“I’m heading out now, Logan,” I call from the bottom of the stairs, my hand just about to pull the front door open.
“Wait! Come here before you leave.” His deep voice booms from above me, and I let out a sigh, muttering something about lazy arse, and maybe how a please here and there wouldn’t go amiss as I trudge back up the two flights of stairs and along the corridor to his sanctuary. I push the door to his office wide. He’s standing with his back to me, facing a wall of screens. He has on some torn low slung jeans that hang off his hips, exposing the dimples on his lower back, just above the firm curve of his arse cheeks. Strange that, even though I’ve seen his butt a million times, with a little covering, he just looks so much more tempting. I can feel my cheeks burn when he coughs, and I look up to see his wry, knowing grin.
“When you’ve finished ogling my arse, I have some news.” He snaps his fingers and points to his desk.
“I wasn’t…” I blurt, flustered and burning right up from his accurate observation. “Shut up, what news?” He chuckles at my embarrassment and walks over to his massive antique oak desk that looks oddly right in a room filled with the most up-to-date technology and geek shit available. He picks up a small Post-it note and hands it to me. I read the numbers and frown.
“What do these mean?” I hand it back, and he shakes his head, like I’ve missed something crucial. It’s just numbers that don’t look nearly long enough to be a phone number.
“That’s what Bernard got for your painting he just sold.” He turns the little yellow piece of paper around in his long fingers and holds it a few centimetres from my nose. I squint and focus with much more interest.
“Seriously? I mean, really, you’re not teasing? Because that wouldn’t be funny.” I take the paper again, not quite believing my eyes.
“I know it wouldn’t,” he replies flatly, and his brow furrows at my comment. “I’m not teasing. I said they’d sell. You just needed the right gallery to take a chance on you.” He places his heavy arm over my shoulder and pulls me in for a side hug, pride now replacing the brief look of confusion.
“And the decimal is in the right place? It’s really eight hundred not just eight pound right?” I feel this burst of excitement rip through me, and I start to bounce on my toes. His arm is slipping from my shoulders, since I can’t seem to keep still.
“God, you’re adorable! Yes, it’s eight hundred pounds. That’s after his commission. Even as a friend, he was never going to do it for love.”
“Oh, god no, of course not, of course. Oh, wow, Logan, this is amazing. I might not have to go cleaning for much longer after all. I mean, if this works out, and it’s not just a one-off.”
His tone drops low. “That’s what I was thinking.” A disapproving rumble escapes his bare chest, and his dark eyes look so much more serious.
“I know you don’t think I need to do this.”
“I don’t think, I know,” he corrects.
I let out a breath of frustration. Man, he’s stubborn. “But I do, I have to contribute. It’s just not in me to be a taker. I feel so damn guilty that I’ve taken so much already.” It’s not my only reason, but it’s the only one I can share.
He drops his jaw comically wide and rolls his eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all. There’s a huge imbalance here, Logan, and I want to even it out a bit,” I add. I know I can’t repay him for everything he’s done, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.
His voice softens. “The imbalance is on my end, Tia. You’ve made my life almost normal, and I never believed that would be possible.” His eyes hold a sadness that feels like a sucker punch to my chest. I reach for him, my hand on his arm, his large flexed muscle feeling like concrete under my touch.
“Logan, you know, if we maybe talked…” And just like that his shield slams shut, and he breaks all contact. The warmth I felt in my fingertips vanishes, and he turns abruptly away from me, snapping with open hostility in his tone.
“I won’t wait up.”
“Right, okay. Well, thanks for this.” I fold the paper with my newly earned fortune and slip it into my jacket pocket.
“Don’t mention it.”
“Okay, then, bye.”
“Shut the door on your way out,” he yells as I step over the threshold.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I pull his door shut. Every damn time. I know I’m out of my depth with someone like Logan. He’s so smart, and he’s probably read everything ever printed on agoraphobia. If there was a way, if he really wanted to, I’m sure he’d conquer that demon. It’s just I can’t help thinking or hoping that, if it’s something else, and maybe talking to me might fix whatever it is, even the slightest chance, then I’m going to keep trying.
Even if it stings like a bitch when he shuts down like that.
I grab my courier bag which is just large enough to fit Marias canvas and sling it across my body. Opening the front door, I skip down the cracked steps that lead down the path toward the street, where the weeds are winning the battle against the decaying concrete in this urban turf war. The sun is high, but April still clings to a chill and I wrap my scarf around my neck and button up my denim jacket. I actually wish I had my woolly hat with me, but looking around at people in shorts and summer dresses, I would feel a little conspicuous. Looking at them makes me shiver because I’m always cold. Even in a heat wave I would probably still have socks and a jumper stuffed in my bag, just in case.
