The Score. HJ Golakai
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near. And I know you’re gonna make Nico pay for that. The entire office is yammering about it. Must you always butt heads with the powers that be? Didn’t you have enough of that with Portia? You trying to get fired?”
“Who say I’hn been fired already?”
“Ag, rubbish. He hasn’t got the balls to fire you. We’ll drag his arse in front of the CCMA so fast.”
Vee hid her smile from the defiance in Chlöe’s pout. It was useless pointing out the Council for Conciliation, Mediation and Arbitration, defender of workers’ rights, was unlikely to weigh in on petty office squabbles. “Jus’ take it easy,” she said. “I am.” Barely. A vein of rage still thumped in her neck.
“Take it easy,” Chlöe muttered. “How can any living thing take it easy in this bloody heat?” Flushed and dewy with sweat, her freckles throbbed a more prominent russet than their usual cinnamon. She twisted a cascade of hair off her neck into a knot behind her head, moaning in joy at the intermittent breeze. Her face scrunched, unsure. “So … are we … ?”
Vee banged the glass down. “Hell no! This is his deflection strategy; pick a fight he knows I can’t win, then twist my arm. He think he free to be jerkin’ pipo all over while he screwing that fat-ass, muppet-faced bitch – screwing with me in the process, like I’hn got nuttin’ better to do.”
“Women can’t call each other fat anymore. It’s been outlawed by feminists,” Chlöe drawled sleepily. Her eyes bulged and shot up. “Wait, what?! He’s schtoepping Schoeman? See-ree-ahhs? You can’t be serious. I did not pick up on that one. My radar must be glitchy lately.” She swigged juice, swirled it round her mouth in contemplation. “Are you sure?” she pressed, then shook her head just as quickly. “Yeah, course you are. You’re always up on the stuff I miss, and it explains a lot. Damn. Sly fox. What else is he hiding?”
“He –” Vee quickly stoppered her mouth with her glass. Van Wyk’s personal problems were an open secret; the drinking, not so much. Pissed off or not, loose lips sank ships. And Chlöe’s were the loosest of all. Vee knew that between her and Nico lay enough animus to fuel a small HR war, but Bishop could whip it into national headlines in a single news cycle. “He gets away with these stunts because his minions dem all scared of him.”
“Hhmph. He is friends with Portia after all,” Chlöe snarked under her breath.
“Well, he can kiss my black ass and tell me the flavour. Who he think goin’ to some hairy buttcrack in the Karoo to write about mud huts? Not if I can help it.”
“Then please help it with all your might, because I do not do village.”
Chapter Three
“Ugghh.” Vee pressed a hand over her eyes. “I think I forgot it on the car seat.” She clicked her tongue, rustling through her handbag. “No, I definitely left it …”
“You need your cellphone? Like, right now?” her male companion asked.
“Yes. I mean no. Well, not no-no, but maybe.” Vee looked up into hazel eyes, easily picking out the teasing smile behind them. “It will be off. Because that’s the unbreakable rule of quality time.” She tiptoed, snuggling a smile against his cheek. “But it’s on the seat, the glass could get smashed. And in case Chlöe calls? She’s spinning all over the place right now. After today …”
“Oh right, ’cause it’s Chlöe who’s spinning right now.” He chuckled and pulled her in for a kiss. A buzz of warmth hit at the press of his lips. Vee melted, in spite of herself and another of her rules: start over, take it slow. Still, the thrill of familiar pleasures never ceased to amaze.
Titus Wreh loosened his embrace and gave her bum a friendly pat. “Go grab your phone, or I’ll never hear the end of it. I’ll get our table. The sooner we eat, the sooner we can leave, the sooner …” He dropped a mischievous wink and she punched his arm.
“Don’t push it, mister man. It’s been one helluva week.” She took him in, unable to quell the burn in the pit of her stomach: a tall stretch of warm brown skin clad in a casual olive-green shirt and dark slacks. He graced her with another suggestive grin, dimple twitching and eyebrows waggling. “You know you love the view, woman.”
She giggled. “Hmm. After the wine we shall see.”
She hustled away from the restaurant’s well-lit entrance, trying to de-fog her mental windscreen. All she wanted tonight was a nice dinner with her ex-maybe-could-be-back-together-again-fiancé. But the morning’s fracas kept pestering her. Chlöe had left her and Claremont behind for the office, leaving her agitation behind like a bad smell that stank up the rest of the day. As it had poisoned the past several weeks, when the rumour had first touched down. Their last major investigation at Urban magazine had been a bizarre, winding affair, one that had thrown Chlöe and herself together and cemented their friendship in one fell swoop. Over eighteen months past and still the events of that case dogged her steps.
“You need to hear this from me first,” Chlöe had whispered in the ladies, peeping into every stall as if a drug deal was about to go down.
Vee freshened her lip stain in the mirror. “Oh Lawd, another one of your skinder sessions? You should sell your gossip to The Star and earn a second income.”
Chlöe held up a hand, face stony. “I’m serious, bosslady. I know you hate getting mixed up in office bullshit, but this is hectic. There’ve been murmurings,” she exhaled at length, “that we took a bribe during the Paulsen case. To facilitate a speedier outcome or something.”
Vee closed the tap without washing her hands.
Chlöe fidgeted. “Actually, they’re saying you took a bribe. A big one. But of course being your friend and assistant means I’m guilty too, so …” She shrugged. “Just so you know I’m not exempt from anything tarnished-wise.”
Vee slowed, the jangling of her key-ring bringing her back to the present. The memory alone – the very word – made her flinch, soured her mouth. A bribe. Here she was, calculating how deeply mired in debt she’d be if she ever decided to bite the bullet and buy the house she’d rented for three years, and somewhere in a parallel universe her more mercenary self was flush. Because she’d ‘taken dash’, greased her mouth. She knew full well who’d been running that kind of cheycheypolay, the most malevolent of gossip strains. She’d deal with that later.
“We really should stop meeting like this.”
She started and whirled. And groaned. “Aaay my pipo.”
“Come on, Cricket.” Joshua Allen grinned, sidling up. “Where’s your enthusiasm? You’re starting to hurt my feelings.”
He’d practically melted out of a brick wall onto the sidewalk. Like some thug could’ve, attacking her while her head was in the breeze. True, Green Point after nightfall was no Mitchell’s Plain, but still. Hand to throat, Vee scanned the semi-lit avenue, finally spotting a car guard observing them with interest.
“Seriously? You think I’d jump you in a dark alley for ignoring my calls?” Joshua guffawed. “Gimme a little credit. I’m way too lazy to carry grudges, you know that.”
“I give you credit all the time and you never deserve any of it, Joshua Allen.”
“All the time? Never? What cruel absolutes you wield against me, my lady,” he placed hand over heart in mock pain and fluttered his lashes. Vee battled to keep a straight face. “All the better to heap the blame on me. While you, the biggest hypocrite alive, strings me along with sweet nothings. Forcing me to commit acts I’ve never done with any other woman …”
“What! Don’t dare blame your depravity on me.”
He nodded gravely. “Alas, true. But with you it’s special.”
“Player bullshit. Why I even waste my time …”
“Then