Melissa

I’m rattling with nerves as Cindy and I take the tube across the city. I’ve officially signed my life away to whatever non-disclosure criteria Henley Grosvenor insisted upon. I didn’t even read it, not completely, just signed my name in the box and landed it back on Janet’s desk first thing this morning, much to Dean’s despair.

Cindy is quiet on the crowded carriage, and I bite my tongue, holding back the stream of questions zipping through my mind. We get off at Kensington and Cindy hands me the company expenses credit card outside the vets. She shows me the exact treats for Brutus inside, some gross dried-up fish things that barely look edible, even for a dog.

“Always these,” she tells me. “Never walk through that door without them. Seriously, that nasty little shit will take a bite out of you.”

“I guess he’s a guard dog,” I comment, handing the card to the woman behind the counter. Cindy hands me a little black book and flips to a page partway in. The company credit card pin is written amongst a load of random numbers.

“Guard dog my ass. The thing’s a menace.”

I hold back judgement until I meet him for myself.

Mr Henley’s house is an impressive white building on a leafy corner. The garden is neat but plain, ornamental hedgerows and wood-chipped flower beds. The front door is thick and black, standing at the top of some fancy white-tiled steps. I’m full of butterflies as Cindy talks me through the set of keys, turning one at the bottom before adding a second key to the top.

She pauses before opening the door. “You don’t have long to disable the alarm,” she tells me. “The number’s in the book.”

I flip through the pages. “Seven seven six, three four five nine.”

“That’s it. Keypad’s under the stairs, to the right. Brutus is always in the conservatory, you’ve got time to sort out the alarm without him causing problems.”

“Got it,” I say, and she opens the door.

The countdown bleep of the alarm sounds right through the house, and I make a dash for it, heading to the little white door under the stairs and searching inside. There are coats in here. They smell of him. Him. Butterflies. So many butterflies in my belly. Seven seven six, three four five nine. I sigh in relief as the alarm goes silent, and turn to find Cindy smiling at me.

“It’ll become second nature after a while. Everything about Mr Henley becomes second nature after a while.”

I can’t believe I’m really here, standing inside his house. His actual house, where he eats and sleeps and showers. I spin on the spot, trying to memorise it all, every little detail – the red-tiled floor, the leafy plant at the bottom of the stairs, the wrought iron balustrade climbing to the upstairs landing. There’s a table by a low window, on it sits his bottle of whisky, and next to that is a single glass tumbler, and the antique inkwell Cindy told me about. I feel heady at the sight of the Insignia cigarette packet.

And then there is Brutus.

His growl is absolutely terrifying, a horrible low snarl behind me. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and I take a breath before I face him, turning slowly towards what looks to be the kitchen doorway.

“Don’t walk away from him,” Cindy hisses. “Hold your ground.”

Easier said than done.

Brutus really is a brute. He’s big and black, some kind of Rottweiler cross from the looks. But shaggier. Meaner. If that’s possible.

He’s got a big scar under his right eye, and his lips are curled back, showing some monster teeth.

“Hey, boy,” I say, and he growls all the louder.

I’m relieved when Cindy comes to my side, and she talks to him like a baby, as though she’s not scared, even though she’s as white as I must be. “Fish sticks,” she whispers. “Give him a fish stick.”

I fish in my handbag for the packet, and his ears twitch at the rustle. I pull out the treats, tear into them with shaky fingers.

“Throw one,” she says, but it’s not my game plan.

I’m in. Totally. All or nothing.

Come on, boy. Let’s be friends, right? Please let’s be friends.

I step forward and drop to my knees and Cindy grabs my shoulder, curses that I’ve got a fucking death wish, but I shake her off. Edge closer. A stinky dried up fish treat in my outstretched fingers.

“Hey, Brutus. Do you want this?”

He’s still growling, and I’m totally shitting it, but I force that down and take a breath.

“Hey, Brutus. Good boy. Come on.”

“You’re fucking batshit,” Cindy tells me.

Yes. Yes, I am.