Logan’s house is elevated at the top of a long residential street, with only a few other similar properties. Several Edwardian town houses and Victorian mansions dot the tree lined road, mostly hidden behind tall hedges, secure iron railings and automatic gates. Logan’s house has the least security features which is one of the reasons it was so easy to break into. It’s also the most isolated considering we live on the edge of one of the most densely populated cities in Eurpoe.
The end of the street is a junction that leads to the main road and my nearest bus stop. The walk itself takes about half an hour and there are always buses every fifteen minutes throughout the day, which is another perk of living in the commuter belt of a big city. In the village I grew up in there was a bus in the morning and one in the evening. If I missed either, I was walking, not that I had anywhere to go but I frequently missed my bus home and cursed both living in the countryside having a mother that didn’t drive.
It’s a short bus ride into the heart of town from where we live, but it takes forever with the London traffic. When I finally arrive at my destination, I spend a good hour in the art supply shop. While I wait for them to frame my picture I wander the isles, mentally making up my wish list until I actually get that money from the sale of my painting in my account. I am so low on materials, I will probably blow half of it in here. I settle on buying some charcoal and a new sketchpad. I have a couple of hours to kill before I have to be at work, so I make my way to the park and settle down to people watch and sketch.
This is what I love about city parks. Any break in the cloud and they are teeming with people making the most of these small patches of nature in an over-populated city. Office workers on late lunches, parents with children, a football being kicked around in the distance, and tourists clearly taken by surprise judging by the quantity of clothes they are now wearing tied around their waists or draped over arms and shoulders.
Doesn’t it always rain in London?
Only one thing is missing on this perfect afternoon, one person. I let out a heavy sigh, and in lieu of any tissues, wipe my charcoal-blackened hands on the grass. I fish out my phone and dial the only contact in my address book. When it goes direct to voicemail, I want to kick myself and head back home to apologise. He must be really mad with me to ignore my call, and really I should’ve kept my big mouth shut, especially after his little re-modelling on the back door this morning. Damn it. I drop a text with an apology but don’t bother waiting on a reply. If anything is going to drive me crazy, it’s waiting for a reply from Mr Stubborn.
The sun has started to set when I finally pack my things away and stand. Brushing the grass from my jeans, I stretch the cramp and dampness from my legs and begin the forty-minute walk into the heart of the business district.
The grey and glass buildings towering on every side seem to close in around me. The roads are lined with cars making their way home, but the pavements are empty. Looking up, the buildings are so tall they converge to such an extent that I can barely see the darkening sky. It feels every bit as oppressive as I can only imagine Logan must feel when faced with the great outdoors. My chest feels tight, and I get a chill in my bones that makes me shiver. I physically shake to try and alleviate the heavy feeling of being closed in. Normally, I’m not remotely claustrophobic. I lived in Logan’s dark basement for weeks, but there is something eerie about the business district part of the city when it’s void of humans.
I reach the office block where I have worked for the last few months and have another full body shiver, but this time it has nothing to do with the cold breeze funnelled into a sharp wind whipping between the buildings. This is a direct result of reading his family name in big silver letters over the main doors, Kruse Tower. It’s a stunning building, forty-four floors of sleek shiny steel and mirrored glass. The surrounding buildings fade into the background next to this impressive feat of architecture and engineering. Not unlike meeting Atticus himself, I muse, letting out a flat humourless laugh. He wasn’t always so impressive, not so much when we met as children, but around the time when he turned eighteen, there wasn’t another man on the planet that could touch him for looks and presence.
I turn away from the main doors and make my way to the service entrance, swipe my card, and dump my stuff in my locker. The padlock hangs broken, and I haven’t bothered to replace it. It’s not like I have anything worth stealing. I slip into my not-so-sexy shapeless beige overalls on top of my clothes and, with the picture I painted of her granddaughter tucked under my arm, head off to find Maria. I catch my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass walkways and cringe, l look like some kind of cross between an inmate at a maximum security facility and a baked potato.
The staff room is deep in the bowels of the building. That is, the staff room for the caretakers, cleaners, and maintenance staff is buried down there. Several other staff rooms are spread over on other floors of the block, and of course, the executive lounge for board members and family is situated one level below the top floor office suites. The Kruse family has always liked to keep that line between ‘them and us’ absolutely visible. As if I could ever forget.
