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The Unwinding of you.

The next few weeks turn into a blur of work, meetings, back and forth contact with Secure-ex to see what happened with that camera glitch. Unsurprisingly, yet frustratingly, nothing comes of it. Apparently, it was just one of those things. Everything, for the most part, has slipped back into a sense of normalcy. Mum has tried to reach out twice, both times I ignored her and instead reached for the burner phone and messaged Zayne instead. It’s never about anything specific. It can’t be. I won’t risk him getting any clue about who I am. So, no talk about what I do for work or anything that my instincts tell me is getting a little too personal and risking giving him too much.

The morning moves by quickly; a meeting people actually turn up to. I assigned a pair of them to a mid-level VIP client coming in for the day. I organise training for another who was interested in moving to the surveillance part of our team. Reminders were given to those who are due for first aid training. There was a prickly tension in the room the entire time. The sort of tension that comes in the form of passing scowls and whispers when backs are turned. I have a phone scheduled call coming in from head of security at one of our South Australia branches. I open the surveillance program while I have ten minutes to kill, and click through, pausing for a moment at the main entry door and watching as people arrive and leave, then I click through a few more camera, telling myself that I’m working, and that I’m doing what I’m supposed to. I even stop for a beat to check in on some of my other security team members. One who is stationed by the elevator, another near the safe. It’s inevitable though when I find Him. Christ I can even recognise him from behind now. Broad shoulders rise and fall steadily as Zayne talks to another team member. They are both stationed at the safe in the basement. I watch as he checks his watch, turns his gaze towards the doorway leaving the basement, says something to the other employee who then nods. They talk for a little while longer but the tightening in Zayne’s jaw when he once again glances to the side is unmistakable. He checks his watch once more and it becomes obvious that he has plans to leave before they are joined by another team member. They seem to exchange pleasantries before the new one takes Zayne’s place and Zayne leaves.  I click through the footage, doing my best to keep track of where he is going.

 He ends up in the carpark, standing by himself he pulls out his phone and starts typing. I watch as he stops and looks around. I can’t help the pang of jealousy that hits when I notice a lack of my phone going off letting me know I have a new message from him. He checks the time once more before running his hand through his hair. A wave of warmth travels down the length of my spine then settles in place deep in my stomach. I continue watching as he types on his phone ones more. Once he is done, he shakes his jacket off, draping it over his arm. Back and shoulder muscles shift under his white shirt. His hand grips the back of his neck once more as he rolls it, looking like he is trying to ease tension from his shoulders. The warmth washes over me again, carrying more heat with it this time. My stomach pulls, low and delicious, combining waves of desire and comfort. The tips of my fingers find the bottom of my skirt just above my knees. I look away from the screen just long enough to double check that my door is closed. I find him again and keep my eyes on him as he turns, making it easier for me to see his face. He looks out over the parking lot. Grey eyes steal my breath from me as my fingers work to pull my skirt up my thigh. Once it’s high enough, I continue on, tracing over the top of my satin underwear. My cheeks pink at the realisation that they are already damp with my desire. I work teasing circles on my clit, making my breath come out in small pants. He looks down at his phone, whatever is on the screen holds him for a beat before he locks it once more and shoves it in his pocket. He rolls his shoulders and I imagine myself being the one to ease whatever it is that’s causing the tension. I imagine my hands pressing firmly against his skin, working his muscles, my lips, planting soft kisses from his neck, tracing along the snake down his arm, then back up with my tongue. Something in the distance makes him smile and my pants turn to a gasp as the sight of it pulls all the right muscles even tighter. He walks out of view from the camera, back towards the garage doors. I try to follow him as he makes his way towards one of the elevators.

The call comes through from the other branch and with a disappointed huff I close the program, fix my skirt, and answer.

The call lasts longer than anticipated. The man on the other end of the line explains that they have had some concerns with staff being unreliable and are having to look at a mass firing of around twenty people, but before they can do that, they need to know if we can spare any transfers out of any of our other branches. My office door opens and I am a breath away from putting the call on hold and losing it at whoever has decided they have the right to enter without knocking, especially while I’m on a call. I feel him before I see him. The air shifts, getting lighter, loosening my shoulders and giving my lungs a little more space. It takes everything to keep the warmth climbing to my cheeks at bay. My stomach pulls again, somewhere low and starving. The need to touch him is stronger than ever before. He carries himself across my office, like he has many times now with a comfortable ease.

“Coffee?” his voice breaks the static up, giving space for more coherent thoughts.

