Charles chuckles at that.
“Ah, enjoy the young love whilst it lasts. Soon she will be on at you for the smallest of things. I have lost count how many times my wife has moaned at me for not putting my dirty clothes into the laundry basket.”
Charles rubs his chest and the motion causes me to freeze. I finally get a closer look at him and notice that the usual sheen of sweat clinging to his skin seems worse, his mistress is visibly recoiling beside him. There is a slight tremble to his hand as well as the ice cubes clatter in his tumbler.
“Oh well, we won’t have problems with that. I clean up after myself,” Roman responds, leaning forward as he flicks my hair from my breast and places it behind my back. Leaning in, he stage-whispers again, “I will do anything for my little one.”
Him using little one is not lost on me and my body reacts like a Pavlovian dog, begging my brain for its next fix of endorphins. I turn to him, place my hand on his thigh, and squeeze hard on a pressure point.
“Oh, you are a darling,” I lie, watching with satisfaction as the slightest wince flickers across his face before I let go. Now is not the time to make him pass out.
“Anything, little one,” he states again, his eyes drilling into mine like he is trying to say something in code.
Charles starts to cough; both of us whip our heads back over to him. His face has gone bloodshot red and his eyes look like they are about to burst from his skull.
“Everything okay?” I ask, faking concern.
“Yes, yes,” Charles splutters, picking up his whiskey and taking another sip. “Do not mind me.”
“You don’t look very well, sweetheart,” his mistress says, dabbing at his brow with a napkin. Charles swats her hand away like an annoying fly.
“I’m fine,” he snaps. “Just go and get me a glass of water, will you, woman?”
I bristle, a flicker of sympathy rising as I watch her face fall and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Nobody deserves to be treated like a servant. But then, like a lightning bolt, I remember she knows he is married, and she was not exactly sunshine and roses when she first spoke to us. I haven’t forgotten the judgemental stare she gave me before Charles pretended he knew who we were. The irony is not lost on me either.
My family is one of the most influential in the world. More influential than Charles could ever be. No amount of money could bring you to our level, if she genuinely knew who I was, she would be sat there trying to become my best friend just so she could use my connections to her advantage.
Now look, I do not like how women are always blamed for men’s indiscretions. As a society, we are so quick to pass judgement.She is a slut. She is a home wrecker. She is a bad mum. She should have chosen a better husband. Why did she stay when he hit her?But…at some point, we also can’t let our hatred of men blind us to the fact that some women are just as bad.
Would I have judged her solely on her choice of sexual partner? I mean… internally, yes. But it’s not my man, not my life, and she has a choice. What I actually judge her on is the kind of person she is and from what I’ve seen so far… she’s a bitch.
Hopefully, Charles’ death teaches her a thing or two. No one is untouchable. Ever. God, what if it is traceable and she gets blamed for it? She was with him more than anyone else here. That’s exactly where the police will look first. Will I feel guilty about that? I don’t know. I want to say yes, but when it comes down to it, when it’s her or me… I will always choose myself.
Roman’s hand on my thigh brings me back to reality. The calluses feel delicious against my skin as he rubs the inside of my knee in a way that is far too tender for someone like him. He and Charles are talking about something to do with tech and, for once, I am grateful I have a partner on this assignment. My head has not been in the game. I would like to blame Roman and what nearly happened in the bathroom, but the truth is, Robyn being missing consumes me.
Is that why they brought Roman along? Did they somehow know I wasn’t fully up to the task?
I scoff at the thought that The Company would genuinely care about me. Roman gives me a brief once-over at the noise but I shake my head gently at him to let him know that I am fine. He turns back to Charles, effortlessly dominating the conversation.
Charles’ mistress returns with his glass of water and he grabs it from her greedily. Downing it in seconds, he leans back in his chair, dabbing at his hairline before rubbing at his chest. His chest seems to be working overtime, his breathing turning erratic as I pretend not to notice his worsening symptoms.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Charles?” she asks.
“I… I think I am coming down with something,” he says, bracing his hand on the table as he tries to push himself up.
His left hand gives way and the cutlery in front of him crashes to the floor, the noise cutting through the room. Steeling himself, he forces his weight onto his right hand and manages to stand, but the moment he takes a step back, he stumbles. His mistress is on her feet instantly, grabbing at him, trying to support what she can of his weight.
“Augh,” he groans, his face twisting as his whole body starts to tremble in front of us. “I don’t feel well.”
Roman and I stand at the same time, like we’ve somehow practised it. Our bodies move in sync, both of us slipping into different versions of panic and concern. Of course, it’s not real. It’s just what we want everyone else to see.
“Charles!” I say, my voice pitching higher than usual. “Please, let us get you some help.”
“No,” he barks. “I just want… I just want… I?—”
He collapses before he can finish, hitting the floor hard as all hell breaks loose around us. People scream, others rush forward, and I catch flashes of people’s phones recording or trying to call the ambulance.
Roman is down beside him in seconds. He checks his pulse, then looks up, shaking his head with something that could almost pass as sincerity. If I didn’t know any better, I would believe he was just another concerned guest.