Katie

 

I should’ve gone home. I mean technically I’m only theirs for the weekend, and Sunday night was in the realms of overtime, surplus to the requirements of our arrangement. But I stayed.

I stayed because I wanted to, because they offered, because I liked them.

Both of them.

I stayed because I wanted to fall asleep between two hot bodies again. I stayed because, despite the fact I could still feel the ache of the pounding I’d taken the night before, I wanted them again.

I wanted them so much I was a sticky hot mess.

I sent a text to Mum, letting her know I was out for another night, and one to Jack, asking him to mind Samson until I showed up after my stupid meeting with the sperm donor, and then I settled down for the evening, kicking back between Carl and Rick on the sofa, listening to Rick’s soul compilation and drinking posh tea. And then they’d stripped naked, and I had, too, and we’d jumped into their massive white bed with me snug in the middle, and their arms had held me tight.

But they hadn’t fucked me.

And even though my battered cervix was relieved, I can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed.

It appeared Carl and Rick were gentlemen. Gentlemen who’d been super keen to point out I wasn’t on duty. That I could take it easy. That they weren’t expecting anything.

So they’d kissed me and held me, without even a hint of anything more.

I’d have taken both. I’d have even tried to take it like a trooper and open my legs for another cervix bashing. But how can you say that? I mean, should I have said that? What’s the etiquette on that kind of shit?

They were paying me. And part of me wished they weren’t, that this was just me and them, just because.

But that was crazy fucking thinking. Crazy. And thoughts like those weren’t going to get me my little riding yard or bail Jack out of trouble.

Thoughts like those could get stuffed.

 

I’m an early riser, but Carl beat me on Monday morning. He was already up when I opened my eyes to find myself sprawled happily on his empty side of the bed. The bathroom was still steamy when I took a pee and brushed my teeth, and I found him downstairs, listening to the early morning news on the radio while he spooned up muesli. I sat myself down at the island and gave him a smile.

Carl was scary hot again this morning. Intimidating. He wore a jet-black suit with angles that were killer. He was clean-shaven and bright-eyed and his jaw looked made of steel.

“Breakfast?” he said, and nudged the muesli box in my direction. “We have toast, eggs, bacon. Rick probably has one of those breakfast nut bars or some other trendy squirrel food in the cupboard.” He pointed behind me. “Bowls and plates are in the top. Cutlery in the drawer underneath. You’ll soon learn your way around.”

“Busy day?” I asked, and it sounded so lame.

“Always.” He stared at me for a long time and I couldn’t read him. His business face was on, and it was impenetrable. Cold. Matter of fact. Then it softened into a smile. “New recruits,” he said. “Always a pain in the ass, invariably worth it in the end. And meetings. I have meetings. Always so many fucking meetings.”

I wanted to ask what he did. Where he went. What made a guy like Carl Brooks tick the way Carl Brooks clearly ticked about business. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know quite where to start with the chit-chat.

I’d checked him out on Business Connect — sales director for some swanky agency — but Business Connect just gives you the words, it doesn’t give you the picture. Not really.

He finished up his muesli, swilled the bowl in the sink, and then he was gathering up his things, with just enough crossover to catch Rick as he ambled his way across the kitchen and propped himself on a stool alongside me. Rick didn’t look like a morning person, not at all. He was still yawning, stretching in his seat. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were sleepy.

Rick was gorgeous when he was sleepy.

Carl leaned over to kiss Rick’s hair, and then he kissed mine. He smelled fresh, and hot, and his lips were firm. He squeezed my shoulder and his fingers were forceful, and I wanted him. I really wanted him.

“Play nice, kids,” he said, and then he was gone, a briefcase in his hand and his phone already pressed to his ear.

“He’s a hot sonofabitch,” Rick laughed. “And thus begins another sixty hour working week, minimum. The guy doesn’t stop. Ever. I swear he works in his sleep, too.”

“What about you?” I said.

“Twenty-five max. It’s all about the creativity.” He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. “So, pretty girl, what’s your plan for the day? Do I get to keep you?”

