Page 12 of Duplicity

I can’t do this. I can’t. I’ll die of mortification and terror. Is a vulnerability-driven stroke a thing? I want to push back my chair and bolt for that door, but the sensation only lasts a second, replaced with the heart-splitting image of Tabby’s face when she’s having a blue spell.

Ihaveto do this.

I’ll deal with it when it comes to it.

‘Ready to see his kinks?’ Camille asks, then, ‘Breathe, Marlowe.’

I suck in a breath and read what he’s written.

I love it when they pretend to be inexperienced.Gets me every time. It really, really turns me on to imagine that I’m the one teaching them how good it can be.

There’s a sudden slackening of the tension in my chest. Well, that won’t be a problem. He should be careful what he wishes for. I imagine I’ll excel at seeming experienced.

I recall the takeaways from my three-or-four-minute interaction with him. Hot. Looked like a playboy. Was weirdly tongue-tied. That I’m now browsing his sexual proclivities is surreal, and that any of this may pertain tomeis off-the-charts bizarre.

We read on.

I like to have fun. I like to mix it up. I fucking LOVE to watch, so I’ll make her fuck and suck off other guys while I sit back and enjoy the show. She has to remember that she’s my fuck toy. She’s there to entertain, and to take what we give her. I won’t go easy on her.

Oh my God. Oh my God. My face is aflame, my entire body so taut I could puke from the tension. It’s nearly impossible for me to equate the filthy, depraved things he’s saying with the concept that he could be talking aboutme.

He could be doing those things tome.

But beneath it all, beneath the blushing and the nausea and the tension and the ringing in my ears is the oddest pulse between my legs. It’s the kind of cavalier, fatalistic thrill you get when you strap yourself into a death-defying rollercoaster. The kind of thrill parachutists must feel in that moment as they stare at the earth thousands of feet below, right before they throw themselves out of a plane door.

It’s some kind of fucked-up life force that welcomes existential threats, that thinksbring it on. And it’s the only thing that saves me from running from this room and the prospect of putting myself in this man’s hands.

Because, God knows, this is the mother of all rollercoasters. And if I’m going to survive a day in this role then I’ll have to buckle the hell up.

CHAPTER 6

Brendan

Iwas wrong-footed last time I met Marlowe; that’s why I behaved like such a fucking loser. I was prepared for a boring night of “culture” at the Royal Academy, prepared to suck it up for the sake of the family name, to drink champagne, and give my brother a hard time about how he should fuck his hot assistant, and possibly flirt with a few attractive women.

I was most definitelynotprepared to come face to face with a woman who had the face of an angel. Neither could I have ever expected that my well-trodden autopilot functions of sexy smile and flirty one-liners would malfunction to the point of non-existence and leave me gaping and stuttering and barely able to shake her hand.

It had never happened to me before, and it hasn’t happened since, and it’s sure as fuck not happening today. Because I am a CEO of a FTSE 100 company, not to mention one of the most eligible—and accomplished—players in London, and I won’t tolerate being a tongue-tied schoolboy in front of my prospective EA with benefits.

I just won’t.

When Plain Elaine, who is more of a general PA than a dedicated EA anyway, calls through to say that Marlowe hasarrived, I force myself to sit tight for a few minutes. First impressions are important, especially when they’re actually second impressions and you’ve already fucked up the first round. So I’m intent on portraying to Miss Winters from the offset that I’m a busy, powerful guy juggling a million Very Important Balls.

I hastily pop a mint in my mouth, take out my keyring with its fidget spinner, and watch three recent TikToks from my favourite creator and owner of a barrel-shaped Staffy called Tinkerbell. Fuck, she’s cute. Not as cute as Mark, obviously. If the owner didn’t live somewhere in Scotland, I’d be tempted to cyber-stalk him and suggest a doggy play date. I can just tell Mark and Tinks would get on famously.

When I arbitrarily judge that I’ve kept Marlowe waiting long enough, I press the intercom for reception.

‘Send her in.’

I open my office door before standing in front of my desk to greet her. Mark trundles to the doorframe. My office takes up one corner of the executive floor and is a showcase for the quality Sullivan Construction is known for, with its double-height ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, acres of plush white carpet, and impeccable finish. I’ve purposely kept the furnishings minimal to emphasise the sense of spaciousness. It’s really very Zen, especially for a guy like me. Nothing about me is Zen.

I roll my shoulders back to improve my posture, widening my legs to assume a victory stance as I stick my hands in my pockets. I’ve got this. I am a strong, capable man, the head of a business empire, and a respected leader. I have women coming out of my ears, smoke coming off my Raya app, and so many options for pussy that I don’t need Alchemy orSeraph or—wait. Did I remember to send back those contracts, or…?

Focus, Sullivan. Woman. Job. Interview. Respected leader. Where was I? Right.

Oh, fuck.

Jesus fucking Christ.

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