Breaking Leila (5 page)

“Since last
night?”

“It’s
complicated.”

“Oh.” He took a
huge gulp of wine. “Is it me?”

“No, no. It’s
not like that. Um.” Why had I agreed to even have this
conversation? “I don’t need to do the job anymore.”

“That’s
convenient,” he muttered.

“No, really.
The only reason I was ever doing it–”

“I honestly don’t want to know
 
why
 
you were doing it, Leila.
Knowing that you were doing it was bad enough.”

The meals
arrived and I pushed salad leaves around my plate. Shame made the
cutlery sticky in my fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I
phrased that badly.” He sighed. “I just…I mean, before last night,
I never would have thought I could have liked something like
that.”

“What do you
mean?”

“Having somebody watch. Sharing.” He lowered his voice.
“
Paying
. I
expected to think differently of you afterward–well,
I
 
do
–but it’s like I’m more shocked at
myself. Which is…uh. Well.”

I pushed my
foot against his. “You know, it’s actually quite normal to like
those things. I’ve seen worse.”

“I bet you
have.” Now he blushed, too. We were like a pair of Cripps apples.
“I don’t know. Joseph told me about what happened after I’d left
and I could tell you wanted him more than me anyway–”

“That’s not
true,” I insisted.

“I...I never
expected to be jealous.”

“It was going
to be just a bit of fun, huh?”

“No. Well.” He
paused. “He was going to hire you anyway. I don’t know, it was all
very weird. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to
do it...and I could think of nothing worse than watching the two of
you today, wondering what had gone on. Besides.” His upper lip
twitched. “Didn’t trust him entirely.”

We rolled those
thoughts into balls, decided where to throw them. Cutlery rang
against plates as we ate.

“You could have warned me,” I said. Charlotte shrieked it in
my head: could have
 
fucking
 
warned me!

He winced. “I
thought about it, Leila. But he only told me a little while before,
and we weren’t a hundred percent certain it was you… I mean,
Christ. How would that conversation have gone?”

“You were
worried I’d know you looked at those sites.”

“No. Maybe. But
I’m not.” He gave me big, dark eyes. “I’m still not that guy.”

“You know it
was just sex, right? I know we said we liked each other, but–”

“
Just sex
 
was when I got drunk at
Christmas and tried to screw Poppy,” he grumbled.

Choking is
unladylike. That did not stop me. “I knew something like that went
on! Did you...?”

“The clue is in
 
tried
. Glad I didn’t, though. She had that waxy taste like too
much lipstick.” He sat back and his brows darted together.
“Seriously, would you think about having dinner with
me?”

“Why did you never ask me before?” The notion played on my
conscience, always.
 
He wants a freebie. He thinks
you’re fair game.
 
Was he really that type? And was it a freebie anyway if I’d
give it willingly?

He shrugged. “I
don’t know. Figured you’d probably say no. And you would have,
wouldn’t you? Being…you know.”

“A whore.”

Matt winced. “A
 
call girl
.”

“I’m surprised
you’re so okay with that.”

“I don’t know
that I am.” He leaned forward to brush his fingers against mine.
“Will you?”

“I’d like to.”
I drew my hand away reluctantly. “I can’t, though. Not now.”

“Is there
something you’re not telling me?”

“Yes. No. Ugh.”
Wine licked the rim of my glass as I tilted it.

“Are you and
Joseph involved?”

“No,” I lied,
lowering my eyes. “I told you, it’s complicated.”

“You’re not
doing much to ease the jealousy, you know.” He tugged at his collar
as if it might pull him elsewhere.

“Look. We’ve
still got two months of working together, and it’s important that
we stay focused. It’d probably be a bad idea anyway. But I…I don’t
regret what we did.”

“No?”

Matt’s eyes
were so big, searching, I wanted to take him somewhere quiet and
knead the torment away. I fantasized very briefly about creeping
under the table and sucking him off– anything to detract from the
fact that I’d rejected him and I didn’t entirely know why.

Charlotte did,
but she whistled absently.

