WHAT
THE
ACTUAL
FUCK
HAS
JUST
HAPPENED
I sprint back into the bathroom and run my hands under the cool water splashing my face in the hopes that I am awoken from the dream of where I fucked my bosses best friend in a cleaning cupboard at a 2 Michelin star restaurant.
I send Becs a barrage of messages, repeating the phrase 'SHIT BUCKETS' seven times, intending to provoke a reaction and initiate a conversation about my rather outrageous actions. However, to my annoyance, she hasn't even read a single bloody one. The situation is now compounded by my frantic thoughts, wondering what on earth she could possibly be engaged in that has prevented her from responding to a message marked with our code words for absolute emergencies. As anxiety creeps in, the unsettling notion dawns upon me that she might be in with Reg. So discussing my impulsive actions with her in the presence of Reg would undoubtedly mean airing my laundry in the most public and undesirable way possible, especially considering everything I say would inevitably get back to Daniel.
What the fuck have I done and WHY did it feel so good and so wrong?
I find myself standing in the bathroom, my breath caught in my chest. Composing myself becomes an imperative task before I can even fathom returning to the table. Fortunately, the women's restroom provides a sanctuary equipped with all the amenities necessary to rejuvenate and present myself in a more poised manner. Makeup, perfume, deodorant, you name it. After five minutes of dedicated effort, I stand before the mirror, satisfied with the transformation that has taken place. No longer a disheveled mess, with lipstick up my face and mascara tears under my eyes from taking all of Daniel in my mouth. I head back to the table where Daniel has already taken his place. His eyes follow me intently, tracing my figure with a suggestive smirk playing on his lips. A subtle lick of his lips as I approach my chair. Rhys stands upon my arrival, pulling out my chair with a gracious nod. Thanking him, I take my seat and promptly indulge in the new glass of champagne that awaits me.
"You alright, Millie? Thought we lost you," John inquires, concern etched on his face. Before I can respond, Daniel interjects smoothly, "I saw Millie by the bathrooms talking to one of her friends," accompanied by a casual sip of his drink, punctuated by a wink in my direction.
"Yes, sorry, John... hadn't seen" *shit think of a name* "Jackie in a while, just having a quick catch-up," I explain with a smile, waving to the server to signal my desire for another glass of champagne.
"Seems like you really enjoyed... your conversation, Millie," Daniel remarks with yet another mischievous smirk, his lips barely parting as he takes a leisurely sip of his whiskey. As if scripted, his right hand finds its way to my thigh under the table, and I jolt in surprise at the warmth of his touch. "Yyyeessss, I loved it," I manage to chuckle, attempting to keep things light as I grab his hand and firmly shove it off my leg. Much to my annoyance, his hand slides back into its previous place moments later, defying my attempt to maintain personal space. The server approaches with a glass of champagne and the bottle. Rhys, ever the commander of the evening, waves at the server, "Leave the bottle, please, mate," his arm casually placed at the back of my chair again, a subtle reminder of his presence.
Feeling incredibly flustered and overwhelmed by the past 25 minutes, I struggle to focus on anything else other than Daniel's persistent touch. Each time he speaks, his thumb gently rubs across my thigh, sending shivers down my spine and causing my breathing to subtly quicken. The remaining four courses unfold with an array of flavors, each dish is posher than the next. The choice between Pigeon and Rabbit proves difficult, and I observe what everyone else chooses. Unfortunately, Rabbit emerges as the common favorite, and I choose the same. The black truffle proves to be a dreamy indulgence, a flavor I could imagine savoring by the bucket load. Dessert becomes a more straightforward decision as I opt for the double chocolate soufflé with a side of Madagascan vanilla ice cream.
As we engage in discussions about the contract, Daniel's hand remains a persistent presence on my skin. Seeking a subtle connection beneath the table, I place my left hand under the table and rest it on top of his. We play a covert game of thumb wars, our legs intertwining as we draw each other closer. A side-eyed glance from Daniel is accompanied by a snigger, and I find myself torn between looking away and succumbing to the magnetic pull that locks our eyes together.
