Jane Lark - Just for the Rush

When he hung it up on the coat rack in there the movement pulled his jumper up a little and his shirt out of his waistband, revealing a line of pale flesh. He was always well dressed, in designer clothes, mostly. Today he was wearing skinny-cut black trousers and a black pinstripe shirt beneath a burgundy jumper. The jumper was tight and I’d guess the shirt beneath it was fitted. From side on, his stomach was like a board. He was slender and muscular. He must spend hours in a gym at his house – or somewhere.

His hands slipped into his pockets and he walked over to the window, looking out at the view the office had of London. After a moment he turned around and caught me watching. He smiled. I smiled back and when he sat down I picked up my phone.

‘Jack,’ was all he said when he answered.

‘You don’t seriously expect me to get in the middle of your messy separation do you? Because I’m not up for that.’

He laughed. ‘Not if you can’t take a dozen rounds with Sharon; she fights hard and she has a cracking left jab.’ He sighed out a breath. ‘Okay, if she calls again put her through.’

‘Okay, but she was calling your phone.’

‘Then why did you answer?’

‘Because she kept ringing and it was annoying.’

‘Well, expect lots of ‘annoying’ in the next few months, Ivy, because she’s not letting our ship sink easily.’ He put the phone down.

Ten minutes later his phone rang, the tone announcing it was a call from outside. I looked over and watched him. He waited until it went to the answer machine, then lifted the phone off the hook. Two minutes later I heard his personal mobile ring; he didn’t answer that either. Then he got up and stuck his head out of the office. ‘Hey, Em. Are you up for changing our number?’

I laughed.

He came over to my desk. ‘My life is not funny, Ivy.’

‘I know, sorry.’

‘It’s ok. I was only joking. Do you want a coffee? Does anyone else want a coffee? If someone heads out to Nero’s you can line your stomachs before you go out and get pissed up on me at two o’clock!’

‘I’ll get you a coffee.’ I stood up.

His lips lifted only at one side. ‘I offered one to you.’ He was flirting, but he flirted with everyone.

‘I’ll get it. You pay.’

He smiled fully. His mobile rang. ‘Oh, sod it. We’ll both go fetch the coffee. Listen up, guys! The boss is doing the coffee run! This has to be remembered!’

A few people laughed. We all knew he’d remind us that he’d gone out to do a Nero’s run for at least a year.

His phone stopped ringing.

My office phone started ringing with an outside-line tone.

‘Don’t you dare answer that,’ Jack said.

‘And what if it is a client and not Sharon.’

‘It’s Christmas Eve. If it’s a client they’ll call again in the New Year. Come on, let’s go get coffee. Make a list of what people want.’

I picked up a post-it note and went around everyone. There were ten of us. It wasn’t a huge team.

Jack had picked up his coat and was putting it back on. His mobile rang again. He knocked it on to silent and left it vibrating on his desk as he walked out of his office, hands in pockets. ‘Come along, then.’

I stuck the order on the sleeve of his duffle coat before I turned and grabbed my parka off the back of my chair. I pulled it on as we walked out of the office.

He tilted an eyebrow at me while we waited in the hall for the lift, and recited the list of coffee orders. ‘Are they taking the piss, seriously, gingerbread lattes with cream and iced mochas. I mean who wants anything iced in the middle of winter?’

I made a face at him. ‘You offered.’

‘Yes, I did. Mug that I am.’

The lift doors opened. ‘You’re not a mug. You’re a nice boss.’

‘Nice… That’s shit praise. It’s sour when you know there are words like ‘great’ and ‘awesome’ that have not been used.’

‘You’re in a bad mood today, aren’t you?’ I folded my arms over my chest and watched the light behind the numbers as the lift went down through the floors.

‘Is it any wonder, with Sharon on my back?’

I glanced at him as the lift doors opened again. ‘Yeah, but you did bring that on yourself.’

His lips quirked sideward, sharply. It wasn’t a flirtatious expression; it was a challenge. I’d annoyed him. His eyebrow lifted on one side once more too and his pale eyes looked their objection through his dark lashes. The expression said, what? Then asked, why?

A pull of attraction caught in my stomach. Jack was too good-looking and his flirtatious nature had always made my stomach somersault. I laughed, but it sounded awkward. The hit I got was not just an appreciation of his looks; it was sexual. My body was saying it would love to have sex with him. It had been a secret desire of mine for years. But it was one of those things that I thought about but would never do. It wasn’t going to happen because he was my boss.

He looked away and held an arm out, telling me to walk ahead through the revolving door. I had a feeling, even though I had my parka on, that his gaze dropped to my arse. He was such a player.

But that side of him had always been exciting. I liked him looking at me, like I looked at him. I smiled to myself, my hands slipping into my coat pockets to keep them warm. It felt like a compliment to be admired by a man like Jack.

On the far side of the spinning doors, the volume of London, on the last day before Christmas, roared into life. The traffic was bumper to bumper, and there were people everywhere, with hands full of shopping bags.

Jack came out of the spinning doors behind me.

I sighed out a breath as he walked next to me.

‘So what are people saying about the mess I made of my marriage? Did Sharon tell you what she’d like to do with my private parts? I’ve heard several versions. That was probably the chore she had in mind. She probably wanted me to pick up some nutcrackers on the way home.’

I looked at him. It wasn’t surprising Sharon wanted to do him harm. If he fancied me, I doubted he felt guilty. I used to feel guilty when I was with Rick, when my stomach flipped at the sight of Jack, like I was being disloyal to Rick. But Jack was one of those men you’d have to be blind not to have some feeling for, and he played up to it.

‘Is Sharon still at your place?’ I asked as we wove a path through the Christmas shoppers. There were thousands of people walking up and down the street, but it was the heart of Knightsbridge. They were here for Harrods; to see Santa and the windows and look at the Christmas lights as well as shop.

‘Yes. I moved out.’

I couldn’t play judge over their separation; I’d instigated my breakup too, and I’d moved out too. I’d rammed a stiletto heel right through Rick’s heart in front of an audience. Santa was going to be slipping a lump of coal into my stocking tonight. I was not on anyone’s nice list.