Page 58 of Dancing With Distraction

“Dmitry, how the fuck am I going to explain that man-mountain hovering around my place of work? Karen already hates my guts.” She lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Those are the terms, my krasota, take it or leave it.”

Tori

The next morning, I’m hopping out the apartment door with my keys in hand, balancing on one foot and trying to put my other heel on, when my phone starts ringing. I groan in frustration as I stumble forward, putting my hands out and catching the door frame to stop myself falling flat on my face. I’m so late for work, and after having the last two days off sick, I just know Karen is going to have it in for me.

Marshall is standing on the other side of the door, watching me in amusement. He plucks the keys from my fingers and locks the door while I slip my heel on. “Thanks,” I mutter sarcastically under my breath. I reach into my handbag and pull out my phone just as it starts ringing again. Staring at Phoebe’s name flashing, I feel the bile rise in my throat as I accept the call and press it to my ear. “Hello,” I answer, and Marshall eyes me questioningly, clearly concerned with my change in mood. “Phoebe, is that you?” I question when there’s no answer on the other end of the line. Marshall visibly relaxes and uses the card to call for the elevator.

“Yes, sorry, I didn’t expect you to answer.” Her voice sounds raspy, as if she’s been crying.

“Of course, I’d answer for you, Phoebe. I just don’t want anything to do with my arsehole brother is all.” I hear her inhale sharply as we step into the elevator.

I stare at my dishevelled hair in the mirror and run my hand through it. I’ve been in such a rush all morning since Dmitry dragged me back to bed that I didn’t have time to do much with it. “That’s why I’m calling you,” she says, and I groan in frustration. “Don’t hang up,” she rushes to add, as if reading my mind. “I think he’s missing. Have you seen him?”

My blood runs cold as I close my eyes, trying to remember the words Dmitry made me practise. “For fuck’s sake, Phoebes, he’s a prick. This is what he does, gets up and leaves for his next conquest. I did try to warn you, but you chose to ignore me.” A sob escapes her, and I feel like a dick. “Look, Phoebe,” I sigh, “move on. He’s a wanker, and you deserve so much better. How about drinks this weekend? You can drown your sorrows, and we can put things right between us?” It isn’t her fault she fell for his charm like everyone did. He is—was—the master manipulator. A true fucking narcissist.

Exiting the elevator, we make our way to the car, and Marshall opens the back door for me to get in. I could get used to this. Phoebe sniffles. “I’d like that. I’m so sorry, Tori.” She begins to cry. “I thought he liked me.”

“And that, hunny, is how my brother draws you in.”

I glance at my watch, realising I’m already twenty minutes late and we still have to get to Harrods through morning rush hour traffic.

“Where are you?” she questions. “I came down to your flat last night, but the landlord was there locking the place up. He said you moved out.”

I take a few seconds to work my lies out before saying, “Yeah, I’ve moved into one of Dmitry’s places. It’s closer to work, and if I’m being completely honest with you, I needed the space.” The line goes quiet. “You still there?”

“Erm, sorry, I’m sure that more than likely had something to do with me?”

“Hey, don’t worry,” I say as breezily as I can muster. “You should see this place. It’s like living in a fucking mansion compared to the bedsits. You did me a favour.” I laugh, but she doesn’t join me, and I realise it’s going to take some time to get back to where our friendship once was. “I need to go, Phoebes. I’ve just pulled up at work and I’m already late. You know what the dragon can be like.” That one gets me a laugh, and I smile to myself. I miss her. “Catch you later.” I hang up, sighing and putting my head back against the leather seat.

“You did well, Tori,” Marshall praises. “I’ll let Dmitry know she’s been in touch.” He gets out the car and makes his way round to open my door. Then he follows me into Harrods at a distance. I glance back, feeling like an idiot as I watch him surveying the area, just like he does whenever he’s with Dmitry.

Karen comes rushing over the second she spots me. “Where the fuck have you been?” she whisper-hisses, keeping her voice low but menacing, so the customers can’t hear her.

I smile and see the anger rise from her chest, causing a red blush to colour her face. “Sorry, I overslept,” I offer in a feeble apology, which gets under her skin some more.

She grabs me by the top of my arm, dragging me into the back room. I see Marshall approaching us out of the corner of my eye and I shake my head at him. I don’t need him to intervene. This is my place of work, and he doesn’t need to protect me from Karen.

“You rang in sick for the last two days and then you just stroll in here like some bloody princess. Get your shit together,” she spits at me angrily as she leaves me to deal with a customer waiting at the desk.

I clench my fists in anger. This woman really gets on my last fucking nerve. Before I can serve the customer, I hear her heels clicking back my way. “Tori,” she shouts.

I force the biggest smile on my face. “Yes?”

She rounds the corner holding a mop and bucket, and my smile fades when she holds it out to me with a cunning smile dripping from her lips. “A little girl vomited all over the bathroom. I need you to clean it.” She’s taking great satisfaction in this, and I know she’d love to see me do exactly as she says, but it’s not in me to run like a little bitch.

“Erm . . . well . . . Karen,” I say, emphasising her name slowly, “I hate to break it to you, but that isn’t in my job description.” I glance at two of our highest paying customers, still waiting to be served, who are now watching our exchange with interest.

“You’ll do as you’re fucking told,” she grits out, “and if I tell you your job’s cleaning the fucking toilets, then that’s your job. Understand?”

I snatch the mop and bucket from her and smile sweetly. “Of course.” I turn away, heading for the bathroom and adding “Fuck you” under my breath.

“Did you say something?” she asks, venom lacing her every word.

I look at Marshall, who’s watching me with an arched brow. I’m rooted to the spot, a million things racing through my mind. “Victoria,” she shouts, and her use of my full name ignites something within me.

I turn around sharply, stalking back towards her. Placing the bucket back on the ground at her feet, I smile menacingly, my jaw twitching. I’m so sick of people treating me like shit.

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