Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“It is that simple.”
“Andy, seriously. I signed it off. End of.”
“Past tense. Permission fucking withdrawn. I have great lawyers, Faye, we’ll sue him for every penny he’s got, I promise.”
He rooted through his papers, pulled out a business card and began dialling before I could speak. The business card was one of those uber posh ones, watermarked on a thick, expensive grain. My hand was on his before he’d been connected, guiding the handset back into its cradle. “Thank you, I really appreciate your concern, but stop. Please.”
He didn’t let go of the phone. “If you’re worried about speaking to him...”
“I’m not,” I lied. “Look, I knew he’d be using that picture. It’s no big deal, he’s in Italy and I’m here, he’s busy writing books and I’m busy running a club.” I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, though. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.”
He swallowed, but kept his expression deadpan. “I mean it, Faye, we could fight this.”
“And I mean it when I say it’s no big deal. It’s just a picture.” I ignored the worms twisting in my stomach.
He gestured to the screen. Bird in the Bush. The title still made my heart race. “Topaz said you’re this Magpie woman, whatever the fuck that means, and what’s all this dubious consent shit? Did he hurt you?”
I forced a smile. “Maybe there’s some of me in Magpie, but she’s just a character. It’s just fiction.”
“Just fiction?” His eyes were so demanding. “Because if it isn’t...”
“It’s hardly a biography. Maybe I was a muse for Vincent, maybe some of it is loosely based on real life, but it is just a story.” My heart was thumping so loud I feared he’d hear it, but he let out a sigh.
“Fine.” He dropped the phone and pushed the business card back amongst the paperwork.
I used the opportunity to retreat to my desk. “Cheques are all banked. What next?”
He swivelled his chair to face me, and the fine hairs on my arms bristled. “Just answer me one thing. Why did you leave him?”
I hesitated for only a second. “End of the road.”
“End of the road?” I could feel his stare, hot on my face. “Why?”
“I wasn’t with Vincent, Andy. I stayed to help him organise his Venice events. It didn’t work out. We weren’t a couple. Not like that.”
“Not like what?”
“Not like anything.” I shrugged. “We messed around occasionally, mainly in public. That isn’t a relationship.”
He paused for a long moment. Long enough to catch me off guard. “You loved him.”
The pang of heartache took me by surprise. “I never said I didn’t.”
He turned the laptop again in my direction, my sad eyes haunting me across the fucking room. I looked away, busying myself with the rest of the mail.
“What was going on when this was taken?”
“Nothing.” I laid out the membership ID photocopies, the invoices, too.
“Don’t try and make a dick out of me. Breezing back in like nothing ever happened might seem like the best option to you, but I want to know what I’m fucking dealing with here.”
My hackles rose. “Piss off, Andy. You’re dealing with nothing. I’m back, end of conversation.”
“And what are you dealing with? Pissing hell, Faye, just talk to me, will you?”
I dropped the empty envelopes in the bin before I met his eyes. “No.”
“No? Just fucking no?”
“Just fucking no. Drop it, please.”
He folded his arms, leaned back in his chair. “You can’t have it all ways. You want to come back here like nothing’s happened, you want your cosy little desk back next to mine, you want to play your little games in the playroom. All that comes at a price, Faye. I want honesty. I want commitment. I want some fucking answers.”
“And I want to get on with running my club. Thanks for the desk, but it really doesn’t buy you a free pass to Faye Devere’s life history, break up 101. I’m not that cheap or that fucking generous.”
And with that I’d offended him. Again. His walls came up, lips pressed tight as he angled his chair back away from me. “That’s fucking gratitude for you.”
“I shouldn’t have to be grateful for being allowed into my own club.” I waved the membership IDs in the air. “Where do these go?”
“It’s your club. You should fucking know.” His screen switched to email, and he typed away to some supplier or another. Ignorant prick.
I rooted through drawers until I found the correct file, fighting back the urge to fist pump in victory. I could fit back in here, with or without Andy Morgan’s precious permission.
Telling him so landed me back on bar duty, but it was worth it.
Roll on fucking Saturday, and the next bastard coin toss.
***
“He cares,” Topaz said, handing me another batch of juices for the fridge.
“He’s a control freak. Knowledge is power,” I replied.