“There you are, sweet cheeks,” Maria calls out as I come into view. I don’t quite enter the room, but her seat is strategically placed to spot anyone approaching her domain. “I was just talking about you to Loretta here, telling her what a great artist you are and all. Didn’t I say that she’s wasted here, Loretta? I said there’s no way you’re a lifer.” She chuckles, and Loretta is nodding in agreement, although I’m not sure she understands a word Maria is saying; she speaks so fast with a thick Caribbean accent.
“I feel like a lifer in this jumpsuit.” I tug on the coarse material of my uniform. Even cinched at the waist, it has to be the most unflattering item of clothing ever designed, but then fashion probably wasn’t high on its list of requisite functions.
“Hmm?” A deep frown forms on Maria’s face, my attempt at humour flying neatly over her tightly curled hair. Her smooth dark skin barely has a single wrinkle, and I know she is the wrong side of fifty. I wish I had her genes. The only gifts my mother gave to me were childbearing hips and high blood pressure.
“Never mind.” I wave off my joke rather than try to explain, which would be painful for everyone. “Thank you, though, you’re very kind.” I hold out the picture, which is in a simple paper bag, but now at least it is framed. “I did this for you. I know you took a risk taking me on, and I’m really grateful.”
“Hush now, it wasn’t a risk, a sweet girl like you. I only wish I could’ve gotten you in sooner but still better late than never. “She smiles warmly and I wave off her regretful tone. Meeting Maria was necessary, getting this job was crucial. How long that took was irrelevant. Becoming good friends, however was a complete bonus.“You may have had no references, but the second you sat next to me on that bus all that time ago I just knew and I know people. Why, I wouldn’t have cleared your pass to access all floors if I had any doubt. I gave you the top floors straight off. Sweet cheeks, because I trust you. Besides, it’s not like this is brain surgery, sugar; we’re just the cleaners.” She gives a hearty laugh and holds her hand out. “Now, what’s this you got?” Maria takes the gift and is quick to tear apart the wrapping. Her face lights up, and her smile couldn’t be any wider without the aid of surgery.
“Just a token.” I shuffle, suddenly aware that Maria and Loretta are both staring at me.
“Oh, my Lord, girl, this is amazing. My sweet little Honour looks the spit of her dear mother, rest her soul. I can’t believe you did this; you should have your work in one of those fancy galleries off St James,” Maria gushes, and I get a pinch, a tingle of pressure behind my eyes when hers fill and burst with tears at the mention of her daughter.
“Actually, I sold my first piece today,” I say to stop us both from having an emotional episode. “Not from one of those galleries in St James mind, but Logan’s friend has one off King’s Road. Anyway, I have officially moved up from starving artist, to very poor artist.” I laugh lightly, but Maria doesn’t join in. I add clarification because she is looking more concerned than amused. “At least I’m not homeless anymore.”
“You’re not really starving?” She takes my hand in hers, her face the picture of concern. I shake my head vigorously.
“No, no, and I have a roof over my head, but I’m still pretty broke. My hobby and would-be livelihood is super expensive.” I shrug. She seems to relax with my light tone and explanation of my situation.
“Let me pay you—” I hold up my hand to stop her, and I’m just as quick to interrupt.
“Oh, God, no, Maria. I didn’t mean anything like that. No, all I meant was, I just went to the art shop today, and now I have a pretty long list of what I need. I’m going to need to sell a few more paintings to replenish my stocks, but then that’s why I’m here.” I sweep my open palm in a gesture to encompass the entire Tower.
“You know, there’s a perfectly full store cupboard on the fifth floor that has enough office supplies to support all the schools in the city. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss a few pens and pencils.” She winks conspiratorially, but I can’t help but stiffen at her remark.
“I’m sure they would mind, and no, I’m good, thank you.” I don’t mean to sound like a stuck-up arse, holier-than-thou, but this is a line I won’t cross. My tone softens. “Despite what my record says, I’m not a thief, Maria.”
“Oh, I know, honey, and it ain’t really thieving; it’s topping up on the shitty pay.” She tips her head, and Loretta is quick to nod in agreement, but I step back a little and shake my head again. I don’t want to cause offence, but I have more than my job on the line here.
“I’m pretty sure Kruse Corporation wouldn’t see it like that.”
“Suit yourself, sweet cheeks, but you’re the only one that isn’t on the take in this building,” Maria scoffs.
“What do you mean?”