The situation feels undeniably wrong, a chaotic collision of conflicting emotions, and yet, in some inexplicable way, it feels undeniably right. Questions swirl in my mind – how could this possibly work? Our last encounter was marked by rudeness, and today, I seemingly sucked and fucked his dick in the cleaning cupboard. What am I doing?
Hours later, sucked in the captivating atmosphere of the upscale restaurant and having indulged in numerous glasses of the most exquisite champagne, our conversation takes an abrupt pause as John's phone rings. The ambient hum of laughter and clinking glasses falters as John swiftly answers, his voice taking on a concerned tone, "John speaking... Woooh woooh woooh, SJ, baby, calm down... What's happened? A&E? SJ, breathe... I am leaving now. I will meet you there. I will meet you there..."
John abruptly rises from his seat, the urgency evident in his movements as he begins to don his blazer. In sync with his abrupt departure, Daniel, who had been engrossed in the conversation, gets up simultaneously. His hand slips away from mine and leaves my thigh.
"Guys, I am so sorry. I have to go. SJ is taking Gabby to A&E; she's got a temperature and won't stop being sick," John announces, his voice laced with worry. "Millie, I'm sorry, use the company card to get home. I gotta go. Dinner is paid for already, everyone. Thank you all again. So sorry." Rhys stands, his response swift and empathetic, "Don't be daft, John. Family first. Always. Go. I hope your daughter is okay. Speak tomorrow, mate."
John, with a firm resolve, gives Daniel's shoulders a reassuring nudge, a silent form of goodbye, and darts out the door. One of Rhys' team members, Oliver, answers a call as he hastily leaves the table. "Oliver speaking," he declares, moving swiftly to a quieter part of the restaurant.
"I think I am going to head out too. Millie, did you want a lift? We came in two cars, so I can take you anywhere?" Rhys kindly offers, rising from his chair and doing up his blazer. As he extends this thoughtful gesture, I find myself contemplating how to gracefully decline. After all, I now technically work for him, and turning down his offer requires finesse to avoid coming across as rude. My only alternative is an Uber, which seems less than ideal. But I don't want to give him the wrong impression.
Standing from my chair and starting to put on my coat, I am about to respond when the gentleman who had left the table to answer a call returns in a manic state. "Sorry, Rhys, I have Japan on the phone... It's regarding the Chiyo project; they said it's a matter of urgency," Oliver reports, uncomfortably glancing at Rhys, who clearly isn't pleased with this unexpected turn of events.
"Can't it wait until the morning, Ollie? It's 11:30..." Rhys pleads, expressing his discontent. Oliver responds apologetically, "Sorry, Rhys, it's 8:30 am their time, and they said this needs to be resolved by 9. You know I would've tried to push till the morning. But they are adamant."
Rhys turns his attention toward me, disappointment evident in his expression. "Another time, Miss Grayson," he says, raising my left hand and placing a soft kiss on it as a gesture of apology. As Rhys and his team hastily exit the restaurant, their huddle formed to sort out the pressing issue in Japan, I'm left pondering the mysterious Chiyo project. The mere mention of it piques my curiosity, and I make a mental note to ask Rhys about it the next time I see him.
With my phone in hand, I notice multiple text messages and 3 missed calls from Becs, a huge contrast to the silence during the earlier part of the evening. I open Uber, intending to secure a ride home, but before I can finalise the request, my phone is abruptly snatched out of my hand. Startled, I spin my head around to see Daniel holding my phone.
"Come on, you. I'm not letting you get an Uber. I'll drop you home. Malcolm already knows where you live. He's outside... Let's go," Daniel asserts with a decisive tone as he locks my phone and places it securely inside his coat pocket. With a firm yet gentle touch, he guides me out of the restaurant, where I catch sight of the all-too-familiar Bentley and the awaiting figure of Malcolm.
"Miss Millie, what a pleasure to see you again. Did you have a nice evening?" Malcolm greets with a warm smile as he opens the rear door, inviting me to climb into the luxurious backseat. "Good to see you, Malcolm. Yes, it was quite eventful," I respond with a smile as I settle into the plush seat, placing my bag onto my lap.