I wished. I liked the thought of being kept by Rick.

But urgh, no, sperm donor.

“I have to head out for one o’clock. Stupid piece of shit thing I can’t get out of.”

“Work?”

It didn’t occur to me to lie. I shook my head. “Just, some shitty thing. A meeting.”

He raised an eyebrow and didn’t look away, waiting for more, and I thought about spilling the truth, but every time I did people never let me hear the end of it.

David Faverley’s daughter?! You’re David Faverley’s daughter? The David Faverley? Of Favcom? Wow!

I heard he’s worth a billion. Is he really worth a billion?

Like I gave two shits what he was worth.

Everyone within a fifteen county radius knew David Faverley, and sometimes I was dumb enough to let it slip that I shared some of his shitty DNA. But not today.

Today I was just a girl who’d give David Faverley the finger and tell him where to stick his shitty little blackmail endeavour.

Asshole.

Rick changed the radio station and grabbed his laptop and started it up in front of me. Emails pinged in, and I caught sight of some of them, product briefs and blind testing feedback, and pictures of his adverts on billboards. Rick was amazing, and from the emails I saw it seemed that everyone else thought so, too.

In that one tiny moment I wished I was someone with a career, someone who could impress Rick and Carl the way they impressed me. But that wasn’t who I am.

Rick didn’t seem to care anyway.

He looked at his watch. “Seven thirty a.m. So, I’ve got you for a few hours?”

I nodded.

He closed his laptop and his eyes were hooded and gorgeous. “I think it’s about time I gave you a proper tour of the house.”

* * *

And now I was late, the woman on my navigation software blurting about a load of crap that didn’t make any sense to me. I’d been around the block twice, looped the entire Favcom complex, and still I couldn’t find where the crap I was supposed to park. Bollocks.

I was about to text him and say he could stuff his stupid meeting when I spotted a sign for visitor parking. Gleaming four-wheel drives, and little convertibles, and pushbikes, with a garish company cycle for life poster on the side of the bike rack.

Mine was the only heap of crap car there.

I was wearing my worst jeans on purpose, the ones with holes in the knees. I was wearing my most faded shitty t-shirt, too, once bright pink with ‘bite me, baby’ on the front. And I had my scuffed pumps on.

I hadn’t been here for years, not since I was small enough that it scared the shit out of me. Reception was now chrome and marble, and the reception desk was a huge aquarium with brightly coloured tropical fish swimming about. Talk about overkill. The receptionist was wearing grey, with one of those stupid ruffly neck ties. She smiled across the counter, but she was all gritted and condescending, I could see it in her eyes.

“David Faverley,” I said, and she raised an eyebrow.

“David Faverley?”

“Yes,” I said. “I have a meeting with him.” She flashed me a look designed to draw blood, but I didn’t flinch, just smiled.

“And who should I say is here for him?”

“Katie,” I said. “Katie Smith.”

She pursed her lips and eyeballed me before she picked up the handset. “I have a Katie Smith here for Mr Faverley. Claims she has an appointment.”

Claims. Cheeky cow.

And then her eyes turned wide and she was pale, unsettled. She put down the handset and it looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her tone was light and her smile was bright and far too big for her face.

“Your father will send someone down for you soon,” she said. “Please take a seat.”

I took a seat, and helped myself to a coffee from the swanky machine. I flicked through a load of boring industry magazines that practically sent me back to sleep, and was flicking through the stuck-up, jargon-speak job adverts in the back of one when someone cleared their throat in front of me.

Another little minion, another little grey suit, but this one’s neck scarf was polka dot, trying to be trendy. In fairness, it nearly pulled it off, too.

Minion lady held out a hand, and I shook it.

“Caroline,” she said. “I’m on the intern team. I’ll take you to your interview.”

My interview, what a joke. I checked the clock on the way through reception, wondering what time I’d make it back for Samson, my poor abandoned Samson. Wondering if I’d manage a ride, just a little trot around the school, maybe a slow walk up the lanes. I wondered if Jack had picked his hooves out, and given him his farrier supplement and mixed up his dinner just the way he likes it.

