Chapter 18: Taming Mr. Walker: Chapter 18

Danny

“How’s the hangover?” Karl pushes open the door and swings his head around, grinning. “You look rough.”

I stare at him, deadpan. Doesn’t anyone knock around here?

I’ve had three hours of sleep. I’m supposed to be prioritising our releases for next year to give direction to the product team, and my skull feels like it has been shattered into a million pieces.

Last night was stupid. I never drink so much I can’t focus the next day. I always sneak off before it slides into debauchery at some strip club. Last night, all restraint went out the window. Seems like I’ve been doing a lot of stupid things recently.

Is this what a mid-life crisis looks like?

Karl ignores my glare and saunters into the room. He’s too chirpy for my liking considering the night we’ve just had. Mind you, the guy is five years younger than me, so hangovers don’t hit him as hard.

I eye the coffee in his hand. That better be for me.

“Why are you so happy?” I growl.

“I was right. You do need coffee.” He places the espresso and an energy drink down on the desk in front of me.

“Thanks,” I grunt. “I’m so fucking dehydrated my balls have shrivelled into prunes.”

“What did you do with my sensible CEO brother?” He laughs. “It’s not like you to fraternise with the staff.”

“I’m showing them my fun side,” I reply dryly.

He leans against the wall, grinning. “Did you show that model your fun side?”

He’s talking about the Brazilian brunette that spoke five languages and told me what she wanted to do to me in each of them. Just my type.

“No,” I answer truthfully. “I went home by myself.”

“Opportunity missed. That guy Mike’s a lunatic. I don’t think he gets out much. Where did he end up? He was trying to go to another bar after the strip club closed. Some East London lock-in.”

“In a gutter for all I care.” I snort. “Mike’s a prick.”

Spraying thousand-pound bottles of champagne around on the company’s money. I should dock it from his fucking salary.

“He’ll be gone soon.” Karl shrugs. “It was interesting seeing Tristan’s little sister, Charlie.” He looks at me closely. “Did you know she worked here before we started the acquisition?”

“Of course, I did,” I return. “I’m executing a plan so that she’s looked after. She’s just resisting the offer right now. She’ll come around.”

He cocks his head, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “Did some of this execution happen last night?”

I slam my laptop shut, giving him my full attention. “What do you mean?”

He raises his arms animatedly. “I knew it! You could cut the sexual tension with a knife. So?” His voice hitches. “Is there something going on between you two? I’m assuming this is the reason why you’re barking at all your staff and rebuffing models.”

“There’s been a few,” I flounder, searching for the right word. “Incidents.”

“Incidents?”

I exhale a heavy sigh. “She barged into my office one evening when I was, uh, sorting myself out.”

Karl frowns in confusion then his eyes widen. “She caught you jerking off?” He throws his head back, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “Man, you cannot be serious.”

“Deadly,” I grimace. “I thought the door was locked. And my employees don’t usually have the audacity to barge into my office uninvited.”

My chest tightens. “That’s not the worst part. I was watching a video of her at the time.”

He stares at me, not blinking. “Damn, Danny. That’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard. Are we going to be hit with a lawsuit?”

I slump in my leather wingback chair. “Let me worry about that.”

His mouth twitches into a smirk. “Did she offer to give you a hand?”

I look at him flatly. “No. She didn’t leave, though,” I add, “she stood there … and watched.”

His jaw drops. “You kept going?”

I wince. “It wasn’t something I could stop.”

“Christ, man.” He breaks into hysterical laughter, and I wait for the fit to end. Yes, very funny. “And they say I’m the reckless Walker. This is the most cliché porn movie script ever. Big bad boss seduces young junior employee. Did you fuck her in this office?”

“No. But I finished in front of her.” I let out a joyless chuckle. “I was too out of control. The person I imagined stroking my dick rocks up midway through. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Did she enjoy the show?” Karl sniggers.

“It would appear so because I went to her flat that night to apologise, one thing led to another, and we went too far…” I’m not willing to give away details.

“You slept with her?” He grins. “I knew it. I could smell the sex hormones a mile off from both of you last night.”

“No,” I say quickly. “She’s volatile as fuck. She hates me. She wants me. She hates me. She’s like a pendulum. We had a nice moment in her flat, then she flipped and kicked me out. The drama is fucking insufferable.”

He slaps his forehead. “You two need to sleep with each other and get this out of your systems.”

“I can’t just sleep with her.” I frown. “There’s too much at stake. I might have already fucked up my closest friendship. Man, if he found out…”

I shudder at the thought of losing my best pal of twenty years.

Karl nods. “Tristan would go absolutely nuts. It’s his one rule, stay the fuck away from his sister.”

“Never mind the fact that she’s an employee. I don’t dip my nib in the company ink.”

“But damn, she’s hot. I’m just gutted you got in first. I’m not friends with Tristan. I’ll happily fuck her.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “Don’t even look in her direction.”

He gives me a devilish grin. “Damn, you do have it bad this time. What happened last night?” he probes. “You disappeared for ages.”

I lean forward and place my elbows on the desk. “That would be the reason behind my expensive dry-cleaning bill in a dry cleaner’s three miles away.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “In the bathroom? Christ, Danny, any of the team could have walked him.”

I don’t indulge him with an answer.

“Is it purely physical?” He studies me. “Do you want a relationship with her?”

I run my hands through my hair, aggravated at the interrogation. “It’s physical. She’s too young and hot-headed. We aren’t suited.”

“Then keep your dick in your pants.” He rolls his eyes. “There are a million beautiful twenty-five-year-olds out there that’ll happily oblige you.”

“Twenty-eight,” I correct.

