ROSA

 

“Take the executive lift,” the receptionist had said. “Just over there.”

I crossed the floor, passing all the high powered business people, feeling very out of place.

A woman stepped in front of life as I crossed the floor, blocking my way in. She was inhumanly beautiful, thin, tall, blonde, not a hair out of place.

The only thing she did was raise a single eyebrow as she stared down without blinking, saying nothing. It was incredibly intimidating to have someone so immaculately dressed run her eyes over me, judging me in under a second, taking in the missing button, the laddered tights, the whole messy ensemble.

“I’m supposed to-”

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Executives only.”

“But-”

From behind me the receptionist shouted. “It’s all right, Connie. She’s going to see Mr Spencer.”

Connie’s smile faltered for just a moment. The noise of conversation around me audibly reduced. Everyone watched as she stepped aside, hitting the button to open the doors.

They opened silently a second later and I walked into the lift, turning to face the front. Everyone was still watching me, muttering to each other.

“Going to see Mr Spencer.”

“Who is she?”

“Her, over there.”

“Her? Really?”

I was glad when the doors closed and I could breathe again. “That’s right,” I said to my reflection, confidence returning. “I’m going to see Jamie Spencer. We’re close friends don’t you know. Actually, he just asked me to marry him so there’s that. He’s been begging me for months, chasing after me, and I finally said yes, I hate to see him beg on his knees like that.”

I noticed the camera up in the corner. I stopped talking at once, hoping it didn’t record sound. I hadn’t touched a button yet the lift was moving already. I looked. There weren’t any buttons to push, just three blank walls and the door in front of me, the mirrored surface reflecting my still sodden blouse.

I tugged it away from my bra though it made little difference. I pulled my jacket closed again. Could I hold it like that and take notes at the same time? Would he notice that ladder in my tights? Should I just turn around and go home?

The door opened with a light ping and I stepped out into a carpet so thick, I thought I might vanish into it like it was quicksand. The walls were covered in paintings. They couldn’t be originals. They had to be prints. They sure looked like originals though. That one, that was a Picasso. If it was a print, it was a very good one.

Along the corridor, me trying to work out where I was going. I tried the first door I came to. Locked.

The next one was unlocked. I pushed it open.

There was a woman behind a desk, typing quietly. “Yes?” she asked, looking me up and down. She might have been the twin sister of the lift operator.

“Sorry, I’m looking for Mr Spencer.”

“And you are?”

“Emma Morris’ assistant. I’m here to interview him.”

“I see.” A glance down at my clothes then up at my hair. “Take a seat. I will inform him of your arrival.”

She nodded towards a row of three chairs by the window. I sat sideways, looking down at the city far below, seeing it from a completely new angle. There was the river, swollen from the recent rain, rowing boat passing under the bridge as I watched.

I turned away, digging out the notebook and trying once again to work out Emma’s handwriting.

Questions to ask.

 

1 - Is it true that you’ve never married and never intend to?

2 - What is the big secret about Spencer Enterprises’ new venture?

3 - How big is your cock?

 

The handwriting got too bad. It looked like it said cock but either I was reading it wrong or Emma had put that one in as a joke. I was going to have to wing it.

Why did I feel so nervous. It was only an interview and I was the one asking the questions. It would be fine. I needed my heart to stop thudding in my chest. If it kept doing that, I wouldn’t be able to hear his answers over the jackhammer thuds as my arteries ruptured.

“Mr Spencer will see you now,” the woman said presently, hanging up a phone and smiling coldly at me.

“Through there?”

She nodded.

“Thanks.”

She was already typing again. I walked past her to the door in the far wall. I wanted to prepare myself better but with her behind me, I felt under too much pressure. So I just took a deep breath and hoped my shaking hand would stop before he saw it. Then I turned the handle and walked in.

He was facing the window, turning slowly around to look at me a second later. “Good morning,” I said after far too long a pause.

I hadn’t been able to help the pause. The sight of him in the magazines and on TV was one thing but there he was in person, just a silhouette with the light behind him but it was intimidating beyond belief, him radiating power and influence at me, making me crumble like a cracker in clenched fist.

The office was intimidating enough. Dark wood bookshelves groaning with leather volumes, dark wood desk, organised and tidy, computer sleek and silent in one corner. Paintings darker than the desk, two leather armchairs with an abstract sculpture in between. Umbrella stand, green umbrella folded within it. Then the floor to ceiling windows, him looking out at the city just as I’d been doing a minute ago.

Hang on. Green umbrella? Was he the man I’d crashed into on the street. Please, don’t let it be him.

“Won’t you take a seat?” he asked, walking out of the light, giving me my first proper view of his face. “Or do you prefer sitting on the pavement?”

I winced. It was him. Just perfect. He’d seen me with my legs in the air, sitting on my ass in the rain. Great. So much for a dignified introduction.

“A chair is fine,” I said, my voice a squeak. I scrunched my toes as I sat down. Just relax, he’s only a man.

