Page 73 of The Refusal

“The Gazettepublished an article.” I’m trying to keep my voice steady, but it wobbles perilously. “Nobody mentioned it to you?”

He makes a noise, and I pull my phone away from my ear and look at it, wide-eyed. He’s laughing? I gingerly put it back against my head. He must have been clearing his throat. But no, he’s still chuckling down the line. I’m sick to my stomach, and he thinks this is funny? I press my lips together, a sharp heat bubbling up.

“Yeah no, I’ve seen it,” he says, amusement lacing through his voice. “It’s fine, Jo, nobody is interested. Bloody hacks are always getting photos of me. It’s no bad thing now we’re back to have it out in the open. They won’t be so curious in future if we’re out and about together in New York. I’m quite surprised no one photographed us before now.”

What? I stare at the dark blue wall of the office, the two programmers who are deep in conversation in the little kitchen.Thisis his reaction? I’ve opened the door to the arctic and icy air has swept in. The article implies all sorts of things about me, my reputation will be crucified. I don’t understand. At the very least, shouldn’t he be concerned for me? To be so cavalier …

“Jo?” he says.

“I was planning on having my PR lady issue a full denial as soon as possible tomorrow,” I say, trying to keep a rein on the hot and cold alternating through my veins.

The silence on the other end of the phone goes on forever.

“Sorry.What?”

I repeat what I’ve said to him, pacing the words out and sounding like a robot.

“Issue a denial?”

“Yes, well, we need to get the facts straight. I can’t have speculation like this washing around about me. My business. My professionalism.”

“The facts? Speculation?” He sounds stunned. Good. At least he’s starting to realize how important this is to me. “Well, it’s not exactly inaccurate,” he says, and I’m not sure what that tone in his voice is, but it lights a fire in me and I can’t hold back my anger any longer.

“What do you mean by that?” I snap. “Perhaps you also think I got the contract with your company because you wanted to sleep with me?” And for the first time I wonder if maybe I did. The anxiety in my stomach turns into a ball of flames, like a match in gasoline. What the hell is he thinking?

“Where does it say that?” His voice is low and even.

“It implies it, Janus. All that nonsense about a ‘lucrative contract’ and ‘taking care of the man and the company.’ It makes me look utterly ridiculous. Unprofessional. People are going to have a field day with this.”

“It’s just a little salacious,” he says. “I don’t think it says that at all. I can’t believe …” He hesitates and—oh my God—I want to breathe fire down the phone.

“It suggests I got the contract with Janus Industries by having sex with you; not because I’m good at my job, or, you know, fucking amazing at security.”

My fury is making me swear and something about this feels so liberating: to channel this rage, this anger at my own stupidity for getting into something like this when I knew exactly what would happen, into an argument with him.

“It makes us sound like we’re in a relationship.” My heart dips a bit when I say this.

A long silence fills the other end of the line.

“We need to talk about this face to face,” he says. “I’m coming to your office.” And the phone goes dead on me.

“Fucking wonderful,” I mutter and head out from the glass box to make a hot tea and brace myself for whatever the hell he’s going to say when he arrives.

* * *

I’m back in the meeting room pacing the floor when he’s buzzed up by the doorman. I flick my fingers trying to ease the cramp in my hands, sucking in a deep breath. Why, oh, why did I do this? When I stop and close my eyes, I can still see the jostling cameras on our bungalow’s front lawn, people shouting my dad’s name,my name, see that guy with the long gray hair and yellow fingernails. The door of the office swings open with a crash and I jump, eyes flying open.

I wish I could control how my body reacts to the sight of Janus; his lean torso wrapped in a faded T-shirt and jeans that always hang too low. I don’t want to notice his boxers. I am not going to watch the way he walks. I stare at the screen on my laptop for a second, two, but then his voice responds to someone, and when I look up, my whole team is sitting up straighter, eyes glued on him. I grind my teeth. Des is out of his chair, and from the way he’s fidgeting he clearly doesn’t know what to do with his hands, except I’d hazard a guess he’d quite like to put them on Janus. And I realize—too late—that this is the first time Janus has been here; the first time he’s met everyone, and of course they’re all thrilled. As I head out of the room, James and Des both swing toward me, wide-eyed, along with the rest of the office.

“Guys,” I say, through gritted teeth, waving my arm. “Let me introduce Janus Phillips.”

“Great to meet you,” James says, holding out his hand. Des’s hand is pressed against his chest, practically swooning.

Then Janus gives them that grin, the one that makes me dumb to my toes, and says, “You guys are the best security team I’ve come across; I couldn’t be more grateful.”

Ugh. It’s just the right thing to say, and as Des presses his hand farther into his white top like he’s about to have a heart attack, I notice his T-shirt has “FUCK THEM ALL” written across the front.

“Oh, my God, I’ve wanted to meet you for the longest time. Can we take a selfie? My Instagram account would go wild for a Janus photo.” His words are rising, giddy.

---