“What are you
smiling for?” he demanded.

I peered up
through my eyelashes. “It’s naughty.”

“Don’t tease
me, okay? It’s bad enough just looking at you.”

We sat in
silence as he paid. His fingers smacked off the buttons on the card
machine and it hissed as it spewed a receipt.

“So...friends,
then?” I asked.

“Friends,” he
said reluctantly, “if that’s what you want.”

“It makes the
most sense, you know.”

“I liked
absence of sense.” He sulked. “It was fun.”

* * * *

I got home late
that evening. Matt and I had been stuck in a conference call with
some French accountants–it was no more fun than it sounded, and the
translator kept wandering off for cigarette breaks.

I didn’t share
my flat. I’d have saved a pile of money, but I didn’t want anyone
to know about my extra-curricular activities. I only took a few
jobs a week but I kept some strange hours, and there were only so
many times I could fall back in at two AM with stockings tied
around my wrists in makeshift handcuffs without someone getting
suspicious.

The first
thing I did was switch on my agency phone. As expected, I had a
passive aggressive voicemail from William, my other boss. I slid
out of my wet coat and dialled his number.

“Finally.” His
Scottish accent elongated the word. “Leila, what the hell is this
message from John? I’ve already had inquiries for this
evening–”

“I’m sorry, I’m
sorry,” I said. “I just...I decided I didn’t need to work the last
three. I’m done.”

“Did something
go wrong last night? John said you looked fine.”

I suppose it depends on your definition of
 
wrong
, hmm? “It was fine. I'm fine.” Cushions melted around me as
I sat down. “I know I should have told you myself, and I was going
to call tonight anyway–”

“You’re going
to piss off a lot of clients.”

“There are tons
of girls who’d love a place on your books. You’re special.”

“Ladarna
doesn’t want any of those girls,” he whinged. “Look, Leila. Please.
Just this weekend?”

I sighed. “I’m
sorry, Will. You’ve been really good to me. I’ve got my reasons,
okay?”

“Did you get a
boyfriend? Is that what this is about?” Oh, how he teased me.
Arsehole.

“I wish. I
really am sorry, you know.”

“You’re still
coming to my wedding, madam.”

“Of course I
am, although I still haven’t picked an outfit...”

“Women! You’re
a pain in the gooch as a species, bunch of fickle–”

“All right.
You’ve made your point.” I eyed the fridge. Was there milk for
cereal? Breakfast of champions...dinner of whores. “Did John give
you what I owed?”

“Yes, yes.”
With a great rush of static air, he exhaled. “We’ll miss you, you
know. Thought you’d at least make it a year.”

“I know.” I
smiled. “Thank you.”

For twelve
months, that second phone had constituted my social life–or lack
thereof. It had made sure I didn’t have time for the self-pity and
moping that my predicament made so tempting. Now it was an artefact
from a previous life.

Thanks to William, I had been indoctrinated by some of the
most notorious male escorts in London. Trust me, there was no
better way to be trained–they knew their way around a man’s body.
Ladarna:
 
bold
 
in the Gaelic. As one of only three girls on the agency’s
books, I got a party at William’s townhouse in my honour. They were
excited about me. It was a far better show than our welcome drinks
at Bach & Dagier, which had consisted of Matt’s favourite
activity–whinging about the recession–while the insolvency queens
and the litigators circled jugs of limp-fruited Pimm’s.

But my year at
the Ladarna was over.

I had been a
successful whore, now just a few grand away from paying off my
parents’ debt.

And beneath the
slick knickers and the pink-smudged welts, I was as empty as every
encounter, and Charlotte was full of herself.

* * * *

Friday. The
longest day of the week.

There was
always a stack of loose ends on my desk in the morning, always a
list of errands to run before the bank closed–and beyond. This
Friday, my desk bore something a tad more interesting: a delicate
bunch of peonies and a watermarked card.

My office,
first thing.

I straightened my clingy wrap dress and strode over to
knock.
 
Deep
breath, now
.

“Come in,” he
called.

