His comments hit the biggest raw nerve possible. ‘Perhaps some aren’t resolved earlier because people feel unable to come forward?’ I retort. ‘They might be embarrassed or ashamed, or think they can handle it alone. Or not see it coming until it’s too late.’
‘These are grown adults we’re talking about, not playground schoolchildren.’
‘It’s not immature to be scared, or to worry about the ramifications of your actions. And how can you cast judgement if it hasn’t happened to you?’ I stop, take a breath, dizzy with anger. ‘Has it happened to you?’
‘No.’
‘So you don’t know what it feels like, what choice you would make.’ I spring out of my chair, hold myself steady with my hands flat on the table, shaking. ‘And how are you going to remove the possibility of those claims? Unless you’re going to try and segregate men and women, you’ve got a problem. And it’s not necessarily about men and women, is it? There could be a same-sex claim.’
‘Segregation?’ He looks shocked, rising from his chair. ‘Don’t be silly. I meant having a no-workplace relationships policy. For everyone, whatever their sexual orientation.’
Feeling stupid for my hasty remarks, I turn sunset red. ‘You can’t get people to control their emotions like that, Alex. They’re not robots. Haven’t you ever heard the heart wants what the heart wants?’
His face closes down. ‘Sometimes what the heart wants isn’t what the person attached to it needs. And in my experience, a lot of the time it’s hormones doing the wanting, not the heart.’
Is he saying he sleeps around? ‘Do you think it’s realistic to expect people to adhere to that kind of policy? Plus it wouldn’t necessarily stop sexual harassment claims.’
‘It can minimise them, and yes, if the clause is written into the employment contract.’ He rubs his temples. ‘It’s not about feelings, Charley. It’s about trying to keep the organisation alive and productive. It can’t be either of those if it’s imploding because people are falling out when it all goes wrong. Which it inevitably does.’
‘Wow. That’s cynical.’
Tucking his chair under the table, he nods, ‘What can I say? Sometimes, sadly, it’s the safest way to be.’
I shove my chair under the table, making the glasses rattle. ‘You’re right,’ I state, staring him directly in the eye. ‘That is sad.’ His mouth falls open. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me,’ I seethe, unable to see clearly, think clearly, ‘I’m going to get some fresh air.’
‘Take as long as you like,’ he barks.
Stomping from the room, I wonder if I’ve blown it and if he means I shouldn’t bother coming back at all.
Luckily for me he doesn’t. When I return from a brisk walk around the block, I find him waiting in one of the meeting rooms with a group of managers. Pointing to the laptop he’s set up in my absence – which I must have left in the hall in my haste to escape, oh, pants – he nods, ‘Charley. Are you ready?’
There’s no chance to tell him I’m sorry. He had a right to express his views, and maybe they didn’t gel with mine, but I made it personal. Out of order. Unprofessional. I was overly sensitive because of my situation. I should have stayed calm and under control. Why can’t I keep my emotions in check around him? I never had these problems at the casino. Is it the pressure of the last few months or is it about Alex himself? No. Focus on work.
I take notes and after everyone leaves I write up a sales strategy and answer email correspondence while Alex dictates to me. I become absorbed, fingers flying over the keyboard with his rapid-fire thoughts. I’m envious of his energy. How he does it, has presumably held the same pace for the last few years, is incredible. I feel like an amateur in comparison, tired after one day.
Rotating my head to ease the kinks from my neck, I feel a crunch and a tension headache starts. Alex has stopped talking, so I look up. He’s standing at the window, shoulders wide and set, hands deep in his trouser pockets.
‘Alex?’ No response. Standing, I step closer. ‘Alex?’ A sharp pain stabs in my forehead, aching discomfort digging in deeper. I need to get to my room and take some painkillers otherwise I’m liable to be laid out with a migraine for the next few hours. Still no response. Muttering in exasperation, I move closer, waving a hand in front of his face. ‘Woo–hoo, Alex?’
He jerks, grabbing my hand and holding it down between us. ‘Yes?’ he frowns.
‘Is there anything else you need me to do?’ I wiggle my fingers, hand tingling against the slide of his skin.
‘The last email’s sent?’
‘Yes, just now.’ A pulse blooms in my right eye socket.
Releasing my hand, ‘Sorry.’ Glancing down at his watch. ‘Good. Yes, that’s all for now. I’ll see you in the lobby at seven thirty for drinks.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Drinks,’ he exclaims, ‘the liquid things before dinner?’
‘Thanks for the explanation,’ I say dryly. ‘I just thought we were done for the day.’
‘No, sorry. You’re expected to come to the party tonight.’
What? I’m knackered, especially after only a few hours’ sleep. Plus this headache is expanding to epic proportions. I also need space from the bright exciting tension sitting in my lower belly and coating my nerve endings when I’m near him.
It’s not good.
This is not romance.
This is business.
‘Party? No one at the agency said anything. When you mentioned one earlier I figured it was for the AGM attendees.’
‘It’s for the employees here and any others who can make it. Stuart usually attends so I’ll expect you to be there. Is there a reason you can’t be?’ He glowers. It’s framed as a question but is an order. But then, he is the boss and I need to be reasonable, especially since I still owe him an apology for earlier.
‘No, there isn’t.’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘But would it kill you to say please?’
‘What? I—’ For a moment I think he’s about to start shouting, but he throws his hands in the air and starts laughing. ‘Unbelievable,’ he mutters under his breath, stepping closer to me. I back up as a wide chest fills my vision. ‘Please Charley,’ he says theatrically, a mock pleading expression on his face, and fun, relaxed Alex is back again. ‘Please, please, please … come to the party.’
I shake my head and grin, then scowl as the motion pulls sharp claws through my head. ‘All right, all right,’ I say, pretending reluctance. ‘But do I get a break?’
‘You’re about to get one, and you proved yourself so efficient at getting ready last night,’ he cocks an eyebrow, ‘that you should have an hour or so to yourself before meeting me.’
I chew the inside of my mouth but say nothing. He doesn’t know I need extra time to let the