The Deep End. AM Hartnett

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СКАЧАТЬ said nothing as she stabbed and poked her hair back into the tight bun at the nape of her neck, but once she finished he reached out and ran a slender finger where her blouse split open just above her tits.

      ‘You could change your mind, you know. I just thought you might like me to finish what I started, and I have to say I’d love to see if your mouth sucks as good as your pussy.’

      His words had the effect she was sure he intended. Just once she would have liked a little more than an hour or two. She would have liked to get to know one of these men who passed through the office. When the Breton-Craig team moved on, she’d go home and pour herself a glass of wine, have a long hot bath, spend a little quality time with the contents of her nightstand and wait until the next opportunity like this presented itself.

      She stepped away from him and began collecting her things from Caroway’s desk. Once everything was in place and she had tied the garbage bag with the discarded condom in it, she glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Less than ten minutes. You’d better get going. Caroway will be coming back any second now and if you’re late you’ll miss the meeting. The doors are locked as soon as Taureau comes online.’

      He went to the sofa and picked up his jacket. ‘Anything else I need to know about Taureau?’

      Grace crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a wry smile. ‘Keep it short and don’t fuck up.’

      She didn’t even know the name of the man from Philadelphia, she realised as she returned to her desk. Dan or Brent or something that clicked off the tongue during an introduction. Whatever his name was, he was smooth enough and he could talk. As long as he didn’t go long-winded, she had no doubt that the acquisition of Breton-Craig would be a done deal by the time the meeting was over, another financial notch on Taureau’s belt.

      The clock read three minutes after two. She was tempted to take a stroll down the hall to see if anyone had taken too long to shake the piss off their dick and was locked out.

      She’d long ago stopped questioning Taureau’s methods. From what Caroway and others had told her, the owner of Taureau-Werner Inc. came off as barely tolerant during every one of these meetings. If he was bored, he made it known. If he thought an idea or an opinion was stupid, he was quick to shred the offender.

      Every so often in the office, there would be nostalgic talk about the days of the old man, Shane Werner, and his charm. Not many were alive who could remember the grandfather who had turned a small regional bus company into a conglomerate of airlines, hotels, restaurants and airport shops. Those who had worked for Werner, like Caroway, shook their heads and puzzled at how Shane had left the business to the grandson who was reportedly a mental case after his girlfriend tried to kill him.

      Once the wild playboy, at the age of twenty-four Jacques had been attacked by his drug-addled lover. She slit his throat and carved up his face before turning the knife on herself. It was said that Jacques Alain Taureau wasn’t fit for the position of CEO. The torch should have been passed on to Jacques’s father, Dominic, who had earned himself a Senate seat after twenty years in politics, and was the polished type you would expect to excel in business.

      And yet Taureau had done well in the decade since his grandfather’s death, in spite of the Howard Hughes mythology surrounding him. Since Grace had begun working for Taureau-Werner seven years ago, he’d acquired three smaller airlines and absorbed a chain of luxury hotels.

      Breton-Craig didn’t own luxury hotels. They owned roadside motels across the Midwestern United States. The idea behind this merger was to revamp the brand and add a restaurant to each property. Breton-Craig would do the work while Taureau-Werner put in the capital and reaped the rewards.

      She knew Caroway wasn’t entirely on board with this deal. He liked the shine of Taureau-Werner. He thought adding motor inns would tarnish the company’s reputation. Grace suspected that he had either kept his mouth shut about that or been put in his place by Taureau, and that once the money started coming in he’d shut his mouth for good.

      Though Grace had put on a good front for the man from Breton-Craig, she had been left exhausted by their bout of fucking. It had burned off the tension that kept her alert, and the thought of having to stick around until after dark made her want to slip back into Caroway’s office and take a nap.

      She settled for a half-hour coffee run and sent the phone to voicemail. One large coffee and something sugary would keep her going until she was able to head home.

      * * *

      ‘It’s crazy,’ her mother said, and Grace leaned over the speaker and mouthed along to the next words. ‘Worse than crazy.’

      With every call to her mother, Grace heard that expression at least four times. She couldn’t remember that phrase ever passing over Edwina’s lips when these conversations were face to face.

      In fact, she didn’t recall, when her mother lived in town, talking this much about the weather, her cousin Martha’s hospital visits, her stepfather’s diabetes or people she’d never met. Before the move to Florida, they’d meet for tea and sandwiches on Sunday, or Grace would pop out for a long lunch so they could browse for nail polish at the mall. The conversation was light and Grace enjoyed the company.

      Now the weekly conversation was just another obligation, and Grace spent the entire call looking for those cues that it was coming to an end. She called from her desk these days, knowing that Edwina wouldn’t delay her if she knew Grace hadn’t eaten or was at the end of a thirteen-hour day. When she hung up, the guilt would be heavy in her gut and she’d commit herself to showing more enthusiasm the next time she talked to Edwina. But she would still be glad it was over.

      ‘The next time you come down, I’ll get you to bring me some of those caramel cakes I used to get,’ Edwina said, and Grace closed her eyes to suppress a moan. She knew what was coming next.

      ‘I can mail them to you,’ she replied, and pushed her shoulders into the back of her seat. ‘They’ll be there in a week.’

      ‘No, I don’t want you to waste your money on postage.’

      ‘It’s fine. I’ll pick them up the next time I get groceries.’

      ‘I didn’t think you went grocery shopping anymore. The last time we were up your fridge was bare.’

      ‘Mom, stop.’

      Grace didn’t need the reminder. Her fridge was bare most of the time. Her diet consisted of whatever could be found on the worn takeout menus from the break room and her fruit intake came entirely from the waxy pickings that collected dust at the café in the lobby. Every so often she’d get ambitious enough to have a cooking day, but whatever she made would be forgotten until she discovered some frost-caked plastic container in her fridge freezer.

      ‘You’re not drinking too much, are you?’

      ‘Mom, stop talking like I’m an alcoholic.’ She’d never be allowed to forget the presence of that quart of raspberry vodka in a fridge without milk or bread. ‘I don’t have time to be a drunk.’

      ‘Life isn’t all work, Gracie. You should get yourself a slow cooker –’

      ‘And I’d have to get up an hour early to cook.’

      ‘I’m just worried about you, that’s all.’ Edwina sounded defeated, and Grace got to her feet, trying to banish the thought СКАЧАТЬ