Once me and George stopped kissing and I snoozed my alarm several times, he told me to go to sleep and to go to Forbes later in the day for my first shift. So when I do eventually wake up, I'm shocked to see my bed completely empty and cold on one side.
"Is there any reason George was hot-footing it out of here without a shirt on at seven in the morning?" Mia strolls into my bedroom with a bowl of cereal and slides into bed next to me.
"He obviously stayed the night," I snap—don't mean to because I'm not annoyed at Mia, just trying to fight down the disappointment in me. I see his weekend bad still sitting on my chest of drawers so I know it wasn't a mistake. But I still don't understand why he didn't even stick around for breakfast.
"Was it as good as you remember? Worse? Was Albie better—? Oh, can you please tell me who's bigger, I—"
I turn my head. "We didn't have sex, Mia. Jesus, who do you think I am?"
She huffs, "I don't know, do I? But you were in bed with him while he was shirtless. I would've had sex with him. Cannot blame a girl for that, Harper."
I push my covers away from my body and flick the light on in my en-suite. "Yeah, well, we didn't. We just—" I cut myself off because I actually can't take a lecture from her right now.
Mia slams her bowl on the side table and pokes her head around the bathroom door. "You just what?"
"I just..." I eye her, try and gather what she's thinking while I strip off and step into the shower. "We just." I opt for waving my hand around and hope she picks up.
"Just what!" She stomps her foot.
"Where's Astrid?" I ask although I'm not sure she can hear me over the water.
"I don't know. Some lunch thing, I think. But can you tell me what you and George did? I was fully joking about the sex thing, by the way. I'll be really mad if I found out you took him back that quickly."
"We did not have sex! Now, will you drop it, please? I'm trying to shower in peace."
"Well, I'm not leaving till you tell me. I'm your best friend, I have a right to know." She pushes her way into my bathroom and actually sits crossed-legged on my sink countertop.
"We kissed! There you go. We had a kiss." I throw my soapy hands up in aggravation and make a rather animalistic face that she can't see through the blurred shower door.
Mia's quiet for a moment. "Was it a proper snog? With, like, tongue and hands? Did he feel you up?"
It felt like he had lit my entire body on fire last night but I can already smell the judgment mixing in with my vanilla body wash. "Nope. None of that rubbish. Just a quick, little goodnight peck on the lips."
"Oh," I can see her frowning without seeing her frowning. "Alrighty then."
"George likes to sleep with his top off if you must know. I'm not a complete rabbit—I can control my sexual urges." I finish up in the shower and wrap a big fluffy towel around myself.
Mia drops the Peony Blush Jo Malone candle she was smelling and follows me back into my bedroom. "Trust me, I know."
"What do you mean?" I look over my shoulder at her as I rummage through my knicker drawer.
"Just saying that you need to hide your vibrators a bit better, Haysie." She says sheepishly, spooning her coco puffs into her mouth.
"You can get out now, Mia," I shoo her off. "Go on, out you go."
An hour later, I'm standing in my floor-to-ceiling mirror, wondering if my outfit is work appropriate or not. I've never had a job so I wouldn't know. Mia left twenty minutes ago for a hair appointment so I'm left on my own to make the adult decision.
I'm wearing the Beige 3D Flower Knitted Mini Skirt from Magda Butrym and the open-back knitted top from There Was One. I've paired the outfit with J'Adior slingback pumps in nude. Hermès 30 Birkin in ivory white, Gucci belted detachable-collar coat. My hair falls down my back in big, blown-out curls. My makeup is minimal and overall, I look professional.
The time is coming up to half past twelve, so I lock up and climb into the back of my town car. My driver takes me over to Forbes where I climb out and hesitate by the back door.
He said no one had to know last night and the fact I've already lied to Mia is weighing on my consciousness. Is walking into this club and working for him going to be the best thing for me? For us? But then I remember seeing Albie with that girl last night.
I'm over Albie, never was really in love with him anyway but he did prove to be a great friend to me, a sturdy shoulder to cry on. I take a deep breath, roll my neck and push the door open to the club. It's a bit cold in here, very quiet except for the bartender and a few hungover drinkers who still haven't ended their night.
I go straight down to the offices, walk in without knocking and stop short when I see Carter on the other side of the desk instead of George.
"Oh, hi, Carter."
He groans at the back of his throat, his head falling back on the chair. "Alright, Haysie?"
Carter's chest heaves up and down, eyes dropping and lip caught between his bottom teeth. "Are you having a stroke? Overdosing? What's wrong?"
A deep chuckle that ends in a moan causes realisation to dawn on me like a dark cloud. "Oh my god, there's someone under there, isn't there?"
"Mhm," he moans, uncaring that his been interrupted.
"Oh, ew, oh my gosh," I run out with a hand slapped over my eyes, bump into something hard and fall against the stone wall behind me.
"Harper?" A hand pulls my hand away from my eyes. I stare up at George who's never looked so confused.
"Carter's getting head in your office and now I want to cry," I breathe out, horrified.
George rolls his eyes and takes me up to the main part of the club. He orders me an espresso martini and sits us down at a booth where a few papers and a laptop sit.