I wondered about Samson all the way upstairs, via the glass-fronted lift, along the corridor with a million thick oak doors leading off, right up until our destination, where Caroline rapped on a door that said meeting room seven in boring etched letters.

She opened the door and gestured me in, and it seemed Caroline on the intern team wasn’t staying for my stupid interview.

There was only one figure in the room, and my stomach churned, fell over itself. I wanted to be cool, wanted to be off-handed and calm and not give a shit, but I was ten years old again, and completely not good enough, stressing out because my pumps had odd-coloured laces and he’d think I was an untidy, mismatched, good for nothing girl.

The sperm donor had aged in the six months since I’d seen him. His hair was considerably more grey and he seemed smaller somehow. He stood from his seat and beckoned to a chair opposite him, and for a moment I thought he was going to try and do something ridiculous like hug me, but he didn’t.

He couldn’t hide his disappointment as he realised what I was wearing. His eyes showed his disapproval, and it made me angry, it made me so fucking angry.

I sat in his stupid chair and folded my arms and then I let him have it.

“You can stick your stupid poxy interview,” I said. “I’m not taking a stupid job. Not here, not ever.”

“Please, Katie,” he said. “Please just hear me out.” He pretended to care, pretended to smile. “How have you been? It’s been months…”

“Good,” I snapped. “I’m really dandy, thanks very much.”

“I was hoping you could have made it to your Aunt Georgina’s birthday party.”

“I was busy,” I said. “Had shit to do. I’m sure Aunt Georgina coped just fine without me.”

He rustled some papers but didn’t stop looking at me. “Aunt Georgina wanted you there, she wanted all of her nieces and nephews there.”

“I’m sure she managed just fine with Verity to keep her company.”

He sighed. “That isn’t the point.”

I leaned forward. “So, what is the point? Why am I here? Why are you blackmailing me with Harrison Gables, knowing full well it’s likely my only shot? That’s a power-crazed douche move, you know? Even for you.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

“Please,” he said. “I was hoping we could have a productive discussion. About your future.”

“What about my future?” I sneered. “What business is it of yours?”

He sighed again and slid across a glossy brochure. Favcom Internship programme, investing in your future.

“I don’t need your investment,” I said. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“Six months,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking. You’ll be paid well, and treated fairly, and will come out of it with a lot more experience than you went in with.”

“I don’t need experience.”

“Everyone needs experience, Katie. You can’t spend the rest of your life looking after Samson.”

I hated the way he said his name. He had no right to speak his name.

“So, you planned to blackmail me with Harrison Gables?”

“I planned on incentivising you with Harrison Gables.”

“In-centi-what? Is that even a word?”

“Motivate,” he said, “Think of it as a reward, in the spirit it is intended.”

“A reward for what?”

“For completing the programme.” He pressed his hands together. “Your brothers took this course and passed with flying colours. Sebastian is a senior technician in R&D now, and Dominic is a level four accountant in the finance team.”

“Whoopty doo, you must be so proud.”

“I am,” he said. “Of all of you.”

“Save it,” I snapped. “I don’t need your approval.”

“You have it anyway. I’m your father. I want to see you do well.”

“Yes, well maybe I don’t want you to see me do anything! Maybe I just want you to clear off and forget I existed. Should be easy enough for you, Dad.”

He waved me quiet, just like always, and I felt the tears prick. Stupid fucking tears. I should never have come here.

I stood to leave but he stood, too, and his hands were out, his expression sad and horrible.

“Please,” he said. “Let’s start again. Just give me five minutes.”

I shrugged and I hated it. I hated to want the incentive he was offering. I hated this place, and its horrible stuffy corporate everything, and my stupid horrible stuffy corporate father. “Five minutes.”

“Your mother thinks you should take this opportunity. It would make me very happy if you did. Your sister enrolled, just last week, and you could slot right in, I’m sure you’d pick it up.”

“It’s already started?”

He nodded. “I should have told you sooner, but your mother advised against it, she said it would give you longer to talk yourself out of it.”