A flash of panic as Brutus comes toward me, and it takes every bit of steel not to get to my feet and bail a retreat. He sniffs the treat in my fingers, his face so close to mine. And his breath stinks. It really stinks. Enough to make me splutter.

“Geez, boy, you’re quite a honker.” I dare to laugh, smiling with my face in his, that gross bit of fish wedged between us like a peace offering.

It feels like that dog is staring right into my soul, his big dark eyes so cold and mean. I feel like he can see everything, and that’s good, because there’s no way he’ll be able to look inside me and not see how much I want to be his friend.

I really want to be his friend.

Because I love his owner. I love his owner so much it takes my breath.

And I’ve worked so hard to get here, given everything to get here.

“It’s for you,” I whisper. “Come on, Brutus, take the yummy treat.”

Cindy gasps as he actually does take it. He takes it gently, right from my fingertips, then sits back on his haunches and crunches it with a big slobbery gnashing of teeth.

I get to my feet slowly, very slowly, but he doesn’t seem that interested, just finishes up his treat and drops to lay on the floor with his head on his paws.

“Fuck me,” Cindy says. “Do you moonlight as Cesar fucking Millan or something?”

I shake my head. “I just want him to like me.”

“No shit. You could’ve got your face bitten off.”

But I didn’t. The relief feels amazing.

“So,” I say, before my confidence burst fades. “Tell me everything about Mr Henley.”

She smiles. “Everything?”

I nod. “Everything.”

“I’ll talk as we work,” she says, gesturing to the kitchen.

* * *

I wipe down Mr Henley’s gorgeous granite worktops as Cindy cleans out the inkwell. One solitary cigarette butt. That’s all there is.

“He really is magnificent,” she says. “If you get to see the corporate suite reception on floor ten, you’ll see all his legal awards lining the main corridor, Mr Henley senior’s, too.”

“He’s the best,” I say, “I mean, I know that. I wanted to be a criminal lawyer myself.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Shit. What happened?”

I shrug it off. “Life.”

She shrugs back. “Cool beans. Anyway, he’s incredible. He’s smart, observant, totally demanding of perfection. For real make sure you do a good job in here, because if there’s so much as a fingerprint on a candlestick he’ll notice it. Well, he would have done.”

“Would have?” I slow down my scrubbing to look at her, and she’s dithering, weighing me up. “Please,” I say. “I need to know this stuff.”

Her eyes are so pointed. “Everything?”

“Yeah, everything. I want to know everything.”

She stops cleaning and I do too. “I’ve been doing this nearly four years, and it was a whole different gig when I started, believe me. The kids were here then, and Claire, his wife. She was nice, the kids were cool, it wasn’t this stealth operation we have now, I’d knock on the door and she’d let me in, and we’d have a coffee sometimes while I was working.”

“And then the divorce?”

“Yeah, she took the kids.”

“Why?”

She grins. “You’re hot on him. I know. Sonnie told me, like it needed pointing out. It’s written all over you.”

I’m so embarrassed I feel sick, so far from professional that I wish the ground would open up. “Sorry, I just…”

She shrugs. “He’s beautiful. Talented. Smart. Driven. I get it.”

“You do?” Of course she does.

“Yeah, I get it, but if you’ve got any sense in that pretty head of yours you’ll steer well clear of him. The guy’s damaged. Broken.”

“Broken?” The thought seems ridiculous. Alexander Henley seems anything but broken. He’s the most together person I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“He used to be careful,” she says. “He still is. His passwords and security codes change monthly, like I said. He’s got a shredder in his study, and that gets plenty of action, but he’s not…”

“Not what?”

She pauses. “Not like he used to be. It’s like he’s careless on purpose, leaving loose ends hanging, like he wants to be caught somehow.”

My heart is thumping. “Caught doing what?”

She laughs. “Jeez, girl. Sonnie really did keep her mouth shut, kudos to that one.”

I just gawp. Mute.

She sighs. “Mr Henley has some issues. Not just the weird little habits he has like only using one set of cutlery, and smoking one cigarette before bed, none of that crap. The guy likes… pornography.”

I smile.

