Page 20 of Duplicity

‘Excellent. Well, I have a lot of expectations.’ I brush my thumb back and forth over her thigh, keeping my hand where it is. ‘Expectations that I’m going to work you hard, that you’regoing to blow my mind—which I know you are—and that I’m hopefully going to blow yours. Expectations that I’m going to use you to act out every filthy, depraved workplace fantasy I’ve ever, ever had, and that you’re single-handedly going to save me from the mind-numbing boredom of a desk job. How does that sound?’

She’s full-blown, deer-in-the-headlights stiff, her brown eyes wide with what looks like absolute terror, and I realise I may have shown my hand too quickly. Or, more accurately, that I’ve thrown the entire fucking deck of cards at the poor girl.Stupid move, Bren.

‘But we can work up to all that,’ I say hastily. ‘As far as I can see, the most important things are that we’ve both filled out our questionnaires, and that you give me your safeword, and that we use this evening to test the waters. Basically, tonight’s about you taking me for a test drive so you can see if you can bear to work for me.’

She takes a large slug of her wine before staring at me over the rim of the wineglass. ‘This is supposed to be my audition, not yours.’

I give her an easy laugh. ‘I think we both know that’s not true. I’d hire you on the spot without getting any further than this.’ I keep my thumb brushing over the skin of her thigh. ‘Nope, tonight is for you.’

The line has the desired effect—her shoulders drop a fraction, the death grip on her wineglass loosening slightly. It's a move I've perfected over the years—the art of appearing generous, self-deprecating, while gettingexactlywhat I want.

Classic Sullivan negotiation tactic.

But there's something about Marlowe that has me second-guessing my usual playbook. That first meeting at the RA, when my brain completely short-circuited... I can't afford a repeatperformance of that epic fail. If she walks away tonight, I'm back to Plain Elaine and my right hand for company.

She holds far more power here than she realises, so I’d better make my “pitch” count.

I jerk my head in the direction of the tinted glass overlooking the main bar. ‘Why don’t we head on over there so I can kick my audition off in style?’

CHAPTER 10

Marlowe

Ican already tell Brendan is not a man who’s used to asking twice, just as I can tell that wasn’t really a suggestion.

It was a charming, casually delivered order.

And, to be honest, I’m so nervous, so out of my depth after years and years of deliberatelynotflirting, that following orders is about all I’m good for.

I give him what I hope is a vaguely coquettish smile and stand, holding onto my wineglass for dear life. This excellent Chablis is my liferaft this evening. He grins back, a sign that I’ve just passed my first test, and stands up to join me, shrugging off his blazer as he does and giving me the opportunity to check him out properly.

He really is disgustingly attractive, and it feels beyond surreal to be here in this opulent, glass-fronted prison with him. The space is generous, but he’s so big, so sure of himself, that he dominates it. I couldn’t be more hyper-aware than I am that it’s just us in here.

His white shirt is crisp, the unbuttoned collar showing a vee of tanned skin and a smattering of dark hair. It skims broad shoulders and a taut-looking chest and a flat stomach. When he twists to chuck his jacket on the sofa, I get a shot of a firm, nicelyrounded arse. He’s such a gratifying specimen of the male form that I simultaneously want to giggle and vomit.

Still, he gave me an order.

So follow it I do.

I move towards the front of the room in a manner I hope could be termed sashaying. These heels definitely cause my hips to sway more than usual. As I go, I’m conscious of the sight I must make. Of the skimpiness of my dress, the expanse of bare leg.

I really need him to like what he sees, though hisI can’t wait to touch youcomment was encouraging.

On the other side of the tinted glass unfolds a scene that I know is totally normal for a Thursday night in places like this yet seems as alien as if I’d landed on Mars. It’s not just the money or the decadence, but the sheer hedonism of it. The concept of folks working all day only to want to go out and socialise even more, to drink and dance and network like they don’t have a care or an expense in the world, is categorically beyond my frame of reference. For God’s sake, do none of these people have a Netflix show to get home to?

Brendan is undoubtedly one of these people.

This is his world.

I can tell.

His footsteps sound on the polished black floor, then stop. I turn to look at him. He has one hand around his drink and the other fiddling with something in his pocket. Otherwise, he’s still, taking me in. I hesitate, unsure what to do. Should I go to him?

‘As you were. Please.’

I turn back towards the glass, holding my breath until he announces his presence behind me as a solid wall of heat. He’s not touching me, yet I can feel the warmth emanating from his body. Then his hand comes to rest on my hip and he dips his mouth to my ear.

‘I should have told you as soon as you walked in. You are stunning this evening.’

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