"This is yours," he pulls a sleek white Apple box from the seat next to him and hands it to me, plastic wrapping still on it. I stare down at it. The latest MacBook.
"Thanks," I set it down on the table.
"As for today, I mean, there's not a whole lot you can be doing but I'll set up your laptop with all the things you need and show you what to do." George takes a sip of his bourbon, a weird quietness settling over us.
We sip our respective drinks. My mind flashes with images of last night—what happened, what could've happened. I think he's thinking the same because the longer he looks at me, the darker his eyes get.
"Come here," he empties his drink in one gulp and beckons me over with his hand. I do as he says and climb into his lap, either leg on the outside of his thigh. "Can I kiss you?"
I nod, speechless, the heat radiating from his body causes me to shiver and a bead of sweat to form on my hairline. George undoes the belt on my coat, my bare legs on show, skirt hitched up higher than I expected.
He looks down between us, hands roaming up and down my thighs, over the goosebumps. I find myself aching for his lips, I press mine to his and tangle my hands up in his hair. I know I shouldn't be doing this but I love him. I do. I've never stopped.
There's only so much I can take. I see him every single day, I spend every night with him and as unfortunate as the circumstances were, share a baby with the man. And maybe I should have had more restraint and self-respect but the truth is, I don't regret last night. Not one bit.
We kiss heatedly, thankfully in an empty bar now that the last few people have left. His tongue dances with mine in a familiar tango, our fingers pull and tease at our own weak spots and when he goes to close the space between my legs with his pointer finger, I draw back.
"What are we doing?" My lips are red, sore and swollen, my hand's shaking and my heart racing.
"The right thing." He kisses me again—on my neck this time. "Tell me this is wrong." Another soft kiss to my jawline.
I can do nothing but shake my head, lean into his soft kisses and pray Carter doesn't choose this moment to finish up and walk past us.
"But we shouldn't do this. Just because it feels right doesn't mean it is." My words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"Yeah, but, it is right, ain't it?—me and you. Why would it be wrong?" George shakes his head, eyes dark and resembling slits.
"It's not. It doesn't feel wrong for me—does it for you?"
He laughs a deep chuckle, "no, Haysie. It doesn't feel wrong. Stop trying to justify it. No one has to know. Completely our little thing." He gestures between us with a finger.
I feel a bit better and lessen the tension coiling my muscles. "Yeah, okay. We won't tell anyone."
"Alright," he leans back in for a kiss, I brush my lips against his but then I sense a presence and fall into the seat beside him. Just then, Carter strolls up the stairs, blowing his nose and seeing a leggy blonde out of the door.
He spins around, puts a hand up to the both of us and even if I wasn't discreetly sorting my hair out in my phone camera, I don't think he would've noticed anything anyways. That boy is always so strung out, I'm not sure if he even knows what day of the week it is.
"What are you doing in my club, West?" George slides out of the booth and joins Carter at the bar where he downs several ice waters.
They start chatting with bowed heads, slapping each other on the back, nodding every now and then. I take the window to open up my new laptop and set the password. George said he'd do the rest.
"You fancy drinks?" George leans in the doorframe of his office a few hours later. I sit on the leather couch (made sure there were zero chances of sitting on a potential West first) and scroll through my phone—very tiring work day.
"Why not, is Carter joining us?" I slip my coat back on and grab my bag from the table.
George waves his hand about, grimaces. "Nah, called him a car and told him to go to my mums to clean himself up. No need for Beau to see him like that."
I follow him out of the club and out onto the street. "What is wrong with him? Mid-life crisis?" I ask but I know. We all know. We all say nothing.
We both slide into the back seat of the car parked out front of Forbes, George tells the driver to take us to The Savoy. "You know how it is with him. Fucked out of his head for weeks and then we won't see him." It's the same answer he gives every time we ask about him.
"Hm, probably needs therapy—you do too, thinking about it." I shrug, try not to think too much about the fact we're practically going on a date right now. And also about Carter. I love him to bits but I don't really want him to dampen my mood.
"If I need therapy then you definitely do, Haysie," he looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
I let out a heavy sigh, "I think there should be a rule that everyone in the world has to be in therapy. Even the therapist themselves."
"What are you even saying now?"
My head turns to his, snapping out of my trance. "I'm not too sure."
We arrive outside of the hotel, head straight for Beaufort Bar. It's a lovely hotel, stayed here once for Christmas when I was six and the house was getting redecorated.
"Espresso Martini," he orders for me and then scans the menu. "And I will have a Port Ellen 37...16th Edition."
"Make that two, actually," I interject when the bartender turns to make the drinks. George eyes me but doesn't say anything. "Fancy something stronger tonight."
The bartender nods warily. "Your total bill is currently at £3,000 with both of those drinks?"
George slides the menu to the couple beside us, turns back to the man serving us and gives him a blank look. "Yeah? If you're out of that I'll have the 17th edition."
"No, Sir, we have plenty in stock. I—"
"Yeah, so why are you still standing here and not doing your job? Do you question the money of everyone you serve?" George's face makes me suppress a shiver, the bartender takes a defensive step back and apologises.
