Kinky Boots (Mischief Books) (3 page)

Meinrad gave him an unimpressed look. ‘Sometimes it’s best to keep your cock in your pants, Finn. If Eleanor’s with this woman and her pouty lips, then you know the kind of trouble she can cause. The woman could be in real danger.’

‘I know this, Meinrad. Don’t you think I know this?’ The thought had knotted his stomach since the moment the phone rang last night, and she sauntered out the door, disappearing into a birthday party stumbling drunkenly down the street from Juno. By the time he’d managed to push his way into the party, she was nowhere to be found. ‘I’ve been using every means I can think of to find her.’

‘If you haven’t found her by now then it’s already too late.’

‘We don’t know that, do we? It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet.’

Just then Meinrad’s iPhone rang. He answered it with a grunt, then a nod, as though whoever was on the other end should be able to see. ‘Right. Well, that’s a start, isn’t it?’

He hung up and offered Finn what could have been a smile or could just as easily have been a grimace. With Meinrad, it was difficult to tell. ‘Chelsea found out who this Vivie is that your girl was talking about last night. You know, the one who lent her the killer shoes? Seems she was frantically looking for her friend Jill about the same time you were giving her the full frontal rub-up. Some bloke Chelsea knows, a banker she’s fuck buddies with, was apparently doing the nasty with this Vivie in Hoxton Square and, after they’d done the deed, Jill was nowhere to be found. He happened to let it slip.’

Jill. Nice name, Finn thought. But what he felt was a sense of relief. If they had even a little bit of information about Jill, even her first name, if there were ways of finding her, then they could call in the rest of the Sole Alliance. If anybody could find Eleanor, they could. Of course once Eleanor had what she wanted, she wouldn’t be hard to find. He shivered at the thought. He wished desperately he’d been more careful, that he’d just asked the woman out for coffee like a normal bloke would have. But then she did practically attack him, didn’t she? Not that he wasn’t willing. God, he had been willing.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Call everyone together. Let’s find Jill, and hopefully Eleanor.’ He left Meinrad sitting at the table calling in the members of Sole Alliance. He shoved open the door that separated his flat from Kinky Boots, made his way around the counter and through the racks of shoes and boots to the front of the store. For a second he stood looking out onto Shoreditch High Street. It was already heaving with traffic, but it was still too early for many shoppers to be out and about. With a sigh, he pulled down the steel shutters over the storefront that he’d only opened a few minutes ago. Eleanor always was the queen of poor timing. Missing Saturday market business wasn’t great, but there wasn’t much choice under the circumstances. Jill had to be found for her own protection.

Jill woke up before the alarm went off. Thoughts of her encounter at Kinky Boots set off an eruption of butterflies in her stomach, and she couldn’t keep from smiling as she saw the lovely pair of mauve boots sat neatly at the foot of her bed. Still unpaid for too.

The steamy shower felt like a million tiny massages all over her body and the loofah stimulated every pore of her pinkened skin to tingle with delight. It didn’t even matter that, if it weren’t for her boss, she’d still be enjoying a lie-in all snuggled under the crisp, clean duvet. In fact the morning seemed entirely too amazing to waste sleeping. Though the sleep last night had been particularly satisfying, and she seemed to recall very arousing dreams. Not too surprising under the circumstances, she thought. And as soon as she could placate her boss and get free, she hoped for a helluva lot more than just dreams.

Breakfast never tasted so good, even if it was only toast with marmalade. She made the coffee stronger than usual and delighted in the bite of it against the back of her tongue, balanced by the velvet smoothness of the cream. In spite of her lack of interest in fashion, today it seemed a delicious chore to pick out just the perfect clothing. She chose a black pencil skirt, a soft silk blouse that was a riot of rich summer hues, and her lovely new boots. There was a bit more cleavage showing than usual, a bit more colour in the make-up. And the skirt, well, the skirt fitted like a glove. Though it came several inches below her knees, there was a long slit high up the right thigh. Under normal circumstances she would never have worn it to work, but she planned to pop by Kinky Boots afterward and pay her debt. With interest. Before she stepped out of the door into the early-morning chill, she pulled on the matching summer jacket and slipped her BlackBerry into the pocket.

