chapter seven
Settling back in the spacious and ridiculous comfort of the first-class Virgin Atlantic plane seat, Jay shut his eyes. The wheels sped on the runway tarmac and the jumbo Boeing 747 launched into the air for the eleven-thirty a.m. take-off from London Heathrow. He hadn’t admitted to any of the team that this was his first flight anywhere. His folks couldn’t afford far-flung holiday destinations and the farthest he’d been out of London was the school French trip to Dieppe he’d taken in year eleven. The anticipation in his gut wasn’t all about the first-time air experience, but mostly for why he was travelling at all. And who he was there representing— West Ham United Football Team.
Along on the next seat, Pablo Santiago, number four defender, had donned the eye mask, folded his arms, and immediately set to snoring his way through the next eight hours, his jet-black curls spreading along the leather head cushion. Jay glanced at the others in the team taking up the entire closed-off cabin. They were all in various stages of either slumber or wearing headphones to watch the latest in-flight movie on their personal screens. The plane levelled out and settled into its smoother drift through the sky to head across the pond. Jay gripped the armrest, his knuckles whitening, and he bounced his knees with nervous energy. He needed to switch off his mind. He needed something to make him forget where he was heading and why.
The seat belt light dinged off and Jay immediately unclasped his restraint. He scrambled out of his seat and reached for his holdall in the overhead compartment. He’d stuffed some magazines in there that he’d bought at the departure gate, where he’d also picked up an on-a-whim book. His fingers brushed an item tucked into one of the bag’s enclosed pockets. He wrapped his fingers around the unfamiliar thin plastic and wrenched it out. Jay swallowed. The iPod. Seb’s life on a stick. He stroked his thumb across the gleaming black screen and took in a heavy breath. Checking on the rest of the comatose team, he unzipped another pocket and unravelled a set of white ear buds. He shoved his bag back into the compartment and fell into his seat.
It took a moment, possibly more, of Jay staring at the item that held the secrets to Sebastian. With everything that had happened to Jay since Martin had handed the iPod over, Jay had all but forgotten it. Like his feelings, he’d stuffed it so far down in his bag there was no way of it interfering with his life. Until now.
He shuffled in the seat, getting comfy, and plugged the headphones into the slot. Having no idea how to work it, he fiddled with the buttons for a while until music blasted into his ear drums. Pablo stirred next to him, ripping one side of his eye mask off to give him a stern glower. Jay mouthed sorry, then found the volume controls to switch it to a more friendly level.
Head back, Jay closed his eyes and listened.
* * * *
Seb didn’t hear the knock, probably because there hadn’t been one. He couldn’t be sure. Sitting in his leather swivel chair, elbow propped on his desk with his face slumped into his hand, his black Bose headphones blocked out any noise he might have heard from the communal office. His double-monitor computer screen flickered between images and audio text and Seb frowned, concentrating so hard on the sound crossing over the images that he didn’t bother responding to the door being pushed open and Stephen wandering in.
Seb had thought he’d made it abundantly clear that they weren’t to be in the same room if it could be avoided. Arguments between the two of them were common enough occurrences in the office and Seb was trying, not just for his own sake to keep Stephen at arm’s length, but also to reduce the number of incidences being reported back to his father.
Stephen walked around the desk and pulled one of Seb’s headphones away from his ear. “Sebastian.”
“Forgot how to fucking knock?” Seb slipped the headphones down to curl around his neck.
“I did. You didn’t answer.”
“That usually means stay the fuck out and don’t come in to park your sorry arse on my expensive mahogany.”
Perching on the edge of Seb’s desk, Stephen slapped a huge file of papers on the surface and patted them. “For the breakfast meeting tomorrow.”
Seb didn’t honour the papers with a sideways glance and remained fixed on his computer screens. Friday afternoons in the Saunders & Son NYC office was usually awash with activity. The client list had grown considerably in the seven months since launch and staffing was now complete. Business was booming. This Friday was no exception. The time approached five p.m. and the office buzzed along with no real movement to close for the day. The staff tended to try and stay as long as either of the two bosses. No one outdid Seb. That was what life at the top meant. That was what his father had taught him.
He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d become another drone like his father. Perhaps he thought he didn’t deserve the life he craved. This was it. Drink myself to sleep and smoke my way into an early grave.
“Your father’s expensive mahogany,” Stephen corrected. “What are you working on?”
“The Kochetsky account.”
“I thought that was closed?” Stephen dipped his head. “That’s not the contracts. MySpace? You think that’s going to work?”
“Fuck you, Stephen. Go irritate one of the others slacking off on a Friday afternoon.”
“You’re the boss,” Stephen smoothed into Seb’s ear.
“Yes, I am. And do I have to go through my office rules with you again, Stephen?” Stephen is so much easier to handle when I’m not filled to the brim with alcohol. “This side of the office”—Seb stood and held out his arms—”is mine only. “Only I can be this side of the desk. No exceptions to the rule.”