“As if I was likely to ever talk myself into it.”

I pictured Verity, flouncing around in her posh little pinafore. Bitch. I bet she was loving it, I bet she was doing so well, so bloody well, so much better than anyone else.

“There’s no small print, no extra conditions. You complete the internship programme and I will send both you and Verity for a month on the ranch with Harrison Gables. It’s that simple.”

If only it was that simple.

But it was simple. He’d picked too well, too fucking well. And even though I was proud and stubborn and full of bitterness, I was still that little girl watching Harrison Gables on YouTube and marvelling, and dreaming, and imagining a day when I could be like him.

“What do I have to do?” I said, and my voice was quiet. “What does this internship programme thing actually mean?”

“Sales training,” he said. “The best of the best. Some field experience. Some product experience. A little stint in marketing. You can specialise for the final section. It can mean whatever you want it to mean.” His eyes met mine and they held firm. “Please,” he said. “Katie, I know things haven’t been smooth for you, and I know you don’t think the best of me, but please, just think about it.”

I’d done sales around college, insurance telemarketing to earn money for Samson’s livery. I’d been alright. More than alright. My bonuses had bought him a new saddle, a fine job from a proper saddler.

“And there’s no underhanded tactics, no moving goalposts? Just six months of a stupid programme and I’m on that plane?”

He nodded. “That’s exactly how it is. Unless you want to stay.”

Never. Not in a million years.

“Salary?” I said. “What’s the salary?”

“Twenty grand to start. Bonuses on top.”

Twenty grand could see me right, with my other little earner on the side. Twenty grand was nearly three times my rate at the restaurant.

“Working hours?”

“Nine to five, Monday through Friday. It’s all regular stuff, Katie.”

The thought of being away from Samson pained me. It fucking hurt. And I knew then he had me. I was already considering it, already feeling it.

Asshole. Fucking asshole.

“And who is going to give me this best of the best training? Let me guess…” I sneered. “You?”

He laughed aloud. “Christ, no. Do you really think I’m that arrogant?”

I didn’t answer.

“Please, Katie, give me some credit. It’s a long time since I founded this business, and a long time since I was at the coalface of business development. Sales has changed, marketing has changed. The programme is cutting edge, led by the best of the best. The best of them all, I promise.”

“Great,” I mocked. “I can’t wait to meet this best of the best. It’s going to be so much fun.”

“So, your answer is yes?”

I stared at him. “I don’t know you’ve left me with much choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he said, and blue eyes met mine. Blue eyes like mine.

Harrison Gables, I’m doing this for Harrison Gables. And Samson. And Jack, too.

“When do I have to start your poxy programme?” I sighed. “When do I have to sign up?”

“I’ll introduce you right now,” he said, and my stomach lurched. Torn jeans suddenly seemed such a stupid idea. I wanted to bail, say I’d come back tomorrow, at least wear something that looked like less of a teenage middle finger to an arrogant sack of shit father, but I didn’t have time. He was already on the phone, instructing someone in.

“Please,” he said. “My daughter, yes. She’s ready to meet the team, I thought you could… Thanks, right.” My stupid father smiled like the cat who’d got the cream, grinning away until there was a rap at the door. He stood, smoothed down his tie, and I wished I was in any other clothes than these. I folded my arms across the stupid slogan on my chest, and looked at the table top. “Katie,” he said as the door opened. “I’m very pleased to introduce you to the head of the Favcom internship programme. The best of the very best. Your mentor for the next six months.”

I think it was the scent. Or the size of the shadow. Or maybe that prickly sixth sense that gives you goosebumps.

My eyes moved up slowly, and my heart was racing. Thumping.

My heart knew.

Bay leaf green eyes were staring, wide, a steel jaw gritted hard. Killer angles. Tailored suit.

Those bay leaf eyes stared right at me, and I stared right back.

And I could have died.

“Carl,” my father said. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Katie.” My father smiled at me, oblivious, entirely oblivious. “Katie,” he said. “I’d like you to meet Carl Brooks. The best of the very best.”

Oh fuck.