Page 35 of Duplicity

She smirks, sipping her Meursault with irritatingsang-froid. ‘Quality over quantity, dickhead. I'd rather have one thoroughbred than a stable of ponies. Speaking of which, heard you've got a new filly starting Monday.’

I look over my shoulder at Mum. It’s not a secret, but the last thing I need is my eagle-eyed sister dropping any unwarranted speculation. ‘News travels fast.’

‘Athena mentioned it. Said she's gorgeous, smart, and way too good for you.’

I narrow my eyes at her. Women. Why do they always have to have an angle? I don’t know for certainwhather angle is, just that there is one and it probably involves tripping her brother up with her devious conversational skills just as effectively as she used to with her skipping rope.

‘She seems smart and highly qualified,’ I say, hoping my tone sounds as sniffy as I feel. ‘And the job pays well, so I don’t see why she’d be too good for it.’

I ignore her point about Marlowe being gorgeous. I’m not touching that with a bargepole, no matter how true it is, because her looks shouldn’t be relevant to her role as far as anyone else is concerned.

I’m aware my sister’s trying to get a rise out of me, but Athena’s comment has pissed me off. I did her a favour, for fuck’s sake, gave her friend a job. I’m a big deal. Just take a look atTatlerorGQorThe Financial Times. I’m not some bum who’s punching above his weight. On the contrary, I’m one of London’s most eligible bachelors, and my extended family would do well to cut me some fucking slack every now and again.

None of that is to detract from the truth that Marlowe is gorgeous, and that, even on a Saturday night when my mind should be squarely on what mischief I can make later, I’m growing increasingly impatient for Monday morning.

I’ve had Plain Elaine, who is vocally happy about the prospect of having the EA portion of her admittedly onerous job taken off her plate, block out the morning in my diary for Marlowe’sonboarding.Fuck, that sounds dirty when I consider that it will most likely involve bending her over my desk.

But first, I’ve told her we have an appointment with the personal shopping team at Selfridges. I’ll meet her in town first thing so we can get her kitted out in precisely the way I want. Camille at Seraph has assured me it’s not necessary—that with the salary these women command, their work wardrobe is their problem.

It’s not about what’snecessaryfor me, though. It’s about having the maximum amount of fun with my new favourite toy. It’ll make the pleasure of showing up for work even more intense, knowing that this woman will be waiting for me in the sexiest looks, her exquisite body showcased in the finest lingerie money can buy.

We’ll grab more items along the lines of the pink dress she wore for her interview while veering into Sexy Miss Moneypenny territory as firmly as I can get away with.

That’s my new favourite fantasy.

Marlowe, swathed in an ivory silk blouse and tight pencil skirt, all that long, golden hair pinned primly up, with knockout lace right below the surface. It’ll make plundering her or showing her off or ordering her to her knees all the sweeter.

Shopping for this stuff will be a damn sight more engaging than picking out linen swatches for my fucking catamaran, that’s for sure.

In fact, it’ll feel like extended foreplay.

Jesus Christ.Maybe I shouldn’t go out later. Maybe I should just head home and spend my evening erupting all over my shower tiles as I imagine all the ways I’m going toonboardmy delectable new plaything.

Looks like Monday morning is the new Saturday night.

CHAPTER 17

Marlowe

Ican confirm that those first-day-of-school nerves have nothing on the nerves you get on your first day in a new job where you know you’ll be shagging your boss from the outset. I’m in absolute pieces, and it doesn’t help when I emerge from Bond Street station to find a text coming through from Brendan.

Running 15 mins late. Stuck in traffic. See you in there. Third floor.

Tell them I’m your boyfriend. Otherwise it’ll seem too weird if I’m picking out your lingerie

Um, that’s because itisweird to most normal people that my boss is picking out my lingerie.

Jesus.

I’m slightly early. I stand and wait by one of the main sets of doors with a handful of other people until a doorman unlocks and opens them on the dot of ten o’clock. The shop floor is still empty of customers. The fanciful displays in the Dior and Hermès and Chanel handbag concessions are immaculate, as are the sales assistants in their chic all-black outfits.

I make my way up to the still-deserted second floor, winding through rail after rail of clothes that look more like hanging works of art than things you would wear when going about your daily life. The personal shopping department announces itself with a huge arch above which hang the letters in the store’s distinctive font: LADIES’ PERSONAL SHOPPING.

Here goes. I peer through the arch, my heart dropping when I see the young woman at the reception desk. I’ve made an effort for my first day, obviously, but I haven’t bought anything new. I was working under the assumption that Brendan would want me to wear one of the dresses he’d picked out, so I’m in a grey pre-loved shift dress. It’s from Vinted and originally came from one of the higher-end brands on the high street. It’s smart and work-appropriate, but it doesn’t screammoney, and a single raised eyebrow from this woman tells me she’s got my number.

‘Good morning,’ she says coolly, not rising from the desk. ‘Can I help you.’ It’s as if she can’t even be bothered to make it a question. Her impeccable but dramatic makeup suggests she moonlights as someone who gives contouring and lip-lining tutorials on TikTok, and the long dark ponytail draped over one shoulder gives new meaning to the termsleek.She looks me up and down like the judgiest and most world-weary X-ray machine.

‘Morning.’ I’m instantly intimidated, flustered. I had a fantasy of walking in here with serious moral support in the form of Brendan, but that’s clearly been shot to hell. I’m not used to places like this. I never even gointoplaces like this. Zara is a stretch for me. ‘Um—I think we have an appointment under my boss’s name—Brendan Sullivan?’ There’s no way I can saymy boyfriend.Brendan may be able to bullshit like that, but I know that if I said it, my entire face would go red. I’d be as obvious as Pinocchio.

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