Seb stomped around to the front of the desk and repeated the same manoeuvre again, this time spinning in a circle.
“This side of the desk is by invitation only. That means you knock, and if I say come in, then you are allowed to enter to this part only.” Seb yanked opened the door to the communal area and raised his voice. “This is the communal area. This is the only place in the whole fucking city where you and I can converse.” He rammed his hands on his hips. “Now, do you understand that, Mr. Coles, or do I have to get Natalie to send you another fucking memo?”
Stephen stood and marched passed Seb, but stopped at the door to his own private office the other end of the room. “You know, one day, you might want to start acting more like the business owner you’re meant to be and less like the wannabe rock star you’ll never be.”
Seb held up his middle finger, displaying the skull and crossbones tattoo, and leaned forward with malicious intent. “I would tell you to come sit on this and spin, but I know you’d get off on it. So how about, instead, you go bury your head in a vagina!”
Furious and red-faced, Stephen locked eyes with a few of the open-mouthed staff. He stumbled back, slamming his own door with just as much force and a hush fell over Saunders & Son NYC before the mumbles and tapping started up again. That hadn’t been an isolated incident.
At the front desk, Natalie widened her green eyes.
Seb huffed. “No visitors. No calls.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, Seb marched off back to his office and slammed the door to close himself off from everyone and every fucking thing.
* * * *
Jay inhaled a sharp breath, calming his nerves. Scraping a hand through his hair, he tried to get a hold on his over beating heart and the mush swirling in the pit of his stomach. He’d just bailed. On the team. Having landed, then ushered into the hotel, he’d then snuck out. Career suicide. But he had to. After listening to that iPod on repeat for eight hours straight, and going through all the old phone messages he hadn’t ever returned, he knew he couldn’t let this opportunity pass him by. Perhaps it was then a good thing when his phone had been ripped from his trembling hands by Bruno and shoved in the Skipper’s hotel room safe with cackling heckles from the rest of the lads. It meant he couldn’t call ahead, and gave him the perfect excuse to leave them to their team camaraderie and slink off out the back. But it also meant that he now had to do this in person.
He peered up at the glass-fronted sky scraper that he’d managed to track down its whereabouts using the hotel’s free internet service, and licked his dry lips. Now he was here, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. Maybe he should just turn on his heel, leap back in the cab that had brought him here and return to his team and training.
The yellow taxi skidded off from the roadside, joining the bustling Friday afternoon traffic in New York’s financial district. That felt like a shove to his back. So with a deep breath he pushed open the revolving doors and into the reception area. Scanning the residing business, he located the one he needed and bounded over to the turnstiles, managing to creep in behind some girl using a lanyard. Confidence. Like he belonged here. That should work, if he didn’t open his mouth to scratch the ceiling with his Cockney accent.
“Which floor?” the suited girl asked with a broad smile as she stepped into the arriving elevator.
Shit. Jay followed after, then simply pressed the correct button. East End cheek could also work in these situations. He hoped. The elevator dinged and Jay stepped out and into a bustling office, separated by reception desk where a red-haired girl sat filing her nails.
“Good afternoon, sir.” She slipped the emery board into her drawer and smiled all white teeth. “Welcome to Saunders & Son. How may I help you today?”
“Here to see Seb―Mr. Saunders.” His attempt at masking his accent failed through the trembling delivery.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I just―”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir. Without an appointment, I can’t disturb him unless you are on his list.”
“What list is that?”
“His VIP list. But even then, I probably shouldn’t―”
“Ruttman, Jay Ruttman.” A small smile curved Jay’s lips as Natalie rolled her finger down the names scrawled in pen on a torn piece of lined A4 paper. That handwriting, carefree and messy with circles over the i’s instead of dots, made Jay’s spine tingle.
“I’m very sorry, sir.” Natalie furrowed her brow. “But you’re not on the list. I’m going to have to ask you to make an appointment.” She swivelled in her chair and clicked a few buttons on her mouse. “How about next Thursday at two p.m.? He has a vacancy then.”
Jay’s heart thumped, his shoulders deflating. He’d been so close. He could almost taste the scent of Seb’s distinctive aftershave lingering in the air. And that gave him renewed vigour to keep trying.
“How about I go knock on his door?”
“I can’t let you do that, sir. It really is more than my job’s worth.”
Jay glanced over Natalie’s head. “What if I guarantee you that he won’t mind?” He wasn’t sure he could guarantee that, what with having ignored Seb’s attempts at keeping in touch. Maybe this was Seb’s way of proving that Jay now meant nothing to him. That their time together was now a distant, forgotten, memory. Then the lyrics from the last song that he had listened to on the flight over rang in his ears. I’ll never forget the time…
“You’re not on the list, sir. This is my guarantee.” She waved the piece of paper in the air. “He’d fire me on the spot. He did it to Geena last month. And I need this job. It’s really good money.”