"Come on, Haysie. There's a space over there to sit down." George takes my hand in his, cold and calloused, a contrast to my soft and manicured fingers.
We both sit down on a black velvet couch, George spreads his legs out beside me and rests an arm over the back of the sofa. We sip our drinks, bask in low lighting and simple conversation.
Another six grand is spent when he orders another round of the same drink. It's smooth and goes down a treat, the alcohol getting to my head quicker than I can keep up with.
"Do you remember the first time we broke up?" He laughs, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Yes! We were in year ten. I thought you kissed Primrose Banks behind in the girls changing rooms," I recall the memory like it was yesterday. How our problems back at Herongate seemed so big but were actually minuscule.
"I never did, though. She made that up because she fancied me and was angry at you because you told her that her shoes were out of season," his cheeks flush pink and he laughs, carefree. I mentally take a picture of the image and lock it away in the folder I've always kept in my head.
"And you never denied it till the last minute because you liked the attention. Attention whore," I mutter.
George takes a deep breath through a chuckle, smiling and shaking his head while he sips his drink. It's such a natural feeling that I forget about everything that's happened in the past. The way he was in my bed last night, the way we spent the whole day together and didn't argue once. It feels normal.
I don't want the spell to break so I take a turn to pay for a round till heat creeps up my neck and my head is filled with nothing but bubbles and lucid—albeit dangerous thoughts.
"Okay," I put my drink down and point at George. "We need to talk rules."
"Rules? Yeah, go on," he nods his head, lips tilted and eyebrows crooked.
"So, we can kiss and do all of that stuff but only in private. George, I really don't want anyone to know about this. They'll ruin it. I know they will." Tears prick my eyes but I don't let them fall because I know it's only due to the alcohol.
"And," I go on. "We have to be entirely professional in the workplace."
He tuts, cocks his head. "There goes my fantasy of having you under my desk while I talk numbers and stats over the phone."
"You mean threaten to cut people's toes and fingers off? I don't think I've ever heard you talk stats and numbers."
"You'd be surprised by what I know, Haysie." His voice runs right through me, the deep
timbre going straight between my legs.
"Another round?" He gets up to head to the bar but I put my hand out.
"No, no. It's getting late," I check the time. Half past eleven. Want him to come back home with me. To me. But how do I ask?
He nods understandably, flashes me a smile and sort of just stares for a few seconds. Wonder what he's thinking. Is it me? Suppose it's always about me—with him.
"Do you want to come back? It's just really late and you know how London is at these times," I don't look at him as I shrug my coat back on and grab my bag.
"Yeah, very dangerous out there, ain't it? Should be weary of who I'm talking to," he winks, hand on my lower back and falls into the seat beside me in the town car. "I'll always want to come back with you, Haysie."
I'll never not want him to and I guess that's where the problem lies. "That's good." I nod. Hate myself for it. Hate that I'm so awkward around him now. Hate how much those two years changed us.
We go back to mine. It's empty—Mia and Astrid are sleeping elsewhere for the night. I flick the TV on, George sits and watches some true crime documentary from the eighties. I brush my teeth albeit drunkenly and clumsily change into the La Perla Maison lace-trimmed camisole and silk blend shorts.
I'm tipsy, my body heated with that fun freeing feeling you get when you've had just one more than you should've. I'm maybe also a bit drunk off the fact that George is here.
In my living room. Watching my TV.
I climb into bed, hear the TV switch off a second later and then he's in my room and I blush like I did when I was fifteen. Covers up to my cheeks even though I'm hot and my mouth is aching with a smile I'm reluctant to release.
"Are you drunk?" His eyes flick over my body cocooned in the pure satin Hastens bedspread.
"A bit, maybe?" I cock my head, a laugh slips out followed by a hiccup. It's a nice sort of drunk. Not the messy, throwing up, deathly hangover the next morning kind of drunk.
He enters my bathroom, whips off his T-shirt from the back as he does. Scars, tattoos and deep mares come into view and suddenly I'm a bit more sober. I don't think I've ever really seen him in the open like this and paid attention.
George bends down, opens the cabinet under the sink and grabs a new toothbrush out. I continue to stare from my bed as he does his routine. He turns to face me, toothpaste frothing from his mouth before he spits. He looks tired, worn out in a way and I want nothing more than to pull my duvet back and let him into my bed. Maybe my heart as well. But I think he's already there, anyways.
Next thing I know, he's in his Tom Ford pants and in my bed. His smell is strong—whiskey with hints of strong tobacco and Bond No.9. I roll into the scent, picture the scars on his back and think about where they came from even though I don't want to know and will not ask.
"I'm glad you're here," I breathe him in, my head on his bare chest. "Like, really am glad you're here." He will never know how safe and relieved I felt when I saw him carry a whole weekend bag instead of his phone charger and a change of clothes.
"I know," he mutters into my hair, my legs resting between his as I fall into the most comfortable sleep I think I've ever had since I was eighteen.
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Word count - 3416.