Chapter 8

Melissa was, initially at least, intimidated by her new escort. However, she decided that Jen knew what she was doing and that she trusted me, so set aside her reservations and got on with her job. Such was her focus, she soon forgot both 'Tiny' and the threats about what she was doing in her job.

For myself, it was business as usual. Late afternoon, as I was winding up and deciding to set aside one or two issues which were likely to over-run a sensible quitting time, I called Stacey.

"Doing anything tonight, Stacey?"

She blushed. "Um, yes, actually ... I um ... have a date."

"Oh." I was nonplussed at that, though not (in theory) upset. It did rather stop my intentions, or hopes, rather, for the evening. "Anyone I know?"

"Well, sort of. It's Tiny. I mean ... Mister Kleinhofer. He asked me about the local night-life, you know."

"Well ... enjoy your evening. Have fun."

"Thanks, Mister Carpenter."

Thus blocked, I briefly considered Charlie. Somehow, that didn't seem right, and I took some files home with me. As we entered the building, Charlie looked at me.

"Will there be anything else, Boss?"

"Er, no, thanks, Charlie. I won't be going anywhere. Do you need a night off? If anything comes up I could call Jen?"

"No, thanks, Boss. I'll have a quiet night in. Get an early night."

I dumped the files on the desk in my study, but didn't open any of them. Instead, I drifted across to the bookcase. It's mostly reference in my study, of course, and none of the volumes held any attraction. In my lounge, I ran a finger along the rows of books. David Weber, perhaps? John Ringo? Heinlein ... no. McCaffrey. I shook my head in irritation and my finger stopped on 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. What was it about Melissa Sharpe that was so appealing? Maybe it was she resembled Anastasia Steele. But I was no Christian Grey. My thoughts turned to Jen Song, and there was an almost pain in my chest. I shook my head again, angrily; what was the matter with me? Music. Yes, music. But what? Mendelsohn. Hebrides. I lay back in my lounger and closed my eyes as the evocative sounds washed over me. Cares faded.

The phone rang, tearing me out of a relaxed reverie.

"Carpenter." It was almost a snarl.

"Boss?" I almost failed to recognise Jen's voice, tentative, quiet, not her usual assertive tones. I'd only once heard her like that – the previous night.

"Jen!" My response very different.

"Is this a bad time?"

"Not at all. I was listening to music, that's all."

"Might I come over?"

"Certainly. Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Boss ... no problems."

"Then come, by all means."

The mellow 'ping' of the intercom sounded less than fifteen minutes later.

"Yes?"

"It's me, Boss." Uncertainty in Jen's voice again. I pressed the door release.

"Come on up, Jen."

When I opened the door, I didn't speak; just bowed and swept my hand in a theatrical 'come in' gesture. Jen met my eyes, and slid past me. She slipped out of her shoes and I followed her jeans-clad, shapely rear as she padded barefoot into the lounge.

"Glass of wine, Jen?"

"Please ... whatever you're having."

I extracted a bottle of a nice dry white from the fridge and poured two generous glasses. I handed one to my Chief of Security.

"Thanks. You were listening to music, you said."

"Yeah..." I drew out my affirmative. "I was listening to Mendelsohn's Hebrides overture. I was thinking of putting Beethoven's Pastorale on next."

"Perfect."

"I'm happy to see you, Jen, but was there something in particular?"

"I was alone, and lonely; I wanted to be not alone. Especially, I wanted to be not alone ... with you."

An unfamiliar sensation filled my chest. Was that what people call 'butterflies'?

"I'm delighted you wanted to be not alone ... with me," I smiled. "Beethoven?"

"Have you eaten?"

I shrugged. "I was going to see what Signora Rossi has left for my supper. I'm sure there'll be plenty for both of us; she's always trying to feed me up. Reckons I'm too thin."

"I was going to offer to cook again."

Impulsively, I closed the space between us, bent and kissed her forehead. "A lovely thought. This time, though, be my guest? Let's see what's there."

She grabbed and held my upper arms, gazed up at me, her intensity thrilling. After several moments, she released my arms, but found my hand with hers. "Lead on, then ... Jeff."

The refrigerator yielded a large pan of lasagne – enough, indeed, for three, let alone the two of us – wrapped in foil. A post-it stuck to the foil gave re-heating instructions, ending, 'Use the oven, not that infernal microwave.' Who was I to argue with la maestra?

"There is broccoli here," Jen commented.

"Oh?"

"It would go well with the lasagne. Nutritious, tasty, full of vitamins, quick to cook."