Jay scanned the office again, brain ticking over. He’d come this far. Regardless of his nerves, he had to try. He had to see for himself. Just one look will tell me if I’m wrong. He tugged out an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and waggled it. “How much is a week’s wages for ya, then?”
“What? Why?”
Jay opened the envelope, showing the wodge of American dollars wrapped up in a travel currency wallet. “There’s about five grand in there. How about I go knock and if you do get fired, you can keep it.” Being confident might make her think he’d be right, even if he wasn’t so sure himself.
Natalie gaped. Slowly, she reached over the desk, slid the envelope from Jay’s hand and flicked through the paper bills with a low whistle. “Okay.”
Nodding, Jay pushed open the hip-height barrier. With soft steps, he walked through the main office, focusing on the closed wooden oak door ahead displaying the name Mr. Sebastian Saunders, Partner, engraved on a brass plaque.
Natalie trotted after him as quickly as her tight pencil skirt would allow. Clutching the wallet of cash to her chest, she swallowed as Jay rapped his knuckles on the office door.
“Fuck off!” The reply barked through the wood.
Natalie raised her eyebrows and bit her manicured thumbnail. Jay cleared his throat, pressing down the brass handle and as he opened the door, Seb whipped his head up from the computer with a firm scowl across his lips.
“I know I ain’t on that special list of yours.” Jay’s heart beat a little faster as Seb’s gaze finally met his. “But I sorta hoped that was an oversight on your part.”
Seb blinked. “Jay?”
Jay smiled. That look. He then angled his head back to Natalie peering in through the doorway. “I’ve given your receptionist five grand to be able to come in here and she not get the can. Don’t make me lose that cash. It’s all I got ‘til I get home.”
Seb’s mouth fell open. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, as if he were frozen to the spot. Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Natalie?”
“Yes, sir? I’m sorry, sir—”
“Close the door behind Mr. Ruttman, please, and divert all calls to the shitbag. I’m no longer available for the rest of the night.”
Jay’s smile grew, his cheeks hurting.
“Yes, sir. No problem, sir, and by shitbag I assume you mean Mr. Coles?”
“That’s right, Natalie. Thank you. Oh, and Natalie?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Mr. Ruttman would like his money back.”
“Oh right, yes, sir.” Natalie handed the envelope back to Jay and closed the door behind her swift exit.
Tucking the envelope into his inside jacket pocket, Jay’s stomach fluttered unbearably as Seb’s impenetrable brown doe-eyed stare landed on him.
“Now, Rutters, you best tell me how the fuck you are here.” Seb stood, his chair rolling away on its wheels. “As I am hoping to fuck this isn’t some dream. Because if it is, I don’t want to wake up.”
Jay smiled, his chest rising. “I made pro. West Ham. We’re playing the New York Red Bulls tomorra for a pre-season friendly.” He shrugged. “Thought I’d check you out while in the area. Rude not to. I’m actually skiving training to be here, which’ll probably land me back on the bench.”
“Fuck,” Seb breathed out, shaking his head as he smiled. “That fucking accent.”
“Fancy hearin’ some more? If you ain’t busy?” He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. “Might even say Babs for ya.”
Seb laughed, then switched his computer off at the mains. “Well, in that case.” He scooted around the desk and loosened the knot on his silk tie. “I better make this little rebellious stint of yours worth the while.”
Jay reached out, delicately brushing his fingers over Seb’s to prevent him ripping the tie off altogether. “Leave it.” He roamed his gaze up and down Seb’s suited attire. “Quite like it.”
Seb cocked his head. “Whatever you want, Champ.”
Seb sauntered past him, opening the door and ushering him into the communal open-plan office space. Jay smiled. Seb seemed different somehow. He still had his mischievous grin and messy, dark, unruly hair that Jay guessed he kept that way to rebel against the other changes, but he couldn’t help admire how damn good Seb looked in a suit.
The deep charcoal-grey material hugged Seb’s slim hips and the thick light blue shirt stretched across his slender back, and when Seb slipped the jacket on, it was obvious the suit had been tailored to fit perfectly. Sure, Jay missed the rock outfits, and was itching to see if Seb had added any tattoos to his already inked arms, but Jay sure as hell liked what he’d seen from the moment he’d stepped into the office. Not that he had any doubt he wouldn’t. He would never have risked it otherwise.
“When you’ve finished the divert, Natalie, take yourself off home.” Seb passed by the reception desk and winked. “Good work.”
Natalie beamed. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Have a good evening.”
Seb ushered Jay into the elevator. “When did you get here?”
“Plane landed midday. We got bussed straight to the hotel. I dropped my bags and chipped straight to you.”
“You eaten?”
“Not unless you count the slop they serve on Virgin Atlantic airways. Even in first class.”
“First class, eh? Living the dream.”
Jay shrugged.
“Well.” Seb pushed away from the metal railing as the doors dinged open. “I know a great place around the corner. We can get some dinner, and you can tell me what it’s like to be finally playing in those big fuck-off-sized stadiums.”