Blackmailed By The Boss

She put her head down as it started to rain and turned towards the nearest underground station.

It was rush hour. Charlotte stood well to the right on an escalator that trundled slowly down into the bowels of the earth; a never-ending stream of people hurried past her, their shoulders brushing against hers, but she was barely aware of them. There was a constant thundering sound as trains sped through the passages below and a warm vortex of air spiralled upwards, blow-drying the rain from her blonde hair. Charlotte felt numb, as if she wasn’t really there.

How could she have done that? she kept asking herself. How could she?

A busker stood in one of the tunnels, his voice echoing eerily as he sang about how much love hurt. The sound was accompanied by the silvery clinking of the coins that people threw on the way past. Maybe, like her, they agreed with his sentiment. Charlotte dug deep in her pockets and added her coins to his collection.

She had found out from David just how much love could hurt.

Maybe that was the reason some people…like Jordan…abandoned the idea of love completely and chose to just concentrate on the physical side of things. She had never really agreed with that way of thinking before, but now…now she wasn’t sure how she felt about anything. Because buried away in the deepest recess of her mind was the knowledge that last night had been extremely pleasurable.

There was a train waiting on her platform and she raced towards it, just squeezing in before the automatic doors closed. She stood, hemmed in by the sheer volume of people, and grabbed at a handrail to steady herself as the train left the station. Then she closed her eyes and thought again back to last night.

She had insisted on meeting him at the restaurant. Somehow arriving under her own steam had made her feel more in control of the situation. It meant she would be able to leave when she wanted instead of having to wait for him. Charlotte liked to be independent.

They had started off talking about work. Jordan had made her laugh; he had a very dry, very witty sense of humour. She remembered a few women had cast envious eyes over towards their table and she had felt almost proud to be the one who was getting his undivided attention.

She realised now, that should have been her first warning signal.

‘So where is your girlfriend tonight?’ she had asked him when there was a pause in the conversation.

‘Benita and I split up a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Oh! I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘These things happen—as you know. Have you seen anything of David recently?’

She shook her head. ‘I think he’s still in the States on business.’

‘Do you still have feelings for him?’

The intensely personal question took her aback and she hesitated, not knowing what to say.

‘According to your father, he was never right for you.’ Jordan filled the gap drily.

‘Has my father been discussing my private life with you?’ She was instantly annoyed.

‘Only in passing.’ He shrugged easily. ‘You went out with David for a long time, didn’t you.’

‘Two years. How long were you with Benita?’ Swiftly she changed the subject back in his direction.

Jordan frowned. ‘I don’t know; I’m not one for counting much any more.’

‘Any more?’

‘When I was married to Nadine I used to count anniversaries, important dates—you know, the usual kind of thing.’

His statement intrigued her. She had heard he had been divorced, but that was all, because Jordan was extremely aloof when it came to talking about his past. Charlotte had assumed, because he seemed such a womaniser, that he had ended the marriage. ‘It sounds as if you loved her very much.’

‘I did.’ His voice was heavy. ‘But it didn’t do me a lot of good. Sometimes loving someone isn’t enough.’

‘Well, she was obviously just the wrong person for you.’

He smiled at that. ‘You’re not going to go all Pollyanna-like on me, are you?’

‘No.’ She felt herself blushing and he smiled.

‘I’ve enjoyed tonight, Charlie; thank you.’

‘I’ve enjoyed it too.’ She was aware that she didn’t really want the evening to end.

Jordan took out his wallet to pay the bill and she fumbled for her handbag.

‘We’ll go Dutch,’ she said firmly.

‘Dutch?’ He stared at her as if she was speaking that language.

‘Yes. I like to pay my own way, thank you.’

His lips twisted in a wry curve. ‘Well you can pay next time,’ he said dismissively, putting his credit card on the silver salver. ‘How’s that?’

Before she could make a reply to that he had switched the subject. ‘Have you heard anything from your father recently?’

‘Not since Ruth rang to tell me they wouldn’t be coming home from France at the appointed time. Dad must really love it out there because it’s not like him to want to take extra time off work. You know what he’s like, a complete workaholic.’

‘And she didn’t say anything else?’

‘No. It was a very brief conversation, but then it always is with my stepmother. She’s usually in a hurry.’ Charlotte frowned. ‘Why?’

‘I just wondered.’ The waiter brought the counterfoil for him to sign. ‘You get on all right with Ruth, don’t you?’ he asked casually as he handed the piece of paper and the pen back.

‘Yes. She seems to make Dad happy.’ She paused and frowned. ‘Everything is all right with Dad, isn’t it? You have spoken to him since he’s been away?’

‘Of course.’ Jordan rose smoothly to his feet. ‘He is my business partner; he couldn’t be away for seven weeks without being in contact.’

He had put his hand at her back as they had walked out of the restaurant. It had just been a light touch but Charlotte had been extremely conscious of it.

The train jerked to a halt and her eyes flew open. It was her station; she struggled to step out, battling amongst the hordes getting in.

The April rain was cold against her skin as she emerged again onto the streets above. But her mind was still tuned into the night before. They had walked back towards his apartment and he had invited her in for coffee. ‘You may as well wait for a taxi in the comfort of my place,’ he had said easily.

So she had followed him up to the stylish penthouse apartment. She had never been to his home before, and it had felt different being somewhere with him that wasn’t work-related at all. It had made her suddenly self-conscious. And when he had reached to take her coat, she had felt more acutely aware of him than she had ever done.

As he disappeared through to the kitchen to make the coffee she had wandered around the lounge, admiring the décor. ‘Who did the interior design to this apartment?’ She called out the question to him through the open door.

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t particularly interested in interior designers until I met you.’

She smiled at the compliment. Then noticed a photograph of a little girl, about three years of age, with dark shiny hair and a mischievous grin.