Chapter Five
Every few months, Alastair organised an evening out for the whole office. It could be anything from a sophisticated meal in a high-end restaurant to a messy night at a local club.
He claimed this was all in aid of office bonding, forcing us to socialise outside work and chat about things that weren't related to the business. While nice in theory, I'd always had my suspicions that there was another reason at play: for one night, Alastair didn't want to be a boss—he wanted to be one of us.
I understood that, of course. He obviously had his own circle of friends—who he rarely spoke about—but they were very different to those of us he employed in his office. We represented a sense of normality for him, where there were no expectations.
Tonight, Alastair had gone all out. These evenings were always funded by him—everything from food, to entrance fees, to drinks—and this was particularly generous: a meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant, followed by a night in one of London's hottest up-and-coming bars.
Despite understanding the need for office bonding, I wasn't totally thrilled at the idea of spending an evening socialising with the likes of Amelia and her fellow Sales cronies. After all, it wasn't like they only ever spoke about work affairs in the office; if anything, that formed the minority of their conversations. Most of their topics revolved around people and gossip. Did I want to endure that during a night that was supposed to be about relaxing?
Nah, not really.
Never one to miss an opportunity to look out for myself, I attempted to strategically influence the seating plan by engaging in conversation with the IT guys while we waited outside for everyone to arrive.
Chris, affectionately known as Irish Chris from a time when there had been multiple people in the office sharing his name, looked especially dashing tonight in a navy shirt and beige chinos. I'd told Felipe I couldn't go there because Amelia also liked him, but seeing him in something other than jeans and a t-shirt made me reconsider that.
"Careful you don't break your neck in those things," Irish Chris said, his eyes flickering down to my feet.
"Thanks for your concern, but I've got it under control." I playfully stabbed at his ankle with the heel of my stiletto.
Even though I was tall enough not to need the extra height, I loved the feeling of wearing big heels. Something about them made me feel much sexier, whether it was the way they extended my legs, or purely the beauty of the shoe's design.
"You say that now," Chris said, "but when you've got a few drinks down you..." He bumped his hip against mine, so naturally I grabbed onto his sturdy bicep so that I didn't, you know, break my neck. He was concerned about that after all...
I let my thumb smooth over the tight muscle before dropping my hand to my side again. "Where's Ellen?"
Their female colleague was nowhere to be seen, leaving just Chris and Dan to represent the IT department.
"She couldn't come," Chris said. "Family commitments or something. Poor effort, if you ask me."
My plan paid off. As we entered the restaurant and took our places around the table, I found myself opposite Irish Chris and next to Dan, with the design girls on my other side. Unfortunately, my satisfaction didn't last long. I picked up the menu and realised I barely knew any of the dishes on there.
Apparently, Chris felt the same way.
"Hey, Alastair," he called to the other end of the table. "Do they have English translations of the menu?"
"It is in English, you bellend," Alastair shot back.
"Could've fooled me."
And so began a highly entertaining ten minutes of Alastair talking us through the menu in plain English, like a teacher educating his pupils.
The food was beautiful, even if I wasn't entirely sure what I was eating half the time. However, towards the end of the meal, heat prickled the back of my neck.
Ever since school, I'd had a radar for people talking about me. Glancing down the table for just the briefest of seconds confirmed my suspicions: Amelia and Stephanie were looking in my direction. I swallowed the lump in my throat and topped up my wine glass.
After Alastair settled the bill, we headed to a bar in Kensington. We'd barely been there five minutes before shots were being distributed among the group—all courtesy of our generous boss.
I knocked mine back with ease, enjoying the familiar sensation of the burning liquid trickling down my throat. Shots and wine were a notoriously dangerous combination, but I'd chance my luck; it wasn't every day that one of the richest guys in London offered to finance your night out.
As the evening progressed, people began to stray away from the bar and tables, opting to dance instead. The floor was filling up, but for the time being, I was content to stay in the booth, nursing my drink.
"Don't feel like dancing?" Alastair asked, shuffling closer so we could hear each other.
I scrunched my nose as I shifted my gaze to the dance floor. Several girls were tottering around in their heels, haphazardly clutching their drinks in a way that caused the liquid to slosh over the sides. It was only a matter of time before one of them slipped, caused the others to topple over like dominoes, and created carnage.
"Don't feel like socialising with people I see every day," I said to Alastair.
"Ouch," he said, amusement evident in his tone. "And after I bought you all those drinks, too..."
I turned to face him. "Please, you know who I'm talking about."
Alastair slid closer, his knees pressed up against mine, and something in the back of my head warned me that this was heading down a dangerous route.
"If I knew you were going to sulk all night, I wouldn't have invited you."
I cracked a smile. "Really? You'd single me out? That's nice."
"When I'm paying for the night, it's obligatory to have a good time. Sorry if you didn't get the memo."
"Honestly, I am having a good time," I insisted. "Sorry if it seems like I'm not."
"Come dance, then." He stood and offered his hand.
The warning bells blared, but the alcohol haze muted them. Reaching for him, I curled my fingers around his soft palm and allowed him to help me to my feet and lead me to the dance floor.
We stayed away from the wobbling girls. Before long, the familiar combination of alcohol, plus music, plus swaying bodies washed over me, simultaneously intoxicating and relaxing.
Bodies brushed against one another as dancers swayed their hips to the rhythm of the music. It was reminiscent of many nights at university, when the intimate proximity allowed you to easily hook up with someone without the need for pointless small talk. Right now, though, as Alastair's arms grazed mine, our chests colliding every time someone bumped into us, I had to remember that hooking up with him was a Bad Idea.