To her surprise, when she arrived at the office, she found no one there but herself and her boss. It felt chilled and overly air conditioned without the complement of warm bodies crowded into the open-plan working space. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. The situation was almost enough to trash her post-coital morning. Being alone with the tosser always made her skin crawl, but the fact that she really was alone with him this time caused a cold clench in her stomach. She wondered what the hell was going on.

She went quietly to her desk, not wanting to draw his attention. With any luck he’d be too hungover to care what she did, then she could get her work done and leave. She spent an hour tweaking and cleaning up other people’s articles and finalising the layout for that week’s
Full On
webzine, tasks that he should have done. She was beginning to think she might get by unnoticed when she realised the article on street buskers she’d spent nearly a month researching had been pulled completely. It had been replaced as the lead story by an article on discount holidays lifted straight from an affiliate newsfeed. It wasn’t the first time her boss had promised that her article would be the lead story, then pulled it at the last minute for no good reason. It would bloody well be the last, she decided. Breathing fire, she slammed her laptop shut, crossed the maze of cubicles to her boss’s door and knocked before she had time for second thoughts.

He spoke to her without looking up from his laptop. ‘You’re upset about your busker story.’ He didn’t wait for her to respond, but continued. ‘I made an executive decision, hon.’ He took off his glasses and finally looked up at her. ‘It just wasn’t the kind of professional quality I’d hoped for, and when there was nothing else, I had to make a choice, didn’t I?’

Her body stiffened. She stroked and clutched the BlackBerry in her pocket like it was a talisman. ‘There was nothing wrong with that article,’ a voice whispered in her ear. ‘It was a good article, a damn sight better than what’s up there now.’ It was only the sour look of surprise on her boss’s face that made her realise there had been no voice whispering in her ear. She had spoken the whole thing out loud, and she
certainly
wasn’t sorry she’d done it!

‘I believe the choice of what’s good and what’s not is mine to make, honey. The name on the door of this office is still H. Devlin, isn’t it? Last time I looked it hadn’t been changed to Jill Hart.’ He pushed his chair back and came around the desk to stand in front of her, giving her a once-over that made her shiver. ‘Nice outfit, by the way. I always suspected there was a nice figure under all that frump.’ He moved closer, breathing stale coffee in her face, then he lowered his eyes to the buttons of her blouse and smiled conciliatorily into her cleavage. She pulled her jacket protectively around her.

‘The wonderful thing about the web,’ he said, ‘is that we can change it, hon. Online publication is so much more forgiving than print. And one of the reasons I had you come in this morning is that I thought we might be able to get your article up as the lead story, if you’re willing to work with me on it.’ He straightened the collar of her jacket, pushed it back slightly and ran a finger along the open lapel of the blouse. ‘You know, tweak it a bit here and there.’

‘All right,’ she said, tugging at her jacket and stepping out of his breathing space until she could feel the wall against her spine. ‘I’ll go get my laptop, and we can work on it, though wouldn’t it have been easier for you just to email me the changes you wanted? I could have done them from home.’

He stepped into her space again. ‘I’m a hands-on sort of bloke, honey, and if you want your story to lead, then we’ll have to work on it together.’

She stood very still, amazingly calm under the circumstances. He placed one hand on the wall just above her shoulder and the other pushed the jacket down over one arm and skimmed the open neckline of her blouse again.

‘Is this what you had me come in for?’ she asked.

He offered her a twitch of a smile. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you weren’t anticipating it, honey. I mean, look how you’re dressed.’ Then his business voice returned. ‘You’re talented and enthusiastic, Jill. I can make sure that you go far in your career.’ He leaned forward and his wet lips brushed her ear. ‘Or not.’

She couldn’t believe how calm she was. It was strange. There was no panic, no fear, no real rage even, just an icy distancing she never remembered feeling before. ‘What do you want me to do, Mr Devlin?’ she said above the strange buzzing in her ear, a sound not unlike the buzz of insects in a field on a hot summer day.

He chuckled, and his breath was heavy and damp against her face. ‘There, that’s better now, isn’t it? I love a cooperative employee.’ He slid a pudgy thumb across the outline of one nipple and sighed. ‘First, I want you to lose the jacket, unbutton that lovely silk top of yours and give me a good look at those tits you’re always pointing at me. And when I’ve had enough time to examine them thoroughly, I want you over my desk, skirt up, arse cheeks parted so I can have my choice of what you’ve got down there. Are we clear, honey?’