Yeah, but what a man!

Calm down. Keep it together.

He held his hand out and shook mine. There was the feeling I’d had outside, the brute strength in that grip. In a flash, I thought about that hand on my ass. I blushed furiously, feeling incredibly hot all of a sudden.

I was glad when he slid his hand away, giving me a chance to get a grip of myself. The room was silent. He was silent. Why was he silent?

I looked up from my lap at him. He was gorgeous in person though he seemed amused by the sight of me. His eyes met my gaze. “Did you have any questions?”

“What? Oh, yes. Questions. Definitely. Hang on. I have all the questions.”

I fumbled through the notepad, looking down at Emma’s scrawl. Is it true you’ve never married? I couldn’t ask that first. It was far too personal. “Do you read all those books?” I asked, cringing as I said it. What a stupid question.

“Some of them,” he replied, that amusement still there. “Some of them are just there to make me look good.”

“You already-.”

I’d said it before I could stop myself. I slapped my hand down on the notepad, clawing at the edges to resist screaming with embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I’d almost said it. You already look good. What was wrong with me?

“Would you like a drink?” he asked. “You seem a little nervous.”

“Yes, please,” I replied, glad of the distraction from my utter uselessness.

“Sally, two coffees,” he said, pressing a button on the edge of the desk.

“Your desk is called Sally?” I asked before remembering what Emma told me. No jokes.

He smiled. “If you press the right button, it’ll massage your shoulders and bake a cake at the same time as making the coffee.”

“That’s not that impressive, you’ll get floury shoulders.”

Well done, Rosa. Floury shoulders. Smooth. He’ll definitely marry you now.

“Do all your interviews go like this?” he asked, still examining me closely.

“Actually, this is my first one.”

“How do you think it’s going?”

“Badly.”

The door opened a second later. The woman I’d just met brought in a tray, setting it down on the edge of the desk, leaving without another word.

“Here,” he said, passing one to me. “Drink that then we’ll start again. I’ll show you how to interview someone.”

“You think I need help?” I took the coffee from him and sipped at it, my shaking hands making the surface ripple and almost spill over.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Rosa Harper.”

“Good start. See, I’ve established rapport. Now, pass me your notepad.”

“I’m not sure I-”

“Now.” His voice suddenly went cold and my arm was outstretched with the pad before I even knew what was happening. He took it from me and my arm remained outstretched, still not in my control. Slowly, I withdrew it, confused by what had just happened.

He flicked through the pages. “Is it true you’ve never married and never intend to?”

“Do I answer as if I’m you?”

“Answer however you like.”

“But I don’t know if it’s true, for you I mean.”

“You haven’t researched your subject in advance?”

“I only found out I was interviewing you half an hour ago.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you moved the time.”

I hoped that would put him in his place a little but that smile didn’t move. He was an arrogant son of a bitch but then I suppose you didn’t end up running an empire the size of his by being a nice guy.

He looked down at the pad. Shit, question three. What if he saw that? His brow furrowed for a moment before he looked up at me. “How about I ask some questions of my own?”

“That might be easier.”

He put the pad down and tapped it with his finger as if he was thinking. Then he looked up at me, fixing me in his gaze. “Have you ever been spanked?”

I must have misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“Have you ever been spanked, Miss Harper?”

“I’m not sure that’s a suitable question.”

“Neither is asking if I intend to ever marry or about the size of my cock. This interview is supposed to be about my work, not my personal life.”

“They weren’t my questions. Emma-”

“Quiet. I didn’t ask for this interview. I was asked, several times over the course of a number of months. I finally agreed and they send you with question like that? Why?”

What was I supposed to tell him. My housemate begged me? “I want to be a journalist.”

“Then you need to start acting like one. Now ask me a proper question.”

“Can I have the pad back, please?”

“Not those bullshit questions.” He flung the pad off the side of the desk. “Ask me a question you want answered.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Is that your question?”

“I guess so.”

“I’m like this because my time is precious and I don’t like it being wasted. Here’s a question for you, have you ever been spanked?”

“I get the point, nothing personal.”

“No, this time I’m asking and you’re going to answer.”

“I’m not sure I-”

He stood up, cutting my sentence off as effectively as talking over me. He marched around the desk and stood in front of the door. “You are not leaving until you answer. Have you ever been spanked?”

“You’re serious? Why do you want to know?”

“Indulge me.”

I took a deep breath. I wanted to leave but I wanted to answer him at the same time. “No,” I said at last. “There, can we get on now?”

“Never?”

“Never.”

He smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He returned to his seat as if nothing had happened.

“Why did you want to know?” I asked.

“I see something in you and I want to talk about it.”

“But I’m supposed to be interviewing you.”

“That’s boring. What do you know about dominance and submission?”

“I read Fifty Shades of Grey.”