"Malcolm, can you please drop this one home on our way, please?" Daniel requests before joining me in the backseat. "Of course, Daniel," Malcolm replies, shutting the door with a graceful efficiency and swiftly making his way to the driver's side. As the Bentley pulls away from the curb, I find myself seated incredibly close to Daniel, the air inside the car charged with a mix of lingering excitement and an unspoken tension.
The Bentley glides through the elegant streets of Chelsea, making its way towards the Chelsea Bridge, providing a stunning view of the new Battersea Power Station. The city lights twinkle as we navigate through the urban landscape. Daniel still hasn't spoken since we left the restaurant, and his hand which had been a constant presence on my thigh, seems to have forgotten its place. It's as if my very own Jekyll and Hyde has made a swift transition. The warm and attentive Hyde I experienced in the restaurant has been replaced by a cold and business-only Jekyll.
Throughout the journey, he remains engrossed in his phone, sending texts and emails with an intensity that leaves no room for acknowledgment of my presence. Our relationship, if one can even label it as such, feels frustratingly confusing. 18 minutes pass in this silent void, making the air in the car thick with unspoken tension. Traffic grinds to a halt on the Chelsea Bridge due to an accident, and the unexpected pause brings an apology from Malcolm, our driver.
"Sorry about the delay, Daniel. There seems to have been an accident in front," Malcolm explains.
"No worries, Malcolm," Daniel responds, his tone casual. The silence resumes, wrapping around us like an impenetrable shroud. In the midst of this enforced quiet, my mind races with conflicting thoughts. We cannot afford to let this dynamic infiltrate the office. Maintaining professionalism is paramount, and I cannot risk jeopardising my newfound job and the chance to move forward in my life. My dream of moving out with Becs hinges on this promotion, and I cannot let a blurred line between personal and professional matters threaten that. I realise that boundaries need to be set, rules established, and work-related parameters strictly adhered to.
The internal resolution to address these concerns gathers within me like a storm. As I prepare to turn and face Daniel, declaring my thoughts, he locks his phone and fixes his gaze on me with those dreamy eyes.
"Millie," he begins, interrupting my internal deliberations, "We need to set some rules. Blips like this evening cannot happen again. We need to have a professional working relationship, and I cannot have you crossing the line."
EXCUSE ME?
ME...
CROSSING
THE
LINE
I go to speak, but he holds his hand up to stop me and continues, "John is one of my best friends and has been for over 15 years. I won't allow you or your cunt to ruin this for him or me. This deal, this opportunity, it's everything we have been working for...'" Daniel's voice cuts through the air, a stern and unaffectionate tone echoes. The car starts moving again, and a wave of relief washes over me. I feel on the brink of losing my composure, my emotions teetering on the edge, ready to spill over.
"I think you're a great girl, but this was a mistake. Tonight. You in that dress. You calling ME uneventful. The nicknames. The games. Rhys. The cupboard. All of it. A mistake. Every second. It cannot happen again. It won't. We work together. Everything that has happened is in the past. No more," he declares, each word hammering the finality of his decision.
"Are we in agreement?" Daniel stares at me, his gaze unwavering. Infuriated with a storm of emotions, I manage to muster only one word, "Agreed." Inside, I seethe with anger, harboring a newfound hatred for him. Silence chokes the back of the Bentley once more, and I yearn for the ground to swallow me up. As traffic works in my favor, Malcolm gets me home within 20 minutes. I've held every breath, comment, and thought in a box, ready to burst and scream. I count the seconds until I can escape this stifling car. We pull up outside my home, and before Malcolm has even stopped the car, Daniel grabs my wrist. "Here," he says, handing me my phone and underwear from his pocket. The abruptness of the gesture leaves me stunned, and the conflicting currents of anger and confusion swirl within me as I step out into the night, desperate to put distance between myself and the chaos that unfolded in the confines of the Bentley
C
U
N
T
I pluck my belongings from Daniel's cold hands, a lingering chill resonating through his touch, and exit the vehicle with a forceful slam of the door. The night air coats me as I stand on the pavement, feeling a mix of frustration and a tinge of satisfaction in putting physical distance between myself and the complexities of the Bentley. Malcolm steps out of the car, his courteous demeanor still intact. "It really was a pleasure seeing you again," he says, offering a genuine smile.