“Look, she’s beautiful and feisty and sexy as hell. I get it. You’ve known her for years, and she’s off-limits. You want what you can’t have. But just don’t stir up shit. You can’t sleep with Charlie then walk away without repercussions.”

“I bloody know that,” I snap. “I’ve been trying to tame my cock ever since she drunkenly straddled me when she was at university. Now I have to watch her waltz around the office teasing me.”

“At least in the Nexus HQ, you’ll be separated by floors instead of this pokey office.”

“I’m hoping she will have seen sense by then and accept my voluntary redundancy payout.” I stare out the window. “He’ll know, Karl. Tristan’s already starting to ask questions about what’s eating me.”

He nods. “This is heading for disaster, bro. Quit before you break her heart and severely fuck things up.”

I’m screwed.

Charlie

They say hangovers get worse as you get older. People in their forties talk about this, and you laugh. Of course, that won’t happen to me, you think.

But then you find out it is one hundred times worse than all the forty-year-olds were moaning about.

Why did they have to dress it down?

I wake up and can’t feel my feet. It’s as if someone is sitting on them at the bottom of the bed. I look down and try to wiggle them, then realise I’m still wearing my shoes from the night before, and they are hanging off the bed.

I move them and feel a million pins and needles stabbing me as they wake up.

My brain has dissolved, and a stone has been put in its place that is too big for my head.

Thank God I booked today as a holiday, or I would have to call in sick, and everyone would know it was hangover-related.

I shut my eyes tight, but the banging inside my head continued. I open them. It’s still there.

My brain cells scream, gasping for water, but I am too weak to lift my body to go and get a glass.

Drunk memories flood my brain like a bad horror film.

They aren’t in the right order, and I can’t quite put all the scenes together.

The hotel. Hot Doctor. Kebab. Danny Walker. The nightclub. The sick and run.

Did I really puke all over someone’s bathroom then do a runner? Is it vandalism? Can Mark call the police on me?

I’m in the paranoia stage of the hangover. I have nausea, reformation, and hunger stages still to progress through.

I lift my head to look in the mirror. There is dried dribble at the corner of my mouth. Mascara is still on one eye but not the other. I look like a depressed clown.

The flat is quiet. I’ve got no one to act as my priest for confessions. Suze isn’t working today, so where is she? I go to message her and see loads of messages and missed calls. That is not what I need to see in the paranoia stage.

Two missed calls from Danny Walker, one at 11 p.m. then another closer to midnight. Two messages from him.

Where are you?

Stop fucking around. You better be at home.

There’s one from Tristan.

Charlie, are you OK? Danny said he saw you drunk last night with a strange guy!?

That bastard ratted me out. That’s all I need, Tristan breathing down my neck about personal security.

I’m fine, Tristan, it was just a date, stop worrying!

I’m not replying to Danny. My whereabouts are not his concern. He can find out through Tristan if he’s that bothered.

There’s an alarming gargle from my stomach. Uh oh.

My intestines twist in painful knots like someone is squeezing water from a dishcloth.

I leap out of bed and make it to the toilet with seconds to spare.

***

Six hours later, Suze, Stevie, and I are vegetating in the local cafe, reliving my moments of shame. Stevie has bunked off work early.

We’ve just finished a taxidermy class; I wasn’t joking when I told the Swedish guy I was going to do it. Suze signed us up months ago as part of our ‘try everything once’ flat charter.

In hindsight, I wouldn’t have gone on a massive bender last night if I realised that stuffing a small mouse is actually a very labour-intensive four-hour process.

Whilst I’m not particularly squeamish, scooping out the eyeballs of a mouse can take its toll if you’ve spent the morning emptying your stomach.

“It’s bad, don’t get me wrong, it’s bad,” Suze says, slurping her double Snickers milkshake.

“He may have shagged you anyway if you had stuck around,” Stevie adds as he chews with his mouth open. “It takes a lot to put us off, more than a bit of pee, shit, vomit, snot …”

I wrinkle my nose. “Oh, great. That’s something. I don’t think I was really in the mood after my little explosion.”

“I just wouldn’t kiss you.” He shrugs. “But everything else is fine.”

“Typical!” Suze snorts. “Typical bloke. They don’t care if they don’t kiss you. They don’t even care what your face is like. In fact, you could be headless for all they care, providing you have an available vagina.”

“And yours is always available, isn’t it, Suze?” he teases, and she fires a napkin at him.

“What happened at work today, then, Stevie?” I ask, casually changing the subject.

He rolls his eyes. “You mean what’s happening with Danny Walker. No point trying to be subtle.”

“Well?” I ask.

“You may not be the only one regretting last night. He looked pretty haggard this morning. Most of the leadership team are walking around like zombies today,” he says whilst shovelling beans into his mouth. “I heard Mike being sick in the toilet this morning.”

“I’m going to be sick again if you keep eating with your mouth open,” I snap.

“If you want me to be your spy,” he continues with his mouth open, “you’ll be nice to me.”

“I don’t need a spy.” I sigh, pushing food around my plate. “The guy is haunting me. He’s at work. He’s on my dates. In my fucking dreams. And now tomorrow night, he’s at my brother’s house. Again.”

“Just stay away from his dick,” Suze warns. “What with your mother being in the house.”

That’s easier said than done.

Stevie chews on his lips.

“Spit it out,” I grimace.

“Apparently, he got a lot of female attention last night. The rest of the team were jealous. Some half-famous Brazilian model cuddled up to him, and he may have taken her home. That’s the rumour.”

I retreat three stages in my hangover and resist the urge to vomit again.

One minute, I’m excited that this might be the start of something new, mainly when those startling eyes are staring into me like I’m the most important woman on the planet.

The next minute, I hear that he’s tomcatting his way all over town.

That’s it over. No more fumbles, no more fantasies, and certainly no future. I move on.