“They are all just as dirty as a dealer on the street. They just wear nicer suits,” she says, but I’m not sure she’s talking to me. She’s looking intently at the picture I just gave her. Her statement has me intrigued though.
“You have proof of this, of course?” I probe.
“Nah, just a feeling.” She looks over at me and my momentary interest vanishes with the realisation this is just more hearsay and gossip. I’m not a fan of either. “I know a bad’un when I see them, and I’ve met them all on that top floor. The mother is the worst, butter wouldn’t melt, but that is one ice cold bitch.” I snort out a flat laugh at that comment because that observation is spot on.
“I’m not going to argue that,” I mutter under my breath.
“I’ve worked here so long it’s only the golden pension I got with them that keeps me here. Trust me, that pot of gold at the end is worth it. I’m gonna be able to buy me a sweet retirement and pay for this little one’s education.” She looks fondly at the portrait and continues to explain. “I can’t afford to leave, but I wouldn’t even if I could. See, you have to work every day up to the end to get the bonus.”
“Bonus?”
“Yeah, the company doubles your contribution just like that, but only if you work right up to the last day.”
“Really? That seems really generous. I’m surprised they could afford to do that with every employee.”
“Not many stay till the end, hunny. Not many stay longer than a few years.” She lets out a bitter laugh, and Loretta nods with her friend’s observation. I know she’s telling the truth. They have the highest turnover of staff in the private banking sector. The money is good enough to attract the very best, but it’s obviously not enough to keep them.
“Where do you want me?” I ask when she falls uncharacteristically silent.
“Actually, you’re on the top floor. The big boss is transferring back from overseas and needs his office opened up, cleaned, and sparkling.”
“Big boss?”
“Yes, the son is returning. He’s been working out of the Moscow office, and apparently, he’s coming home for good. They are having some financial crisis, and he’s the wonder boy that is going to solve all their problems.”
“Is there anything you don’t know, Maria?” I quip.
“No, I’m the eyes and ears of this place.” She chuckles.
“Remind me to buy you a drink sometime. I’d love to know more.” I pick up the keys to the store cupboard and turn to leave.
“I don’t drink, but buy me a cake, and I’ll tell you everything,” she chuckles.
“Okay, you’re on but your cakes are the best Maria, not sure any shop bought compete.”
“Birthday cakes are my specialty but I love any cakes that I’m not making myself.” She chuckles and pats the roundness of her midsection. I smile and ignore the inference to her weight, she’s perfect. “You want me to do the whole of that floor when I’m done in his office?”
“Yes, honey, that would be great. Work your way down to the fortieth. I’ll grab you around two in the morning for a break.”
“Oh, I’d rather work through and leave early if that’s okay? “I smile sweetly with my request because Maria really likes her break time to be a communal thing.
“You got a hot date?” She raises her pencilled in brow nice and high.
“Something like that, a hot date with some cold Chinese food,” I scoff and wave my goodbye to the sound of her laughing.
The view from the top floor is breathtaking. The length of this office is floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Thames and beyond. On a clear, star-filled night like this, I swear I can almost see the coast. I step flush against the window and press my nose against the glass so even my peripheral vision is filled with this vista. I feel like I’m floating or about to fall. It scares the crap out of me, but I love it, too. It’s like a test. Isn’t the saying, do something that scares you every day? I laugh bitterly to myself at the irony. I’ve spent so many days terrified for my life, this is nothing, and it’s also in my control.
I exhale through my nose, and the glass steams up. Stepping back, I draw a lazy doodle of a love heart with my finger, which slowly disappears as the mist warms on the glass. It’s no longer visible, but in a certain light, the mark will show. I am about to wipe the window with my cloth and spray, removing any trace but stop myself. He always had my heart.
I turn and look at the now sparkling clean office of Acting President Atticus Kruse. I did a good job, although it wasn’t difficult. It’s a very clinical and sparsely furnished room. A large oval glass and oak desk at one end and two long white leather sofas at the other. There’s a display cabinet and a side unit with a fridge. The tall shelving unit behind his desk is empty other than a lone bottle of his favourite whiskey. Other than that, there are no personal items to speak of. Maybe that will change, but at this moment, the room could belong to anyone. It certainly doesn’t feel like it belongs to him. I shake my wayward thoughts away because none of that matters. Wistful recollections and trips down memory lane are for naïve love-struck teenagers, and I haven’t been one of those in a long time. I lock the door to his office and begin cleaning the rest of the top floor and then the next and the next until, at five thirty in the morning, I drag my weary arse home.