"You too, Malcolm. See you around," I manage to reply, mustering the best smile I can conjure. I walk briskly towards my front door, veins protruding from my neck. With a sigh, I let myself in, locking up behind me as I hear the gentle hum of Malcolm driving away. Never before have I felt as disgusted, vexed, and nauseated by a man as I do by Daniel in this moment. Inside the confines of my home, I can finally release the pent-up frustration. I immediately text Becs, asking to meet for coffee at 8 before work, eager to share the entirety of the evening's chaotic events with her. Crawling up the stairs to my bedroom, I retrieve headache tablets and succumb to the comforting embrace of my bed. My belongings scatter around me as I lay down, and with a sudden surge of emotion, I scream bloody murder into the pillow, letting the stifled cries echo the tumultuous encounter with Daniel.
-
"Why are we meeting so early for coffee when we have a super cool coffee machine right by our office?" Becs grunts as we stand in the queue for Starbucks.
"Do you want to know what happened last night or not?" I question, deciding it's best to get straight to the point. I order two of their new Chocolate Pretzel Frappuccinos while she contemplates my offer. "OF COURSE, MILLIE. You text SHIT BUCKETS a thousand times and then you aired me, only to text me back at 1 am saying to meet before work." As we wait for our drinks, I spill the details on everything that happened, sharing the literal 'in's and out's' of the incident with Daniel. Becs stands flabbergasted, begging for more. I then repeat everything Daniel said in the car, and I watch as Becs' face morphs into the same rage and upset I felt the night before.
"Wow. What a fucking dick... He didn't need to be so rude about it. I know you're going to work with him, but you would be nothing but professional. Why did he have to make it nasty? AND HE KISSED YOU FIRST!!" Becs questions, her frustration evident as she slurps her frappuccino.
"I was going to say the same things to him, but in a much politer manner. He's soooo rude and muggy. I feel embarrassed... and YES, he DID kiss ME first." We walk to work together, making our way up to the 5th floor. Noticing our office door slightly ajar, we push it open to find none other than Daniel sitting on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table. Daniel's eyes glance up at the sound of the door opening, and he looks directly at Becs, completely ignoring me.
"MORNING, DANIEL!" Becs sarcastically shouts. "Millie, if you need me, I am in the cove," she adds, slowly walking to her desk and giving Daniel the evil eye, pointing at her own eyes and shooting them back at him. Of course, she leaves the door open, ensuring she can hear every word. I'm about to question why Daniel is in my office when he holds his finger up to 'shhh' me. The audacity of this man is baffling.
He answers his phone, "Daniel speaking... Hey, John. Yes, she's here. Putting you on speaker..." Putting his phone on speaker and placing it on the table, he gestures for me to sit on one of my chairs.
"Morning, Millie. Sorry, I am not in the office today. Gabby is still in the hospital. Once we got her checked at A&E, I got her transferred to Cromwell, as it's our private one, and they wanted to keep her in for observations," John says, sighing heavily and swallowing the lump in his throat.
"I hope Gabby is okay, John. If you do require anything, please let me know," I glance at Daniel, who has his head tilted back on the sofa, looking at the ceiling.
Emotionless ass.
"What I need... as I won't be in today and potentially the rest of this week is for you and Dan to start working on this contract and get the ball rolling. Rhys is coming in Friday to see you both and discuss. I have my phone and laptop, but it may take a while to get back to you." I nod in agreement, then realise that John cannot see me and that I need to respond verbally. "Of course, John. No worries."
"Dan," John shouts from the phone. "Yes, mate," Daniel lifts his head up and sits forward. "Office 527 is yours. It's next to Millie, and I have the builders coming in at some point this week or next to add an adjoining door for ease. Any issues, bell me. Cheers, guys." John hangs up.
Did he just say an adjoining fucking door?