. I sat
next to a drug mule who smelt like wet dog.”

“You wish.” I
grinned. “Are you checked in?”

“No, I’m still
at the airport. Just about to get a cab. You’re at the New Pearl
Hall, right?”

“Yep. In my
suite,” I added smugly.

“Ahh. Sex with
a super villain.”

“He’s not a
villain!”

“Oh, he so is.
We have to meet for drinks tomorrow and you can tell your lairy
fagfather all about it,” he demanded.

“I thought you weren’t a fag. You’re
 
bi
,”
I chided.

“Yeah, but you
have to make it work for the line, Lei-Lei.”

“If you say so.
I’ll let you know when I’m free, okay? I might be otherwise engaged
if Joseph gets his way.”

“How are you even free to talk to me? Shouldn’t you be
impaled on his dastardly pork sword of destruction right now? Is
he
 
ill
?”

I laughed so
hard that I let go of my towel and fell back on the pillows, still
soaked. “He’s having drinks with his colleague, I think.”

“Ooh. Get him.
He ought to be banging you–he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

I considered
telling Aidan about my brief celibacy, but I didn’t think it was
something he could ever understand. “Have you heard from Matt at
all?”

“In a fashion.
He texts me one word answers,” he whined. “The poor guy needs
cocktails. Or maybe just cock. I’m thinking cocktails are a gentle
introduction.”

“Not everyone
is broken by mojitos.”

“And that is
why we have Rohypnol.” He sighed. “It’s still worth a go.”

“I have things
to do, you know.”

“Places to go,
vegetables to insert? I know what you’re like alone in hotel
rooms–”

“This, coming from
 
you
?”
I laughed. “Goodnight, Captain Cock.”

I blotted my
hair with a towel and slathered myself in body lotion. I’d have
used oil, but God, those sheets felt expensive. When I crawled
beneath the cool, silky covers, I wondered whether Matt had done
the same yet. If he was okay.

And I wondered
what Joseph was doing down at the bar. He’d said he’d be late. I
couldn’t imagine Yves staying upright for much longer. Joseph’s
pillow looked strangely empty and I stroked it as I splayed out in
the bed we were to share. It seemed sterile in his absence.

He would be
here soon enough. We would sleep next to each other, like
lovers.

Do I get
something your clients don’t?

You can come
sleep next to me, if you want.

I liked the
idea more than I should.

* * * *

When the bed
braced with Joseph’s weight the suite was black save for the light
that bled through the door frame. I mewed sleepily as he tugged up
the covers, the cold air rushed in, then I was wrapped in warm
skin, his nakedness spooning mine.

“What time is
it?” I whispered.

“Late, baby.”
He kissed the back of my neck. “Well past midnight. Are we good,
now?”

“It’s like
Christmas. It doesn’t count until you wake up.” I yawned.

“Not sure
that’d pass in court.” His arms went rigid around me. “I’m twice
your weight, more or less. I could have you if I wanted.”

There was a
time when the way those words made me wet would have shamed me.
Once. But not now.

“What’s your
point?”

He bit into my
shoulder and I gasped at the sting of his teeth. We lay in silence,
the air heavy as we took shallow breaths.

“Leila?”

“Yes?”

“Is everything
all right?”

“Why does
everyone keep asking me that?”

“I meant
between us.”

I rolled over
to face him in the near-dark and fell face-first into the scents of
toothpaste and soap. “Of course it is.”

He stroked a
curl from my cheek. “I can get you your own room if it’s what you
really want.”

“Oh, no.” I
kissed him, cupping his cheeks and surprising myself at my own
passion. “I’m sorry I’ve made things so awkward. I just…I feel like
I don’t know you.”

He laughed, and
I was paranoid for a moment that he mocked me. “Girls like you
aren’t meant to say things like that.”

“You don’t feel
like a client.” I’d said the same thing the first time he hired
me.

“That wasn’t
what I meant…but you don’t feel like a call girl,” he replied,
repeating his own line. “And I have to be up in five hours–hardly
the time for my life story, Bond movie that it is.”

“But who are
you?” I echoed the question I’d dreamed.

“Not entirely
sure. Ask me another.”

“What are you?”
My smile turned playful.

“Tired.
Frustrated. Awkwardly sober.”

“Not
 
that
 
tired.” I brushed his hard cock with my knee and he swatted
it away.

“One more
question, and that’s it. I need to sleep.”

“Okay,” I said
finally. “What’s your opinion on Ikea meatballs?”

One eye shot open beneath an arched blond brow.
“
Dra at helvete.”

“What…?”

“Oh.” He
paused. “You mean the actual meatballs, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Sorry. Thought
you were having a Swedish dig.”

“You’re
Swedish?” I wasn’t far off with Nordic, then. “I thought you were
American. Kind of.”

“I’m both, one
way or the other. But mainly British. I like British best.”

I poked him in
the ribs. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Mmm?”

“Meatballs,
Joe.”

“Processed
crap. Fucking disgusting.”

I feigned a
pout.

“Big bad wolves
don’t eat meatballs. We eat nuns. And accountants.” He shoved me
down with his free arm, holding my head on the pillow. “Now get
some sleep so you can resume being Red Riding Hood tomorrow.”

“Do I get a
badge with that on?” I giggled.

“I’m going to
punish your mouth first.”

I tugged his
hand around and licked his palm. “Sounds like a plan.”

I lay there, pressed into the curve of his body, comfortable
with him for the first time since we’d arrived. We had never spent
more than an hour alone. The excitement was heady, but this had a
familiar intimacy, too. He would lie next to me for a good few
hours, utterly naked…and I had chosen to
 
sleep
?

I bit along his
thumb and then his arm lightly, kissing his warm-smelling skin.

He groaned into
the back of my neck. “Wolves eat little girls too.”

* * * *

The six of us
looked rather silly in the boardroom that Monday morning. Like in
our suite, the ceilings soared and the long, polished table had
fallen straight out of a daytime TV show. Sadie wrestled with a
PowerPoint projector and I mostly panicked that I hadn’t done
anything with PowerPoint. I seethed silently at Poppy, who was
poised behind a shiny laptop, adjusting her glasses every two
minutes and chewing her bottom lip.

Matt, too,
seemed surprisingly organized. Joseph must have scared the shit out
him the previous night, because he arrived clutching a neat file of
highlighted notes and he also had a smarmy little presentation,
complete with clip-art.

I hated them
both for a good ten seconds. I hated myself even more for feeling
threatened because I’d been too wrapped up in my sad little soap
opera to do as much work.