Even if he was strikingly attractive, with his tall, lean frame, twinkling blue eyes, and dark blonde hair. Even if he did ooze charisma, personality, and good manners. Even if I did get a flutter of excited butterflies whenever we engaged in flirty banter.
But while he might be a twenty-four-year-old hormonal lad outside the office, inside it he was still my boss. It wasn't just the rumours that deterred me, either; it was the mess it would cause, the complications, the awkwardness... I had strict rules concerning sex and my most important one was that it didn't cause unwanted consequences—for either person.
I scanned the room for Irish Chris. This was only a Slightly Better Idea given the inevitable backlash from Amelia, but I had to stick to my lane and not fuck my boss tonight.
Chris was standing by the bar with Dan. Twisting back to face Alastair, I leant to talk into his ear.
"I'm going over to chat to the IT guys," I said.
His hand settled on my lower back. "I'll join you."
No, Alastair... That's not the plan. But he followed me anyway, and I had no choice but to let him.
Luckily, Dan wasn't quite as oblivious as Alastair.
"Hey, Alastair, how about another drink?" he asked.
As soon as they left, I took a step closer to Chris, leaning into the warmth of his body to talk into his ear. Fuck, he smelt good. Nice scent, nice accent, nice looks... He was on the way to a full house when it came to the senses.
My hand rested on his solid shoulder, and a thrill flashed down my spine, settling between my legs, when I felt his fingers curl around my hip.
"Having a good night?" I asked.
Goosebumps spread down my neck as his humid breath tickled my ear. "It's getting better. How are the feet?"
I slid a palm up to his chest. "Getting worse. It helps having something sturdy to lean on."
His chest rumbled with a deliciously low chuckle, and the vibration against my breasts had my nipples hardening in seconds.
"You look sexy as fuck in them." He squeezed my hip. "If that makes the extra inches worth the pain."
Heat pooled between my thighs. I dragged my lips away from his ear, across his cheek, until we were eye-to-eye.
"Extra inches are always worth the pain," I said.
One dark eyebrow lifted in amusement, but behind me, his hands coasted lower, over the swell of my arse, along the backs of my bare thighs.
"How's your pain threshold?" he asked, suggestiveness dripping from the question.
"It's excellent." I tipped my head towards the door. "But I could do with a lie down. Wanna get out of here?"
Surprise brightened his green eyes, but he nodded and grabbed my hand.
"Let's go."
When we hopped into a taxi together, I made sure we were on the same page, clarifying that this was just a casual one-night fling that didn't mean anything. He agreed and my conscience instantly cleared as we made the journey from Kensington to Clapham.
As much as I hated my tiny flat, I always insisted on one-night stands taking place there, rather than the other person's home. It gave me a sense of security and reassurance.
We stumbled inside, only pausing to shut the door.
"You have to kick it," I said.
We didn't turn the lights on, instead knocking into various walls and pieces of furniture as we kissed our way to the bed.
I fell back onto the mattress and lifted my hips to help Chris tug my underwear off. Kneeling down on the carpet, he tossed my ankles over his shoulders and buried his face between my legs.
"Fuck." I closed my eyes and sank my fingers into his chestnut hair.
Stubble scratched my inner thighs as his tongue lapped at my clit, swirling in firm circles, then slicing down through my slit and probing inside.
Even after he'd made me come twice—first with his mouth and then with his fingers—I struggled to get near his own body. Whenever I tried to take off his jeans, he'd resist. At first, he claimed it was because he wanted to concentrate on me, and concentrate on me he did, paying every portion of my body meticulous attention with his tongue and hands, until I was practically begging him to get inside me.
However, it soon became clear that his attention to detail was less about pleasing me and more about delaying.
He'd had too much to drink.
"I'm so fucking embarrassed," he muttered, shaking his head to himself.
"Honestly, don't be. It happens to everyone."
"I don't want you thinking it's you," he said, "because, seriously, if I'd had any idea that I'd be in bed with you tonight, I wouldn't have drunk half as much."
I smiled. "You really don't need to worry. It's fine."
He didn't feel that way, though. The poor guy was mortified, and no matter how many times I tried to convince him that it was normal, he couldn't accept it.
He left twenty minutes later.
In all the times I'd gone out looking for casual sex, I'd never considered that not having sex might end up being more awkward.
* * *
Alastair was drunk, but he wasn't having fun. As he sat at the one of the tables, observing the rest of his colleagues from a safe distance, not even the bottle of beer in his hand could keep him company.
Every time he arranged one of these evenings, he'd hype it up in his head, excited for the night. Then, almost every time it took place, he'd find himself feeling lonely, watching from the sidelines while his staff had fun. Something felt lacking, like he wasn't one of them despite trying so hard to be. That's why Sasha was a breath of fresh air; she didn't get sucked into the employee life, instead just content to do her own thing.
But even she was gone now, taking home Irish Chris who every girl in his office obsessed over. He admired her guts but resented the loneliness that had replaced her. It was the same loneliness that had driven him to make mistakes in the past, and that wasn't something he was going to repeat tonight—even though a very drunk Amelia was deliberately trying to catch his eye.
He couldn't leave, though. He had to stick it out. So he took another sip of his beer, glanced at the time on his phone and resigned himself to a long night, reminding himself that his employees were happy and that was the most important thing.
***
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