I motion to the phone by my ear, his grey eyes lock with mine in a way that stalls me. Keeping me held in place. He lingers, as if he is trying to see something beyond the surface of what I’m giving him. He breaks contact, stepping forward and placing the iced coffee on the desk in front of him. “Thank you.” I mouth while doing my best to continue to listen to concerns regarding what can be offered to entice transfers. I offer for me to open this discussion up with Mr Truette but caution that I can’t guarantee a solid plan until he returns from his honeymoon. Zayne pulls the chair out that is opposite mine. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he ignores me and proceeds to place his coffee in front of him and a brown paper bag between us. The man on the other end of the line agrees, though his voice, even through the phone, has an unmistakeable layer of concern beneath it.

“What are you doing?” I ask as soon as I hang up from the call.

“Hiding,” He says casually and reaches into the bag. He pulls out two chicken and salad sandwiches, placing one in front of me.

“Hiding from who exactly?” I ask, curiosity and my need to have him nearby winning out over caring if anyone sees him in here with me in such a casual way.

“My boss.”

“Mr Ashfall, I’m your boss.”

“I never said I was hiding well,” He responds with a smirk, humour touching his eyes before he takes a bite of his sandwich.

“Right. I’m not going to look too far into the fact that I’m now questioning just how qualified you actually are.”

“I’m Joking Miss Lockett. I’m hiding from Bronson.”

“Oh, well in that case.” I laugh, he follows and I try not to think too hard on how it presses against my chest. Not in the way that I usually do when I’m close to him. This feels different, not lighter because he loosens the anxiety roped around my chest. This is heavier, new, unfamiliar and feels far more forbidden than anything between us so far.

“Not a big deal, but I did pay for that for you, I would appreciate it if you ate at least some of it.”  He motions towards the untouched sandwich with his already half eaten one.

“I never asked you to feed me.” I pick up the sandwich, despite my minor protest.

“You don’t have to. You don’t eat, not nearly enough. You can’t survive a ten-hour shift, every day of the week on coffee and stubbornness.”

His words stop me in place, the sandwich hanging mis air, right before my mouth. “First of all, I have done just fine surviving so far. Second, when did you decide it became your responsibility to monitor what I eat?”

His grey eyes torn to brewing storms as his tone shift, getting deeper, there is a rough edge layered into it now.

“When I found you curled into a ball on the bathroom floor.”

“You couldn’t have known how I eat just from that.” I say, taking a bite from the sandwich.

“No.” his lips pull into a thin line, and he seems lost in thought for a moment. “After that though, I started feeling the need to keep a closer eye on you. No one else in this hell hole seems interested in caring enough about your existence.”

The heaviness is back on my chest, tighter this time, holding my heart in its grip, supporting every ever-slowing beat.

“Why?” My mouth has dried and it makes my voice come out strange.

“Smart business.” He shrugs.

I nearly choke on my bite of food.

“I’m going to need you to explain your reasoning.”

He takes a drink from his coffee before leaning back in the seat, shoulders relaxed, drink balancing between his fingers as he hangs is arm over the side of the seat. “I make nice with you. Bronson isn’t my problem. He might be my boss, but you’re my boss’s boss.”

I’m laughing again, and the feeling is odd, I can’t remember the last time I laughed more than once in a day, let alone minutes apart.

“There is just one problem with your little plan to use me.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, not many people around here care too much that I’m their boss, especially Bronson,”  I say, pointing my now half eaten sandwich at him. I hate to admit it, and I won’t outload. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but the sandwich is good and I defiantly feel far better with something in my stomach.

The air prickles with tension, a darkness has shifted between us, anger building behind his eyes. “Has it been like this the whole time you’ve worked here?”

My phone rings before I get the chance to answer. Reluctance to stop the conversation has me taking a beat longer than normal to answer the phone. My need to keep professional wins out though. Ignoring, of course, my momentary lapse of judgement right before Zayne had arrived in my office was completely inappropriate. Something that absolutely cannot happen again.

The call is a request for me to go upstairs to Hanlan. Even after all this time, I typically only ever deal with Mr Truette directly, Hanlon is always around, somewhere in the background, working as Mr Truette’s underhand. He seems to prefer that his work is done quietly. Meetings here when Mr Truette has them elsewhere. Or instances like now, he is here, keeping everything afloat while Alexander is on his honeymoon, but all external affairs have been pushed back, until Alexander’s return.

“I have to go. Thank you for this though, it means more than you probably intended.” The honesty in my words are out before I can stop them. Fear has me walking out the door of my office before he can say anything back.