Thor (Recherché #1) (14 page)

She waves me off dismissively. “You can call me April, my friends do. And as pretty as your paintings are, I have no interest in them.” Okay. “I’m here to offer you a word of advice. I saw you with Thor at your sister's wedding.” Okay, what? She knows my sister and she knows Thor. Who the hell is this woman? “I know your family, so I know you probably aren’t the type to associate with escorts.”

“Escorts?”

She offers me a sympathetic look and leans in closer. “My sweet child, certain women like to pay for a man’s services. Thor is well known amongst certain circles for his expertise.” I can’t process her words. “He’s very good, so I hear. He even owns an agency. I forget the name. Something French.”

I feel sick. My heart starts pounding in my chest and my palms become damp.

“I uh, I have to go.” It’s crazy, of course it is, and yet… I think of everything I know about Thor. I know he runs a business. That’s it. I know I had never met him until Elodie arranged that first meeting before the wedding, and if she knew a man like that, a man that perfect, then why hadn’t she mentioned him before? Did I not constantly ask myself why on earth she wasn’t keeping him all to herself? When I asked both of them how they knew each other, they never really gave me an answer. This is ridiculous. I mean, an escort?

I shake my head and dial Elodie's number on the way to the tube station. She picks up on the second ring.

“Oh, my god." She answers. "I thought you’d died. I haven’t heard from you in days.”

“How do you know Thor?” I ask.

“Thor? You’re not still talking to him are you?” There’s an edge to her voice and it makes me uneasy.

“Is it true? Is he an escort?” Complete silence greets me on the other end. “Oh my god.” I breathe.

“Poppy, wait. It’s not like that…” I hang up and throw my phone in my bag. I stop and hunch over, gripping my knees. I think I’m going to throw up. I feel sick to my stomach. I trusted her. She’s my best friend for fucks sake. I trusted him. I had sex with him! I had sex with him without a damn condom. And the whole time he was a…a whore. And my friend was paying him. I’ve never felt so hurt, so fucking betrayed. Tears prickle my eyes but I fight them back. I’m not upset, I’m disgusted. I stand up and flip my hair back, sniffing back the threatening water works.

Walk. I just need to walk and not think about this. Not here in the middle of the street.

I’m on my way back to the house when my phone rings, blaring through the car speakers.

“Yeah.” I pick up.

“You fucking told her!” A hysterical female voice comes over the line. 

“Sorry, who is this?”

“It’s Elodie, you arsehole. Thanks to you, Poppy now hates me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She knows you’re an escort! And there’s only one other person…” I hang up on her and slam my breaks on, pulling a U-turn in the middle of heavy traffic. Horns blare and tyres squeal but I don’t care. This is going to be bad, so fucking bad. I always planned to tell her at some point, I guess there’s just never a good time to say, oh hey, I’m an escort, I fuck women for money. Shit.

I screech to a halt outside her building and jog up to the front door. I press the buzzer and wait impatiently for an answer. There is none. I’m tempted to call her phone, but my guess is she probably won’t answer, so I wait. I sit in my car and watch the front door of her building. After about half an hour she appears, walking down the path that runs outside. I throw the car door open.

“Poppy.” She slowly turns her head to face me.

“I have nothing to say to you.” She focuses on the door, slamming her key into the lock violently.

“Just give me a chance to explain.”

The lock clicks open and she opens the door, pausing for a second. “You have had weeks to explain.” She drops her head forward against the door and refuses to look at me. “God, I’m so stupid.”

I open my mouth to respond, but she’s gone, slamming the door behind her. “Fuck!” I shout.

I slam my fist against the nearest wall until my knuckles rip open and bleed. My chest is heaving and a foreign ache has settled deep in my rib cage. None of this was ever supposed to happen. And it’s not until now, until I’m faced with the possibility of losing her that I realise how much I’ve come to care for her. I hadn’t realised how essential she’s become to me. She’s my light, she’s the normality I’ve never had. And she may well be the only person in the world who’s ever truly given a shit about me beyond how many orgasms I can give her. I tilt my head back and stare up at her flat window. I know her well enough to know there’s nothing I can say to her right now. I get in my car and the ache in my chest only intensifies as I drive home.

When I get back to the house I ignore the guys and head straight upstairs. I crack out the bottle of good whiskey that I’d been keeping for a special occasion but fuck, Thor Jameson apparently actually having a heart is a pretty epic occasion if you ask me. Even if it took stomping all over hers to discover it.

I’m on my third glass when there’s a knock on the flat door. My heart thuds unevenly for a second and I want to hope that it’s Poppy, that she can forgive me. I get up and yank the door open to find Cora standing there looking sheepish. She sweeps a strand of caramel hair behind her ear whilst keeping her gaze fixed on the floor.

“You drew the short straw, did you?” I turn away from the door and go back to my spot on the couch.

I hear the click of her heels on the wooden floor, followed by the door clicking shut. “That Elodie chick called the office.” She pauses awkwardly. “Are uh, are you okay?” She stands a few feet away from me with her hands behind her back.