The dawn breaks around four o’clock this time of year, and it’s almost fully light by the time I hop off the night bus and make my way up our street. I reach the gate and find two women on the doorstep. They have their backs turned to me and are searching around in an oversized bag for something. They look immaculate from here. Slicked dark hair pulled back into matching ponytails and heels so high I’d need an airbag for safety if I were to attempt to wear anything remotely similar. One is wearing a full-length fake fur coat, while the other has on a neat fitted black leather biker jacket. Her skirt clings to her arse like a second skin and barely covers the bottom curve of her cheeks. Her stocking tops and suspenders are clearly visible. They haven’t heard me approach, and I’m about to push by, but they start to whisper, so I freeze, my foot lifted and hovering mid step.
“That’s a lot of money for doing nothing.” I can hear the surprise in her tone, and her friend nods enthusiastically.
“Yeah, I actually wish he would touch us though…just once, you know?” She snickers.
“Just touch? Fuck that. No, no, I want his cock. I want to fuck him so bad, have his cock in me, not your dildo or strap on. I want him to join in for a change, not just watch us get it on.” She pouts and I think my jaw just hit the pavement. What the hell are they saying?
“Yeah, me, too, it’s a shame, you know, a waste. He’s built down there; hell, he’s built everywhere, but you just know he’d be soooo good.” She giggles and sighs.
“Never thought I’d say it about a John, but I feel bad taking his money. You think he’s gay?”
“No, Jade, I don’t think he’s gay. He’s only been like this since she—Ow!”
“Shit!” Jade’s head snaps round to face me, her bony elbow interrupting her friend by digging into her side.
“Ow, what the fuck, Lacy!” Jade rubs her ribs and follows her friend’s startled glare. “Oh, shit!”
“What did you just say?” I step forward and keep my voice low. Sound travels, and it’s too early for the everyday noises of a street waking up to cloak the conversation.
“Nothing, we said nothing.” Jade snaps her lips shut, as if it isn’t already too late for that.
“But you did.” I offer a smile and raise my brow, hoping my jokey tone will endear her enough to clarify and expand on their conversation.
“Escort-client privileges, we’re not allowed to say.” She bites back with a spiteful twist in her glossy bright pink lips. Apparently not.
“I think that’s only with doctors, lawyers, and priests, and I don’t mean any disrespect by assuming your trade, since you are none of the above.”
“Smarty arse, hmm? Must be why he likes you, since we’re not allowed to speak and all. That must be what’s different,” Lacy butts in with equal disdain for my presence and questions.
“Not the only difference, I hope,” I blurt and instantly shake my head by way of a retraction.
“You got a problem, bitch?” Jade steps up to me. I don’t back down, but I’m not going to defend myself, either. It was a low blow. “Because as I see it, we’re here providing a service he ain’t getting, and if he ain’t sharing the details with you…” She jabs her finger into my chest. I flinch but don’t move. “…then I guess it’s none of your fucking business, is it?” Her face is inches from mine, and I can see in her eyes the fire is hiding a little hurt. I let out a slow breath and try and make amends.
“You’re right; it’s none of my business. I’m actually sorry for the snide comment. I’m in no position to judge. I’ve just had a long night cleaning offices.” She huffs, and her shoulders lose a little of their stiffness. She steps back and Lacy slides her arm through Jade’s.
“On minimum wage, yeah, that would make me a grumpy bitch, too.” Jade laughs, but it’s hollow.
“Yeah, needs must, though, a girl’s gotta’ eat.” I step past them and up to the front door. Jade calls after me.
“You need extra cash, we’re always looking for new girls, and you’re pretty enough.” Her smile is genuine, and her face is a picture of excited anticipation. I fight off the grimace that is threatening and flash an apologetic smile.
“Oh, thank you, but I’m assuming sex would be involved, so that kind of counts me out,” I quip, and Lacy leans over to whisper, only it’s louder than her normal voice.
“Oh, that makes much more sense.”
“What does?” I step back toward the girls, but they hurry through the gate.
“Nothing. For fuck’s sake, Lacy, keep your mouth shut. This sweet gig will end if he finds out we’ve talked, okay?”
“Shit, can you just forget you saw us?” Jade pleads.
“Hardly, but I won’t say anything, either. It’s not my place,” I offer, and Jade lets out a relieved breath and smiles. Lacy can’t seem to help herself and speaks once more before Jade drags her away.
“Not what we’ve heard.”
I am way too tired for this cryptic shit.