“A lot,” she adds. “He used to lock everything down. You’d never even get into his TV without a twenty digit passcode. Now he doesn’t care, let’s it all hang out, his browsing history sometimes still glaring on screen when I come in in the morning.”

“So he likes porn.” I shrug it off. “Show me a guy who doesn’t.”

“Not like this. You’ll see, that’s all I’m saying.”

I want to ask her more, but she goes back to cleaning.

I squirt some cream cleaner into his Belfast sink. “Ok, so he likes pornography. Anything else I should know?”

“He has cases full of sex toys in his dressing room, all lined up ready to go.”

“Ready to go where?”

“It’s none of our business. I’m just telling you so they don’t shock you too much. Some of them are… yeah, you’ll see.”

I decide to chance my luck. “Harley’s Tavern,” I say. “What is it?”

She smirks. “Maybe not so much kudos for Sonnie’s big mouth after all.”

“She told me to ask you.”

“Seriously, you don’t want to be getting any ideas.”

But I’m getting plenty. Ideas of dashing into the TV room and scrolling through that browsing history, rushing upstairs and looking through all those toys. Rolling naked in his bedsheets and waiting for him to come home, and then begging him, begging him to–

“Harley’s Tavern is a venue for upmarket room hire. The kind of room hire you rent by the hour, no questions asked. He buys women and takes them there,” she says. “Fuck knows why, the guy could pick up whoever he wanted.”

It really wasn’t what I was expecting. The idea seems absurd. “He pays? For sex?!”

“Pays a lot of money for a lot of sex from what I can make of it. This isn’t any vanilla shit, either. You’ll see soon enough, just like I’ve seen. Pictures on his laptop, when it hasn’t shut down properly. His bedside drawer has… paperwork… pictures of some of these women… what they’ll do…”

“What will they do?” My eyes feel like saucers.

She sighs, then digs in the front pocket of her apron. “I gathered these up when we walked in, right before you saw them. See, this kind of shit, this careless shit, this is new. Six months max.”

She hands over some folded paperwork. I hold my breath while I open it.

Five girls. Pretty girls. Really pretty girls.

My poor heart pangs.

There’s a load of checked boxes underneath. Hard limits, the text says.

Anal. BDSM. Pain. Watersports. DP. Fisting. Multiple partners.

Jeez.

There really are skeletons in the closet. I’m tingling all over, and I shouldn’t be. I really shouldn’t be, but I can’t stop.

“He keeps the ones with fewer ticks in the boxes, just so you know.” Cindy holds out her hand. I give her the paperwork and she shoves it back into her apron.

I still absolutely can’t imagine it, Mr Henley paying for sex. I mean he’s… gorgeous. Perfect.

I tell Cindy so and she laughs, shakes her head. “He’s gorgeous, alright. Gorgeous and talented and sharp as fuck. But he’s broken, just like I said. The guy has some serious issues. His wife told me.”

“His wife told you?!”

Cindy looks really pleased with herself. “Bits and pieces. I’m only telling you so you know what you’re walking into. You signed some pretty hardcore non-disclosure shit, don’t even think about blabbing this around.”

“I wouldn’t,” I tell her, and I’m not lying.

“I’ve said enough. The rest you’ll pick up for yourself.”

She heads for the utility room and drags out a vacuum, and I feel bereft, desperate to crawl inside her mind and soak up every single thing she knows about Alexander Henley.

“You don’t seem put off any,” she comments, and I realise I’m still gawping at her.

“The guy has kinks… that’s ok.”

“The guy has more than kinks. The guy’s seriously messed up.”

Skeletons in the closet. The adrenaline is pumping, excitement fizzing, and I shouldn’t be like this. I really, really shouldn’t be. Because I’m just a silly cleaner who managed to bag a promotion, not one of these girls, I don’t know anything, I’ve never done anything.

But I want to.

I want him, if I’m being paid for it or not.

“Seriously,” Cindy says. “Stay away from him. He’s bad news. I mean it’s pretty tragic, losing his kids and all that, but he’s… dark…”

“Damaged…” I repeat.