I roll my eyes. “Fuck, Cora if you’re going to be here then at least sit down and have a drink.” She falls onto the couch and grabs the bottle of whiskey, chugging it straight out of the bottle. “That bad huh?”

She winces slightly as she swallows and slams the bottle back down on the coffee table. “Apparently, I’m a girl so I’m supposed to be good with girl issues.” She shakes her head. “I’m really not, though. The longest relationship I ever had was two months. And it turns out he was fucking my sister from two weeks in. This is why I stick to girls.”

I snort and fall back into the couch cushions, dragging a hand down my face. “I fucked up.”

She sighs heavily and I feel the couch shift. “You’re male, you can’t help it.”

“I just forgot, you know? Like, for a moment I forgot who I am. I forgot what I am.”

“Do you mind if I smoke?” I glance sideways at her and gesture for her to carry on. She holds the cigarette between her full red lips and cups the lighter, allowing it to kiss the end of the cigarette before she inhales. Cora always looks like a china doll, so perfect, so breakable, but there’s something hard about her, something irreparably damaged. And yet I don’t feel the need to protect her the way I do Poppy. Why is that? Perhaps we’re a different breed, people who have accepted their fate and don’t need saving from it.

She exhales a cloud of smoke and stares at the ceiling for a second before bringing her gaze to mine. “You are Thor. You’re a successful guy who’s forged his path in life. You fuck women for a living. People do a lot worse.” She shrugs.

“I don’t think she see’s it that way.”

“So ask her.”

“She won’t speak to me.”

“Oh, please. If you really want to speak to her, you’ll find a way. Don’t be a pussy.” She stubs out her cigarette in the plant pot in the centre of the coffee table.

“Thanks.” I say sarcastically.

She pushes to her feet and a smile paints her face. “Well, good talk, boss.” She walks across the room, her hips popping as she goes. The door clicks shut behind her and I’m left alone. She’s right though. I’m being a pussy by sulking about it. I almost don’t want to talk to Poppy though, because truthfully, I don’t know what to say to her. I have no excuse, no argument. I was a cunt, plain and simple.

The next morning I jump in the car and head to Greenwich. I had fuck all sleep last night and I’m running on caffeine. I pull up outside the art studio because I know she comes here at seven thirty every morning during the week. I don’t want to get out of the car. I need to talk to her but I don’t want to hear what I know she’s going to say. Damn, I need to man the fuck up, have the conversation and at least then I can get on with my fucking life. It’s not like I’m in love with the girl.

I get out of the car and go inside. I move through the corridor, passing one woman on the reception desk. She pays me no attention to me. At the end of the hall are a set of double doors. I look through the glass and see Poppy sitting in the back corner near the window. Her earphones are in and she’s totally engrossed in the canvas in front of her. Her hair is in a messy bun, a paintbrush shoved through it to keep it in place. A small concentration line has appeared between her perfectly plucked eyebrows as she studies her work.

Shit, my palms are fucking sweating. That uncomfortable feeling in my chest intensifies a little. I take a deep breath and push the door open. Her eyes shift from the canvas and crash into mine. I stand there awkwardly for a few moments. I have gone over what I would say to her a thousand times in my mind but now I’m standing here with those hazel eyes fixed on mine, it’s all gone because I can see the hurt in her eyes and there’s really no justification for that.

She pulls the earbuds out of her ear and drops them on the table beside her. I can hear the low hum of angry rock music blaring through the discarded earphones.

“Get out.” She says, turning her attention back to the canvas.

I sigh and press my back against the closed door. I know enough about angry women to keep my distance. “No.”

She glares at me. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“To let me explain.”

She throws her paintbrush down on the side and pushes to her feet. She’s wearing denim dungarees with a cropped t-shirt underneath and her hair is pinned in a messy knot on her head. I fight a groan because she’s never looked hotter. Footsteps echo off the walls of the empty studio when she storms towards me, halting a couple of feet away.

“You don’t get to explain because it’s pretty simple from where I’m standing. You’re a whore. My so called friend paid you to fuck me. End of.”

I grit my teeth and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not a whore.”

“You get paid. To. Have. Sex. What would you call it?” She spits angrily.

“I didn’t get paid to sleep with you. I like you, Poppy.” She steps forward and swings her arm back, slapping me across the face hard enough that my head whips around. Damn, for a little thing, she’s got some power.

“I’ve given up. I haven’t seen a client in weeks.”

She presses her hand to her stomach. “A client? Oh god, I think I’m going to vomit. And I let you fuck me without a condom.” She chokes, tears building in her eyes.

I step forward, a natural reaction to seeing her in pain. “Poppy.”

“Just get out!” She shoves against my chest, forcing me back against the door again. Her small fists rain down on my chest over and over, and I let her. “I hate you.” She says quietly. Tears pour down her face and it fucking kills me.

“I’m sorry.” I want to reach out to her, to touch her, but she’s looking at me as though I’m diseased.

“I trusted you.” She whispers.

“Elodie hired me to be your date at the wedding. Nothing more. The rest is all on me.”