The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection. Zara Stoneley
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sleeping on it, I hoped for the best and that he’d have abandoned his weird ideas. I was conducting staff appraisals for front-of-house staff the following morning so didn’t see him until lunchtime. There was no mention of the previous night’s conversation and I didn’t get an apology, but for a while it was better. The invasion of my space stopped and so did the inappropriate comments.
Then one evening I was working on a head-office project on rolling out succession planning across the London region. Tony had stayed on to pull data off the system, but was tense, motions jerky, not making direct eye contact.
‘Tony, we’re all right aren’t we?’ I asked, pouring us coffee. We were at the meeting table in my office, papers spread out around us, other staff either down on the casino floor or in the security or cash offices.
‘What do you mean?’ He looked over, frowning.
‘Our conversation the other week—’
‘Sure,’ he shrugged but his expression had gone hard, the planes of his face standing out starkly. There was a gleam in his eye which made me uncomfortable.
‘I just thought … you don’t have to be embarrassed. We can—’
‘Forget it,’ he ground. Holding the milk jug up: ‘White or black tonight?’
‘Black, thanks.’ I stared at him but he ignored me, hypnotically stirring sugar into his coffee. He was upset, so trying to pursue the conversation would obviously fall on deaf ears. I let it go, thinking he was having an off day.
‘Has your brother got married yet?’ I prodded, to change the subject.
‘Yes. Big wedding last weekend. He’s all settled with his perfect blonde princess and Mercedes and new partnership at his law firm now.’
The bitter tone and twisted expression told me more than the words did how competitive the sibling rivalry was. ‘Ok–ay.’ Clearing my throat, I turned a printed spreadsheet over. ‘Shall we look at this one now then?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, yanking it towards him.
I remember thinking: He’ll get over whatever he thought might be happening between us. He’s got other things going on.
Then odd things started happening.
Staff meetings mysteriously moved so I’d miss them, appointments were changed in the shared diary so I didn’t know when corporate clients would be arriving, making me look and feel hopelessly inept. Deadlines were altered, making me prioritise work in the wrong order and have to ask for extensions or face the embarrassment of sending it in late. I started keeping a paper diary so I could track deadlines accurately, make sure I wasn’t going mad. If I was out of the office, Tony would get everyone looking for me as if I’d gone AWOL, and would apologise quietly after the fact, saying he hadn’t seen the external appointments in my diary. When I asked what was going on he’d express innocence, saying he’d been confused.
I was so frustrated. His behaviour was unreasonable, but I wasn’t sure what to do. It all seemed so intangible and I wasn’t sure I could prove the ‘confusion’ was anything other than genuine human error. So I looked at our policies and procedures, researched sexual harassment online, went onto forums for research. It didn’t feel like he was bullying me as such and he was the junior employee. When I read all the horrifying true stories on the message boards and chat rooms of how people had ended up going off sick with work-related stress and falling into depression, even losing their jobs, houses and marriages, it made my own fears seem silly.
I settled for making notes of the date, time, location and content of any worrying conversations or events in my moleskin notebook, and called Human Resources. I didn’t name myself or Tony, wanting to guard my privacy and in hindsight, my pride. The HR Manager advised me to try and resolve the issues with my staff member informally and if it didn’t work to raise a formal complaint under the grievance procedure or take him through a disciplinary process, which would be taken seriously by the company. She took pains to ask if I felt physically threatened in any way but I couldn’t honestly say yes at that point.
Coming off the phone feeling better, I was determined to have a clear, minuted conversation with Tony, where I’d tell him I knew he was trying to undermine me and wouldn’t stand for it. That it’d be regarded as insubordination and a potential conduct issue. But before I had a chance, one awful evening cut my time at the casino short.
I never saw it coming, not what happened. Despite the storm warnings on the horizon I should have noticed.
Now
‘Miss?’ The air hostess pops up next to me.
‘Argh!’ I jump, wrenched from the past, hand jerking around the glass on the tray. A wave of cold water sloshes over the rim into my lap. Yelping, I make an ‘ah–ah–ah’ sound as the icy liquid soaks through my trousers. It can only be this freezing because all the ice has melted. How long was I brooding for?
Alex frowns at me and I fall silent with a self-conscious grimace, standing to mop up the mess.
The stewardess shakes her head, pointing out the window. ‘Sorry, you’ll have to wait until we’ve landed. I’ll bring you a towel to sit on. Can you fasten your seatbelt please?’
‘Huh?’ I glance out the narrow cabin window, gobsmacked to see it’s night time, thousands of twinkling lights appearing as the plane banks to the right.
She brings me a thick navy towel. ‘Thanks,’ I murmur, tucking it under me. I watch as she takes a seat by the emergency exit, trying to ignore the flutter of panic in my stomach. I absolutely hate landing, always worrying the plane won’t brake in time and will overshoot the runway or that despite being strapped in I’ll get tossed around the cabin somehow. I may have watched too many disaster movies but it’s the first episode of Lost I blame, when the plane crashes on the mysterious tropical island and the beach is awash with broken fuselage and torn bodies.
Compared to the stress of being near-destitute, landing should be easy, but rationalising doesn’t stop me moulding my body into the damp seat, or my short bitten nails from digging into the slick leather armrests.
‘Once we’ve disembarked it’s a twenty-minute drive to the hotel,’ Alex says curtly, powering down his laptop.
I nod, staring at the headrest of the opposite chair and smarting from his tone. I don’t know what his problem is but he’s going to have to get over it. And I’m going to act like the strong independent woman I was before Tony bowled into my life. I will deal with Alex head-on … if I get off the flight alive.
The plane begins its descent. Screwing up my eyes, I start counting inside my head. The engines slow and my breathing comes in short, sharp bursts through my nose, jaw clamped tight. We hit an air pocket, dipping down, then up, and I let out a quiet squeak, ears popping. Please don’t crash, please don’t crash, please do not crash.
There’s a muffled protesting squawk from the stewardess and I sense movement but dare not open my eyes. What if the crew are preparing for an emergency landing? I’ll freak out completely. Better to stay in blissful ignorance.
I get a shock as long warm fingers curve round mine in silent comfort. I tilt my head and squint out of one eye and find Alex beside me, a serious expression on his face.
‘We’ll be fine,’ he whispers close to my ear and I shiver. ‘Just keep breathing.’
I didn’t have him down as the compassionate sort, but the thoughtfulness and his comment make me smile. Does he think I’m so scared I’ll stop breathing? That’d be a great front-page headline. Woman hyperventilates to death on plane, too wimpy to cope!
‘Okay,’ I murmur, ‘I’ll try.’