Sunlight
spilled through the blinds and draped him in syrupy shadows. I had
to swallow before I spoke. “You wanted to see me?”

He nodded in
his chair. “Have a seat.”

My heels that day were shameful, and what sounded like
crushed carpet was a
 
who are you dressing up for,
hmm?
 
Joseph
leaned out a little and I slid on to his desk. My bare legs swung
against his.

“I have another
job for you.” He smiled. “Tonight.”

“Oh?”
 
Oh.

“Does that
please you?” He walked his fingers walked along my thigh.

“Depends what
the job is.”

“Dinner...and
home to play.”

I caught his
hand. His shoulders squared, arms went stiff. A few days ago, had I
been called into his office like this, a chair and a desk would
have kept me at a safe distance. Now, he sought to violate more
than just personal space, and...Jesus. Had it always been this way?
Joseph abusing my secret, and me, manipulating his desire.

There was a
reason why this wasn’t part of my day job. If only I could remember
what it was…

“My girlfriend,
Isobel–she’s always wanted to be with another woman. It’s her
birthday.”

“Oh.” I snapped
my thighs shut before he turned the lawyer back into the whore.
“Happy birthday, Isobel.”

“She isn’t to
know what you do. You’re a friend of mine. Is that clear?” He
stroked my knee. “You’ll need to be a little more professional than
you were on Wednesday.”

“I’ll be on my
best behaviour.”

“You’re to
leave for the bathroom half-way through the meal. At the end, if I
ask you back for drinks, it means she likes you. If I say I’ll see
you on Monday...we’ll find another job.” A sleek glass paperweight
sat beside us, long and meandering, shaped like a Chinese dragon.
He began to knead it in his fist.

“It will all be
for Isobel,” he said. “She won’t want me to touch you.”

“Of
course.”

Either he was
going to melt that paperweight, or split it in two. God, I knew how
that felt. His knuckles twitched beneath the skin. A little part of
Joseph was always spoiling for a fight.

“I want you to
pleasure her. I want you to teach her to pleasure you.”

“I’ve done that
before,” I managed.

“Apparently,
there’s a lot you’ve done before,” he said dryly.

I bit my lip
to stifle a grin. “Did I disappoint you, Mr Merchant?”

“No,
Leila.”

I shifted about
on my hands. I was, embarrassingly, beginning to stick to his
desk.

“You’re a man
of...fewer words than usual.”

“I keep going
to make the kind of bad innuendo you and Gordon come out with.” He
groaned. “Less is more. Well.” He nudged my closed legs again.
“Except there. If you want to wear less, then I won’t be
complaining.”

I nodded
sagely. “I’ll ask Sadie if we can have a no knickers day for
charity.”

“I’m about to embarrass myself with a
cliché–so
 
mush
.” He laid the paperweight on a
stack of folders and stood up. Now he could stare down at me, no
longer a girl but just a puddle about his feet.

“Kiss me,” I
pleaded.

Instead, he
cupped my jaw and his mouth fell to my throat, where he dragged
tiny kisses that made me shiver.

“I’m going to
give you this now.” A brown envelope landed in my lap.

“Thank you.
Sir.” I straightened myself up, sliding off the desk. “Should I
bring the others in...?”

An indulgent
grin lit his cheeks. “Give me ten minutes.” He knotted thick
fingers across his crotch.

“Ten it is.” I hit the carpet again and my heels chatted
between themselves.
 
Crunch crunch.

Outside,
Bhan–uncharacteristically early–eyed the envelope in my hand with
suspicion.

“Crikey,” he
said, “did you get a warning, too?”

* * * *

The day dragged
so heavily after that.

Matt threw green-eyed glares at the peonies on my desk
because he didn’t believe that I’d brought them in any more than
Poppy did. Things might have felt awkward between us
after
 
the
talk
 
yesterday, but all I could think about was Joseph, and I
hadn’t even cleaned myself up after our breakfast tease. I sat in
my wet lace knickers all day, smiling to myself as they stuck to
hidden places.