‘You have plenty of time. We’ll grab some breakfast and go to The Manor mid-morning. Now, stretch.’ He drops a kiss on my sweaty forehead and turns towards the bathroom.
We’ll go to The Manor? What for? Realisation kicks in before my brain has a chance to instruct my mouth to blurt the question. He was completely serious when he permanently marked out my diary for the rest of the academic year?
Oh, shit!
The one hundred grand is to keep Patrick quiet while he gets his fix of me, morning, noon and night. Oh, bloody hell. What about my other clients – Van Der Haus being the most important other client? He alone will boost Patrick’s turnover tenfold. Oh God, I feel a trample coming on.
‘Jesse, I need to go to the office.’ I try for a calm and reasonable tone. I don’t know why I picked this one in particular. As appose to what? Demanding? Ha!
‘No, you don’t. Stretch.’ Is the straight flat answer, followed by a terse demand that I get thrown back at me from the bathroom.
I’m going to lose my job. I know it. He’ll get his fix, trample all over my social life and career, and then drop me like a hot potato. I’ll be job-less, friend-less, heart-less and, most frighteningly, Jesse-less. I feel light headed. What am I going to do? I’m too exhausted to run away at the start of a countdown – not that I would get very far, even firing on all cylinders. And a sense fuck will probably finish off my already strained heart.
‘All of my equipment is at the office. My computer programmes, reference books, everything.’ My voice is small.
He presents himself at the doorway of the bathroom, chewing his lip. ‘And you need all that stuff?’
‘Yes, to do my job.’
‘Okay, we’ll stop by your office.’ He shrugs and returns to the bathroom.
I throw myself back on the bed in exasperation. What in God’s name am I going to say to Patrick? I exhale a weary sigh. He’s lead me into a false sense of security by bringing me home in a taxi and carrying my tired body up the stairs when my legs felt like they could give out. I’m just as deluded as he is. I’m never going to be in control.
‘Bath’s ready.’ he whispers in my ear, snapping me from my unrest.
‘You were serious, weren’t you?’ I ask as he lifts me up from the bed and carries me into the bathroom. The enormous bath dominating the room is only half full.
‘I was serious about what?’ He places me on my feet and starts peeling off my wet running gear.
Thick skin! ‘About holing me up with you,’
‘Yes.’
‘What about my other clients?’
‘I don’t want to share you.’ He pulls my shorts down my legs and taps my ankle. I do as I’m bid, lifting my feet in turn.
How am I going to play this? For one thing, I’m less than delighted at the thought of spending more time than I have to at The Manor under the icy glare of old pouty face, and for another, I need to keep on top of my current clients. That’s what they are paying me for. He doesn’t want to share me?
What?
With anyone?
And for how long?
‘I don’t need to be at The Manor to collate designs, Jesse.’
He lifts me into the bath and starts undressing himself. ‘Yes, you do.’
I sink down into the hot water. It’s a welcome relief for my screaming muscles. It’s a shame it won’t relax my screaming brain. ‘No, I don’t.’ I affirm. I’m attempting to put my foot down again. What a laugh!
I look up to a very disgruntled face as he climbs in behind me and pulls my back against his chest. He’s silent for a short while before he takes a deep breath. ‘If I let you go to the office, you have to do something for me.’
If he lets me? This man is beyond self-assured and arrogant. But he’s negotiating, which is an improvement on demanding or forcing me. ‘Okay. What?’
‘You’ll come to The Manor’s anniversary party.’
‘What? Like a social event?’