Page 54 of Behind Frenemy Lines

CG: “Yeah. Absolutely.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Kriya

Charles was lookingfrazzled when I got to the office, the morning of the Wednesday after Loretta’s wedding. He was glaring at the screen, his hair standing up as though he’d been tugging at it. I smiled at him, but didn’t say anything. Presumably he was busy, not in the mood for small talk.

I’d thought it might feel awkward, seeing Charles again after everything that had happened at the wedding. But it was weirdly normal. It was as if, having gone through the extremes of the possible relationships available to us—from work nemeses (though to be fair, I was the only one who’d characterised our relationship that way; before I’d turned up at his office, Charles had apparently thought of me as “that girl who drafted the witness statement for Mackintosh Cereals”), to romantic partners (albeit fake)—we’d learned the worst and could be comfortable with each other.

Though “comfortable” wasn’t quite the right word for the flutter in my stomach when I looked at Charles’s throat, rising out of his collar. His lower lip was surprisingly full. He chewed on it when he was thinking hard. I could have bitten it when I kissed him. Set my teeth in his lip, gently.

I shoved the thought to the back of my mind to join all theother inappropriate and unacceptable feelings that lived there. I was sad and horny, that was all. My brain was looking for someone to latch on to after finally accepting the Tom I loved was never coming back to me—had, in a sense, never existed.

Charles was close at hand; he was kind and funny; he was professionally competent; and unfortunately for me, I knew for a fact he had amazing thighs. So I wanted to suck his dick.

Pretty pathetic all round. I needed to start dating again. Or at least buy a vibrator.

Charles finished up a spate of typing, clicked his mouse once, and leaned back, sighing.

He looked over at me. “Sorry, we had a new matter come in yesterday. It’s been a bit of a scramble. Were you all right getting home after the wedding?”

“It was fine. How’d it go with your family? Have we put the gay conversion rumours to rest?”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Nobody’s said anything to me. I suspect Loretta just wanted me to find a date for the wedding. She’s very concerned about my love life.”

He blushed. So did I, remembering Loretta’s drunken petition on Charles’s behalf:He really likes you.

I’d assumed Loretta’s speech was the product of champagne and delusion. Watching the flush climb Charles’s cheek now, I wondered, for the first time, if there might be some truth in what Loretta had said.

The idea was discomfiting. What I liked about my relationship with Charles was how nice it was, in a surprisingly uncomplicated way. If Charles really did like me, it was not going to stay uncomplicated.

Because I liked him. Enough, I suspected, that I’d be willing to ignore the complications.

“It was nice meeting Loretta,” I said, to take my mind off these alarming thoughts. “Have she and Hayley gone on honeymoon now?”

Charles was telling me about their trip to Japan when my personal phone buzzed.

Amma was due to see the dentist that day about her dodgy tooth. Maybe she’d sent an update.

I had received a message, but it was from Rosalind. Despite all my efforts, I’d yet to train her out of using WhatsApp for business communications.

Sorry, I know you’re desperately busy, but the new lawyer is useless and I don’t know what to do. Do you have time for a call? I promise it will be quick!!!

Strange. I popped my headset on and rang Rosalind on her direct line.

Rosalind picked up on the second ring.

“Oh thank God, Kriya. This German woman is driving me mad. She keeps peppering me with questions about the compliance protocol. When I answer them, she turns around and sends me a million more questions. I sent the latest batch to this new lawyer who’s taken over, but he’s hopeless. You won’t believe his reply—wait, I’ll read out his email. ‘These questions depend on the context of Sanson’s operations. We believe Sanson is best placed to answer them, but please let us know if it would be helpful to have a call.’ Can you believe this little shit? It would be helpful for him to go fuck himself.”

“Rosalind—”

“I know you’re on this big new case now, but can we find a solution? I can’t work with this guy.”

“Rosalind, slow down,” I said. “What new lawyer is this? Who are you talking about?”

“This guy Milo. Milo Deacon.”

“Milo Deacon,” I echoed. I’d seen Milo around: he was a junior associate who did banking litigation. If we exchanged “hellos” when we passed in the corridor, that was as much contact as I’d ever had with him. I only remembered his namebecause of its association with the beverage. “Why is Milo Deacon emailing you?”

---