“Yeah, all fucked up.” She sighs. “Such a shame, the guy is fucking gorgeous and fucking loaded. Guess he had to have some pretty major flaws to balance all that out, right?”

I’m not interested in loaded. I’m not even interested in gorgeous right now.

I’m interested in all fucked up. Damaged and dark.

Broken.

Like me.

But I don’t pay for kinky sex in some weird pub on the outskirts of London. I don’t have a closet full of sex toys and a browsing history bad enough to come with a warning.

And those girls on the pictures are so pretty… so perfect…

And I’m so… not.

Cindy groans. “Sonnie said you wouldn’t give a shit about my warning. I guess she was right.”

I stare blankly. “What do you mean?”

She eyeballs Brutus as he comes into the room, edges around the island to keep him at safe distance. “I mean that you’re already thinking about it, how to get to Harley’s Tavern. How to be one of those girls.”

Even the thought jabs me in the ribs, because I’m not one of them. I couldn’t be one of them if I tried.

I laugh it off, but my voice sounds pained. I tell her I could never be one of them. They’re beautiful, with great hair, and perfect makeup, and manicured nails and… other bits. I feel a billion miles away from that in my crappy uniform, without so much a drop of foundation on my face.

She closes the distance and pulls the cap from my head before I can blink. She yanks my hairnet loose and tousles my hair, then tips her head and pulls a face.

“You could be one of them, if you tried.”

I shake my head, cheeks burning, and gather my hair back up. “You’re being kind.”

“I’m being honest. You could be one of them, but you’d need your head examined if you went in for that crazy shit.”

The thought pricks.

Hope.

It’s both beautiful and dangerous.

Like Alexander Henley himself.

“So what? I just rock on up at that tavern and put myself up for sale?” She laughs and I fold my arms. “What?”

I flinch as Brutus grumbles in the doorway, but he settles just fine.

“You think you just roll on up with your pussy on show and hope Alexander Henley turns up for a good time? That really isn’t how it works, honey.”

“So how does it work? Do you know?”

She grins at me, and then she tuts. “You really are batshit. Sonnie told me you would be.”

“Sonnie knows me pretty well.”

“Yeah, and I know Mr Henley pretty well for someone who’s never officially met the guy. And you will too.” She vacuums before she says anything else, being careful not to venture too near the resting Brutus. I finish up the sink, wondering, thinking. Hoping.

One day in his place and I’m already going insane. More insane.

Christ help me. Sex toys, and prostitutes and hardcore pornography. I haven’t even seen his bedroom yet and I’m tumbling in deep.

Cindy finishes up and I squeeze out my sponge.

“Sonnie says you’ll find a way to get to Harley’s Tavern whether I help you or not. She says it’s only a matter of time. That once you set foot in this place you’d be on some crazy mission. I may as well set you straight, she said.”

“Sonnie’s probably right,” I admit, holding her stare.

“Is that why you’re here? To get close to Alexander?”

Alexander.

I can’t imagine being as close to him as she has for four years, and never even exchanging a simple hello.

The thought is unbearable. The torture of being so near and still so far.

I decide to be honest, and why not? She’s leaving in a few days, and she can help me, save me a bit of time that I’d otherwise spend finding all this crap out for myself. “I’m here because I always wanted to get close to him. This cleaning job was my best shot. My only shot. I met him when I was at school, he did a presentation. I wanted to be a lawyer.”

She nods. “That’s some kinda crush. You have real balls spelling that out for me. I admire that.”

“So tell me,” I push. “Tell me how I’d get to Harley’s Tavern. Tell me how I’d get a shot, presuming I could be… good enough…”

“You really want to know how to line yourself up as Alexander Henley’s next hooker? For fucking real?”

“Please.”

She smiles. “I’ll point you in the right direction on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

She unplugs the vacuum. “On the condition you look through his browsing history first.”

I nod. “And if that doesn’t put me off?”

“If that doesn’t put you off, you’re even crazier than Sonnie says you are.”

I picture Sonnie saying it and it makes me grin. “I might well be crazier than Sonnie said I am. A whole load crazier…”

“We’ll find out,” she says. “The TV room is through here.”