I shrugged. "Go for it." I confess; I rarely worry about food. At home I eat Signora Rossi's excellent cooking, whatever she sets before me or prepares for me to reheat. Outside, I choose something from a menu, or in the office sometimes Stacey orders for me. I would have just heated the lasagne and had it on its own, but I suppose the broccoli was better for me. For us. The good Signora had set out a Montepulciano d'Abruzzo that slipped down our throats very easily. Jen became a little giggly.

We ate – and drank – whilst listening to Beethoven. When the Pastorale finished, we turned to Delius. It was during 'Walk to the Paradise Garden' I realised Jen was asleep, snuggled against me. My heart turned over as I looked down at her. What should I do? Send her home? Call a taxi? Ask Charlie to take her?

"Jen ... Jen, wake up, please." I shook her gently. She stirred.

"Don't want to. Want to, want to, want to ... stay."

Okay... "Jen, you still have to wake up. Have some water, clean your teeth ... that sort of thing." What the hell was I to do? Jen wasn't some ... no-strings fuck-buddy. And ... she was inebriated, to say the least. I left her on the couch and fetched a glass of water.

"Jen ... drink. Please."

Her eyes opened and she peered up at me. "You want me to drink?"

"Just some water, Jen."

"Oh ... okay ... Boss..." Her hand rose and waved uncertainly in the general vicinity of the glass. I put it in her hand; suspicious of her ability to hold it and guide it to her lips, my hand hovered near. Just as well, as her arm drooped and the glass tilted. I caught her hand, righted the glass and guided it to her lips. She sipped, then drank deeply, but some water spilt and dribbled down her chin onto her chest. "Mmm. Thanks. Cold water. Mmm."

The water finished, she tried to stand, but couldn't get to her feet. I picked her up like a child and carried her into the bathroom, placed her on a cork-topped stool. I let go to find a toothbrush, and she tilted alarmingly.

"Hey, Jen ... try to sit up, please?"

"Boss? Oh, Boss ... I'm a bit ... Can't I just lie down?"

I gave up. Picked her up and carried her to my room, laid her on the bed and covered her with the duvet. After a moment's thought I turned her on her side. She was warm. Made contented noises, but didn't open her eyes. I shook my head and left her to sleep.

Unsurprisingly I couldn't concentrate on anything and my mind kept returning to the small oriental beauty crashed out in my bed, so after a cup of tea I stripped down to t-shirt and boxers and carefully slid into bed beside her. Surprising me, I too slept almost immediately. I half surfaced in the small hours when a small, warm hand crept under my t-shirt and stroked my chest. I was – barely – aware when Jen snuggled under my arm, laid her head on my shoulder, and wrapped her leg round mine, her thigh pressing against my nocturnal erection. Why I didn't wake properly, I don't know, and it was only the light penetrating the curtains that did return me to full consciousness.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Jen, leaning on one arm, watching me, poker-faced. I rolled towards her, reached up and caressed her cheek. "Good morning, Pretty Lady."

"Oh, Jeff..." She took my hand and pressed it against her breast; I cupped and moulded the firm mound, feeling the nipple harden against my palm. "Sorry I flaked out on you last night ... I meant..."

"'S okay, love. How about you come back tonight? More music, and I'll ask the good Signora to cook for us."

"I'd like that. But ... are you sure I can't persuade you?"

"I'm sure you could, but let's take our time, love." I released her breast – reluctantly – and took my hand from under hers in order to cup the back of her head and pull her down to kiss her. "Duty calls, Jen."

"I suppose so."

Stacey was noticeably in a very good mood and a little distracted, but we got through the day. Gerry came to see me mid-afternoon. "Miss Sharpe finished her investigation. She's identified two culprits and a wide-ranging, sophisticated fraud. It would have cost the company, oh, a million or so at least. I've handed the files over to the Police, but I haven't done anything else. Didn't want to warn anyone."

"Good enough. Sounds as though we need to reward the young lady ... again."

"Yes. I suggest formalising the promotion, a raise, and how about the CEO taking her out for the evening? Opera North are performing 'Tosca' at the weekend."

I smiled. "Wouldn't mind, but opera isn't my favourite thing. Still, for Miss Sharpe..."

"You don't like opera?"

"I love some of the music, some of the arias, but on the whole I prefer orchestral music."

"Oh." He paused and to my surprise, coloured slightly. "In that case, would you mind if the CFO took her instead?"

I laughed. "Of course not. It'll be on the Company anyway."