Page 1 of Forbidden Temptations

RichardMartinalwayshatedHolmes & Raine’s Christmas parties. The décor reminded him of a cheap Hammer Horror set. The atmosphere was reminiscent of a funeral. And worst of all, they were organised in August and hosted in early November.

Each year, the bosses would present a laundry list of reasons for the premature celebration, but everyone knew those were merely a smokescreen, devised to mask the fact that it cost considerably less to hold a Christmas party before December.

Frankly, Richard wondered why they bothered even holding a party, or, for that matter, made attendance mandatory.

Subtly pushing up his left sleeve cuff, he checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. To his utter disgust, the digital display indicated that it was just10:03 pm. Thepartywould go on for at least another hour, maybe even two, God forbid!

The dining hall of the Cheltenham Premier Inn was a hive of colour and light as thevaluedisco ball fitted to the ceiling pelted the chamber with light beams and the speakers blared out a stream of Christmas hits from the 90s.

The walls were decorated in red and white. Mistletoe hung on strands of crimson silk, and an artificial Christmas tree stood in the centre of the room beside a folding table heavily laden with snacks and refreshments.

The guests appeared jubilant and festive as they revelled in small groups evenly spaced around the cavernous chamber, mirroring the groups that clung together around the office’s coffee and tea machines.

They were garbed elegantly in suits and dresses, a façade of wealth and importance that was as phoney as their smiling faces. God, he needed a drink.

Resisting the urge to check his watch, Richard got up from his assigned seat and moved into the crowd, the wooden soles of his shoes clapping loudly on the tiles as he weaved a path between the mingling bodies, nodding politely at anyone who noticed him, towards the overloaded folding table.

There were ample snacks and refreshments, Asda’s finest.

Diced sausage rolls, cocktail sausages, crisps, biscuits, fruit and cheese on cocktail sticks, mini-pizzas, and even some slices of chocolate sponge. All laid out in white china bowls and saucers around two large bottles of Jacob’s Creek and Honeyed Jack Daniel’s, as well as a jug of iced orange squash.

Two high towers of Styrofoam cups had been erected between the bottles.

Taking the cup on the top of the tower, he contemplated the wine for a moment, tempted to pour a drink, but then thought better of it. Alice would kill him if she found out. Grumbling inwardly, he mournfully poured himself a squash.

The wine was probably vinegar anyway, he reasoned, before twisting to take another look around the room while sipping the fruity beverage.

He glimpsed Stacy Stevens, a pretty part-timer, in the firm’s mailroom with long raven black hair and milky skin, nervously edging through the crowd in her black lacy dress and flat-bottomed shoes; somehow seeming even more uncomfortable than him amongst the revellers.

Nearby, he saw Mark McClaine, his office colleague and friend, and his wife Rachael deep in conversation with another couple he didn’t recognise. And deepest amidst the denizens, the firm’s MD, Derik Holmes, was conversing with the heads of departments and grinning broadly as he took long swigs from a monogrammed silver and crocodile-leather hip flask.

Silver-haired, rosy-faced, and with the frame of a barrel wrapped in Armani, Derik was the very embodiment of opulent living and Richard could only hope the man didn’t notice him for he was awfully fond of mocking and belittling anyone whom he considered beneath him.

Fortunately, the four department heads seemed to be commanding the full wrath of the Director’s humour and he failed to notice the lowly bookkeeper standing beside the refreshments.

Alas, there was no sign of Alice amidst the sea of faces, but neither, thankfully, could he see…

“Well, well, well, look who we have here?” an all too familiar voice said silkily.

Fuck. Throwing his head back, Richard drained the cup in a single swig before placing it back on the table and turning, slowly, around to be confronted by the vision of his supervisor, Scarlet Holmes, standing before him.

Strikingly beautiful with soft features and sun-kissed skin, her hair was long, wavy tresses of honey blonde that reached down to her shoulders.

Clad in a dark blue pencil dress that went well with her almost unnaturally bright baby blue eyes and clung to her slender figure, the low-cut V-neckline offering a tantalising glimpse of her ample cleavage, she would have seemed utterly radiant if he hadn’t known the beauty was only skin deep.

“Hi Scarlet,” he said nervously before flashing her a smile he was certain Stevie Wonder would have seen through; “enjoying the party?”

“Mmm…” she purred, watching him with a wicked amusement that Richard wasn’t sure he liked. Then again, he rarely knew how to feel around Scarlet Holmes.

Though she’d only been twenty-three and barely out of University when she joined the firm, she was also the CEO’s daughter and had leapt over the heads of a dozen more highly qualified employees to get the Accounting Supervisor’s position.

What made it all the worse was, unlike the stereotypical cliché of a ditzy boss’s daughter, Scarlet actually knew her trade. Despite having an attitude that constantly swung from aggressive to flirtatious, she had a genuine business acumen as well as a knack for people and figures.

She was ambitious and worked tirelessly to ensure that she and her people regularly went above and beyond.

Thanks largely to her efforts, they were now the top performing team in the firm and rumour had it, she was about to be promoted to the Head of the Accounts Department. However, there were also whispers. Rumour had it that she’d had numerous affairs with more than half the firm’s employees, many of whom were happily married.

For his part, Richard preferred not to put stock in the storm of office gossip that followed where ever she went, but in one thing, at least, the rumours were true. She was a real tight arse.

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