Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
The idea filled me with relief and dread in equal measure.
I found what I was looking for and held it up with a flourish. “Lucky coin.”
Recognition flashed across her eyes. “I haven’t seen that in a long time.”
“Haven’t used it in a long time.” I sat down at my desk, and Faye wheeled her chair opposite. A solid gold coin, made to order. One side showed a woman riding a man, her head high as she had her way with him. The other side was reversed, the man pinning the woman down, fucking her hard. A switch coin of my own design. One simple toss and power was assigned. A kingmaker of sorts. I’d had a lot of fun with that coin in years gone by. A smile flickered on my lips at the memories. “You remember how this works?”
She held out a hand and I passed it over. She flipped it in delicate fingers. “Much more relevant than heads or tails.”
“Quite.” I gestured for the coin, but she held it high.
“I don’t trust you with it,” she said. “You might have a trick.”
I sighed. “It’s a fucking coin, Faye. Nothing sinister. It’s not weighted, there are no tricks.”
“Even so.”
I shrugged, impatient. “Fine. You toss.”
“And this is it? The winner is set for seven days?”
I nodded. “Our weeks will run from Sunday morning to Sunday morning, just after we close. It makes sense to do it that way. This week will be slightly shorter, but we’ll live with that. We’ll lock up from the Saturday shift and toss the coin. Deal?”
“Fine. Let’s do it.” She kept the coin in her fingers, playing with it. “What are the rules? Winner has complete control?”
“Within reason,” I said. “No major refurbishments, no major policy changes, just day to day authority.”
“Ok.” She tossed the coin in the air and her eyes sparkled as they followed it. I was looking at her, not the coin when it landed. The sag of her shoulders told me I’d taken the week. A quick glance confirmed my win. Sure enough the man was fucking the woman. A thrill ran through me.
“Shit,” she said.
“You tossed. That’s the way it fell. Fate has spoken.”
She looked so sad I felt almost guilty. “I’ll go back to the bar, then. Congratulations, Andy. You win, again.”
“For the week,” I pointed out. “It’s hardly a win.”
Faye looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen her. Exhausted and agitated. She rose from her seat like a woman defeated. I scooped the coin up and into my pocket.
A niggle inside, something brewing. “What’s going on today, Faye?”
“Nothing.”
I reeled through her known family. A mum and dad on the south coast, one brother and three sisters, mainly living close to home. “Everyone ok?”
“Everyone’s fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
She picked up her mobile from my desk, and it buzzed in her grip. I couldn’t miss the flinch, the wide eyes. She didn’t check the message. “I’ll get on and sort that drink delivery when it arrives.”
“Thanks.”
She didn’t look at me again on her way to the door, and I was glad she missed the warring emotions on my face. I felt myself caving, guilt and fear making me weak.
“Faye, wait.” I dragged her stupid old empty desk back into the centre of the room. Her chair, too. I even chucked a load of biros on there, and a notepad. “I’ll have to sort you out a phone extension, I think I have a handset downstairs in the storeroom.”
Her eyes were guarded. “Is this another game?”
“No game,” I said. “You can work here until you get too big for your boots or we argue to death before the week is up.” I gestured to her chair. “Just don’t push your luck.”
She sat herself down and arranged her pens in some rudimentary kind of order, then shot me the only genuine smile I’d seen from her in days.
It was a beautiful smile, but not nearly so beautiful as the words that followed it.
“So, what are we doing today, sir?”
Oh, the fucking ideas.
***
Faye
He sorted me out a telephone extension, as promised. A laptop, too. I watched him the whole time he set me up, waiting for some chink in the veneer. But none came.
My mobile buzzed repeatedly in my pocket, until finally he fixed me in a steady gaze.
“Who is that, Faye?”
I shook my head. “Just junk.”
“Right.” He didn’t believe me, and I didn’t expect him to.
My hand was shaking as I took out my phone, the strange magnetic pull still strong from overseas. I couldn’t bear to look at my notifications, couldn’t bear for all the open-mouthed comments as Facebook went Vincent Blackthorne crazy. “I’ll turn it off.”
His fingers grabbed for my wrist as I held the power off button, and the touch was electric. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Like I said, it’s just junk.”