“Then you see the similarities. Here you are, interviewing the handsome billionaire, getting all nervous, wondering what I might be about to do to you. I’m surprised you didn’t trip on the way into my office, clutzy but adorable heroine setting my heart aflutter with her quirky innocence.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not going to stalk you, if that’s what’s worrying you. I won’t appear in your bedroom in the middle of the night, begging you to sleep with me.”

I felt disappointed to hear him say that. Why on earth did I feel disappointed. “That’s good to hear,” I said out loud.

“Why are you so nervous?

“Excuse me?”

“You are nervous, correct?”

“I’m doing my best, Mr Spencer, if we could get back to the questions-”

“You’re shy. It’s fine, nothing to be ashamed of. Would you like to be more confident?”

“I’m not sure-”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes,” I snapped, glaring at him and instantly wilting when he frowned back at me.

“That’s why I like you. What if I told you I could take away those nerves and give you confidence to respond like that whenever you want. What would you say to that?”

“Is this still part of the interview.”

“That’s what my new consultancy does. We give managers the confidence they need in today’s busy work environment.”

“I should write that down.”

“Here,” he said, leaning down and picking up the pad. “You know, in Fifty Shades, she used a Dictaphone. You should get one.”

“Thanks.” I started scrawling as he listed the benefits of his new service, the things he could do for people.

“What about you?” he asked when he was done reeling off soundbites. “What do you think it would do for you?”

“What, paying ten grand a day to you to be told I need to be a bastard if I’m going to succeed?”

“It’s a little more subtle than that.”

“I couldn’t afford it so there’s no point you offering.”

“What if I offered you my services for free?”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because I want to.” He smiled as he said it.

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that. What do you say?”

“What does it involve?”

“I know what you’re thinking but if you agree, what happens can’t go in your article.”

“Then why would I agree?”

“Your name, Rosa, do you know what it means?”

“Rose.”

“Ever heard of the term Sub Rosa?”

 I shook my head. “Never.”

“It means under the rose. See the Minster out there?” He hooked a finger behind him. “Back when that was being built, people carved a rose into the ceiling of a little ante-room where they would speak privately. Whatever was said in that room was said Sub Rosa, said under the rose. It was a symbol of secrecy, a way of ensuring people could be open and honest without fear of repercussions. Anything said Sub Rosa was to be shared with no one. It allowed for honesty, total honesty that you would get nowhere else. Do you understand?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If you agree to let me coach you, first you sign a contract and then we enter the Rose Room. Whatever happens between us will be Sub Rosa. I will not speak of it to anyone and neither will you. Ever.”

“You don’t want your business secrets escaping?”

“If you like, yes. What do you say?”

“I say I should get back to asking you the questions.”

“I’m afraid I can give you no more time this morning. But here, take my card. If you would like to take me up on my offer, call that number and we’ll arrange something. Good morning, Miss Harper.”

He was on his feet a second later, hand outstretched.

I stood up, taking his hand and once again feeling the sheer strength of him in one grip. My legs shook and I couldn’t move until he let go. Even then, I was shaking as I said, “Thank you for your time.”

I walked over to the door and took three attempts to open it. Once I was out, I looked around me in a daze. What had just happened in there.

His card felt heavy in my handbag as I headed for the lift. I wouldn’t ring the number. I wouldn’t say yes. He’d only done it as a joke, to toy with me.

I wouldn’t ring him for another reason too. This was real life. I couldn’t spend any more time with him. I was thinking about him as I left the building and I was thinking about him when I walked home. If I saw him again, I would start to obsess. Not good. Obsessing over him would only hurt me.

He’d never want someone like me and the quicker I got that into my head, the better. Fifty Shades was fiction. This was real life. Billionaires don’t go for people like me in real life, they go for the sort of waif who watched me walk out of the lift, barely disguised contempt plastered across her face. That kind of person. Flat chest, flat personality, someone who doesn’t make bad jokes or live permanently in the red.

Didn’t stop me thinking about him though, about the way his hand had felt when it enveloped mine, the way he’d smiled at me, the way he’d spoken to me. Didn’t stop me flashing his card at her as I went by either, watching that contempt turn to bewildered surprise.

I walked out of the building and headed back across the bridge. I felt his eyes on me. Glancing back over my shoulder, I looked up at the Spencer Enterprises building. Was he watching me from one of those blank windows? Of course not, he had a company to run.

I hoped Emma could make something of my notes. At least I had done what she asked. She would get her article, I’d get some leeway to find another job before being made homeless and all I had to do now was get Jamie Spencer out of my head once and for all. I wasn’t going to think about him for a second longer.

I walked past a newspaper kiosk. There was his face again on the front cover of the Financial Times. Nope, I thought, looking away. Not going to think about him anymore. He was too arrogant. He was too smug. He thought I’d ring just because it was him. I’d prove him wrong. I’d forget all about him, never think of him again.

I was still thinking about him when I got home. A shower. That would help. A shower so cold I’d come out with hypothermia. If that didn’t work, nothing would.

It didn’t work.