Page 33 of Resisting Mr Black

Nine

The knock on the office door causes my heart to lurch in my chest. I freeze mid packing up, my eyes swinging to my watch. It’s only four o’clock. It can’t be him yet. He said half past. Seconds later the door opens and Lucy slides inside.

I breathe a sigh of relief and carry on shoving my phone into my bag.

“Have you got five?” she asks.

I pull a face and switch off my laptop. “Sorry, Luce, not really. I need to go.”

Now. I need to get out of the hotel.

“Oh, okay.” She sounds uncharacteristically down and is chewing the corner of her mouth, looking at the floor.

I immediately feel bad for brushing her off. “Has something happened?”

Her eyes lack their usual sparkle as she lifts them to mine. “No, not really. It’s Mark.”

I frown. She’s not making any sense, but something’s bothering her. “Is he okay?”

She huffs and folds her arms across her chest. “Oh, yeah. He’s hunky-dory.” There’s a sarcastic edge to her voice, and she frowns in irritation.

I sling my handbag over my shoulder and walk over to her. “I haven’t got time now, I need to go. But how about I call you tonight, and we’ll have a chat?”

“Okay.” She smiles weakly. “Have you decided whether you’re going on that date with Mr Italian Stallion yet?”

“Yes, I have. And no, I’m not.”

I hurry as fast as I can down the tree-lined driveway. I can see the white taxi I’ve ordered parked up on the road outside waiting for me. I gave specific instructions to the taxi company for the car not to come up the drive as it would attract too much attention and potentially jeopardise my escape plan. Art thinks he’s in control, but he’s not. I’ve taken it back.

The passenger window winds down as I approach the car and I dip my head and peer inside at the middle-aged driver.

“Sophie, is it?” he enquires cheerily, tweaking his grey plaid flat cap.

I’m about to reply when a thunderous noise tears through the silence of the countryside. I catch the alarmed look on the driver’s face as the sound grows louder and louder and closer and closer.

“What the bloomin’ hell’s that?” he mumbles, glancing at his rear-view mirror.

My heart drops. The grey Aston Martin tears out of the driveway, the roar of the engine vibrating through my bones. It comes to a screeching halt in front of the cab, blocking its path. The driver’s door swings open and Art leaps out, stalking towards us, leaving the car engine running.

I catch the worried look on the taxi driver’s face as he takes in Art’s size.

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “He’s insane.”

Art’s brown eyes burn into me. “Maybe I am.” He turns to the taxi driver. “It’s okay, mate. She doesn’t need a taxi anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” I snap, annoyed he’s taking over again.

He lowers himself level with the driver’s window and I hear him saying something to the driver, but I can’t make it out. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, slides a wad of notes out, and pushes them into the driver’s hand.

“What are you doing?” I cry.

The driver’s eyes light up as he shoves the notes into his coat pocket and grins. “See you, love,” he calls cheerily. “Have a nice day.” And with that, he pulls the taxi into reverse and drives off.

I stare aghast at the white car as it disappears round the corner. I can’t walk home in these wedges and the nearest bus stop is a mile down the road. “You paid him off! I ordered that taxi. I’m going to phone that guy’s boss. What if you were a nutter? He should be fucking sacked.” I’m furious.

“People will do anything for money.” He opens the passenger door of his car. “Please, get in.”

I fold my arms and tilt my chin up in defiance. “No. I won’t be controlled and told what to do by you.”

---