Office Affairs

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 "Get off your knees, Sasha, else people will start talking."

After placing my salad in its usual section of the crowded fridge—bottom shelf, left-hand side—I straightened up and let the door swing shut, brushing the dust off my tights.

"People already talk," I said to Alastair.

He smiled, his eyes sweeping over my body. "New top? You look nice."

Folding my arms, I arched an eyebrow at him. "What are you after?"

"Who says I'm after something?"

His sharp jawline freshly shaven and his dark blond hair neatly styled, my boss looked far too well-groomed and wide awake for eight o'clock on a Monday morning. When my alarm had woken me from dreams about mismatched sofas and cushions at six this morning, I could have easily drifted back off to sleep, and the drowsiness still lingered behind my eyelids.

"You're complimenting me on a top I've worn at least five times before," I said, reaching past him to grab a mug out of the cupboard. "I think it's fair to say you're after something."

Alastair flicked the switch on the kettle. Without saying another word, he removed the lid from the coffee jar and tipped three spoonfuls into my mug. Yes, definitely after something.

"Over the weekend we had a complaint," he said.

I grimaced. "About what?"

"One of our drivers was installing a dining room table and scratched the property's wooden floor."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Alastair bumped his shoulder against mine. "Hey, remember the rules? Pound for every swear word."

Pfft. I wished this guy would pound me every time I swore. I'd be a more satisfied woman.

"I'll write you an IOU," I quipped. "Not that you need the money."

"You know very well that the money doesn't go to me."

"And yet you're the only person in the office who enforces the swear jar rules. Funny that."

When the kettle finished boiling, Alastair poured the steaming liquid into my mug, giving it a quick stir before tapping the toe of his black, polished shoe against my ankle.

I obediently stepped away from the fridge to let him retrieve the milk, then watched as he added a splash of it to my coffee, enough to take off the bitterness, just how I liked it.

All the while, I wondered what a scratched floor had to do with me.

Sliding my mug along the worktop towards me, Alastair's eyes locked back onto mine. He leaned a hip against the wall and slid one hand into his pocket.

"I need a favour," he said as I wrapped my fingers around the hot mug.

"I thought you might."

"I want you to go out and meet the client," he said. "He's quite frustrated—understandably—and I think you're the only person who can get us back into his good books."

Something sounded dodgy about the whole thing, and it wasn't just Alastair's roundabout way of asking for a favour. Over the past year, I'd spent time in most of the departments here. Alastair had me on regular rotations when I started so I could familiarise myself with the business before slotting into my permanent role within Finance. Customer relations fell firmly within Sales' remit, and while I hadn't hated my stint in their team, they were far better equipped to deal with this than me.