The buzzing grew louder. But strangely the world around her seemed sharply focused, more detailed than she could ever remember it being – the smell of cold coffee in a paper cup on his desk, the sound of a jackhammer on a nearby street, the tiny mole just in front of the man’s right ear, the growing crescents of sweat beneath his armpits sharp with the acid scent of nerves overriding the citrus tang of deodorant. ‘Oh, we’re very clear,’ she said, caressing her BlackBerry again. ‘Clear as a bell.’

She placed the flat of her hand against his chest and shoved him hard. He gave a little grunt of anticipation, like maybe he was OK with a woman taking the upper hand. He had no idea, she thought. He stank of his own lust, and she could damn near read his mind. He thought he was in, he thought she was kinky enough to be turned on by him, the little toad. And when she’d pushed him back until his bum rested against his desk, he practically quivered with excitement. The laugh that came from her throat startled even her. The man was pathetic, and her time was way too valuable to waste on such a creature.

She spoke as calmly as if she had just told him the football scores. ‘You disgusting little worm. Do you really think there’s anything you could do to persuade me to let me put your filthy little cock inside me? You have two hands, Devlin, I would suggest you fuck yourself, and, while you’re at it, fuck this job because I no longer need it.’

She heard the pop of joints as he catapulted off the desk into a stiff-necked stance, eyes bulging, chest inflating like a balloon. ‘You filthy slut! Clear your desk, you little bitch. I want you out of my sight. Now!’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Devlin. I’m leaving.’ She stepped back just beyond the range of his anger, and it really was as though her right hand didn’t know what her left hand was doing. ‘But before I go, you’ll agree to make sure my unexpected leaving is nicely smoothed over with HR. You’ll also make sure that I’m very well compensated for putting up with you, Devlin, very well. And finally you’ll make sure there’ll be the stellar references I deserve for my CV.’

‘You fucking little bitch.’ He lunged for her but she stepped back, pulled the BlackBerry from her pocket and hit the playback button.

What do you want me to do, Mr Devlin
, Jill heard herself say. Then she heard her boss’s fetid laugh.

I want you to lose the jacket, unbutton that lovely silk top of yours and give me a good look at those tits you’re always pointing at me …

When she switched the recording off, the man looked decidedly green.

‘I think we understand each other, Mr Devlin. I’ll be back Monday to pick up my things and talk to HR. What you do between now and then will determine what I do with this lovely little recording. Are we clear?’

The man nodded. In truth she was afraid if he opened his mouth he might just throw up.

‘I know a lot of the women who work here, and I know how you treat them. I’ll be having coffee with them from time to time, just to see how things are going. You get the picture.’ She held up the BlackBerry. ‘Oh, and one more thing, Devlin. My busker story leads this week’s eZine, according to plan.’

Then she walked out of his office, shut the door quietly behind her and just kept walking with the strange buzzing in her ears reducing everything else to background noise. She felt like her head was too full, too full of everything, colour and light and darkness and texture and scent and sounds and distance and space and time. And everything felt so completely solid. Inside her there was a powerful urge to run down the street laughing hysterically. The job from hell was finished. Finished! She’d never have to face Devlin again.

Right next door to the urge for hysterical laughter was the urge to panic hugely. The battling urges threatened to rip her chest open, threatened to cut off her breathing, threatened to drive her to her knees. But the sun was bright and the air was warm and she was going to Shoreditch to fuck the clerk at Kinky Boots.

* * *

In the end Chelsea called her fuck buddy, the banker, who called Vivie. Because she fancied him, it hadn’t taken him long to wheedle Jill Hart’s name out of her. It turned out Vivie was a bit of a matchmaker and found the idea of hooking up her friend with a hot bloke irresistible. The hot-bloke bit was Chelsea’s embellishment, not Finn’s, but if it worked, it worked. By noon, Finn had tweeted and Facebooked Jill Hart. He was sure it was her because she had a fairly good photo of herself as her avatar. He’d got the number of her landline, but there had been no answer, and he’d had no response from his efforts with social media. Jill didn’t seem like the type who would leave a debt unpaid. He was sure she’d be back once she realised that she hadn’t paid him for the boots, but by then it could be too late. It was frustrating. It was more than frustrating, it was frightening. Eleanor had never deliberately hurt anyone. Not deliberately. But after the last time, Finn couldn’t believe that she would willingly do what she’d clearly done. The thought made him cold inside.