3pm
"You need to get back here Molls" Emily's panicked voice almost jumped down the phone handset at the beginning of the second phonecall between the women that day.
"Would you calm down? It's fine." Molly sighed down the phone at the sound of the tension in Emily's voice, knowing she was the cause of it. "Just go into the master calendar and drag all the board meetings into his schedule. He ain't gonna bite if you get it wrong."
"I dunno about that, he's been a nightmare all week." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I've never seen him lose his temper till now. Poor Brenda's temping at your desk today and she just got an earful for it."
Molly frowned. It wasn't like him to behave like that. "Why?"
"The main reason seems to be that she ain't you. If I hear the words 'that's not the way Molly does it' one more time, I swear to god I'll.."
"Emily. Who are you speaking to?"
Molly gasped as she heard Charles' enquiring tone question Emily from beside the desk. Before there was any chance for her stressed colleague to respond to the query, Molly took the lead and interjected.
"I need to go Em, I'm meant to have the doctor phonin' me back, I need to keep the line free. Good luck." She rushed the words out before she hung the phone up with a hurry.
Molly hung her head back on the couch in relief at her close escape. She knew she was going to have to speak to him eventually, but she still wasn't ready. It had been easy enough on Monday; she had called in sick to the PA co-ordinator and sent Charles an email to say she was too unwell to come to work. But this was Wednesday, and she still hadn't spoken to him beyond a couple of text messages. He had called her mobile a few times, but Molly had found herself unable to answer, telling herself that she would call him back eventually.
Just not yet.
Dodging him had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was building up into something that didn't feel right at all. Friday night had admittedly been a complete disaster, and when she left everybody at the pub, she made her way home and drank herself senseless at the prize prat she'd made of herself. She'd made it so obvious that she was upset when confronted by the sight of him and Alice. At that point, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't have to come into the office this week and face him. Unfortunately, that decision left her with an awful lot of thinking time; something she wasn't savouring right now.
Given time to reflect, she knew now that she'd been kidding herself when it came to Charles. She had told herself countless times since the whole thing started that she had only latched on to him as a result of boredom and frustration. She had been convinced that it could have been anybody she had a crush on; that it was totally meaningless. If that was the case, she wouldn't find herself increasingly emotional about the whole situation. She thought about him often, not just wondering how he was, but increasingly missing his presence in her life. She could admit to herself now that this had been building for far longer than a few weeks. They had been friends for as long as she had worked for him, and she had allowed herself to disguise the emotional connection she felt for him as a good working relationship for a long time. Now that the connection had progressed into a developed sexual longing for him, she couldn't deny it.
The part that was killing her was that it was painfully obvious he didn't feel the same way. She knew she was going to have to face up to it in some way, but so far her only solution had been to hand in her resignation and cut her ties with him completely. She wasn't sure she had the balls to do that. So instead, she sat in her halfway house, calling in sick and staying home moping.
"Emily, I asked a question. Who are you talking to?" Charles leaned over her desk, indicating that he wanted to be handed the receiver. If Emily hadn't been so flustered by his sudden appearance at her desk, she would have been enjoying the sight very much indeed. His tone was smooth but forceful, and she felt herself torn between admitting that she had been relying on Molly's phone calls for pointers on how to handle him, or flat out lying. She hurriedly opted for the truth, but with very little detail.
"It was Molly, but she's gone now."
"How did she sound?" He asked with genuine curiosity. When he saw Emily's cheeks flush and her eyebrows raise skywards, it immediately confirmed his fledgling suspicion that Molly wasn't in fact ill; she just wasn't coming to work. Nevertheless, Emily steeled herself and tried her best to cover.
"She didn't sound too great, she's waiting on the doctor calling her back."
"Whatever you say." His response sounded sharper than he intended, and he walked away, a hand pulled roughly through his hair as he headed towards his office. Before he reached the door he called back to Emily. "I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon. Hold my calls."
Emily nodded and kept her head down, unwilling to provoke his bad mood any further. He sighed at her obvious reluctance to address him; if it was Molly, she would have had him on his arse with some type of witty retort by now on account of his shitty behaviour. Instead, Emily looked vaguely like she might cry, and he felt the guilt assault him as he slammed his office door behind him with frustration.
7.15pm
Disturbed by the sound of the doorbell, which was followed by a sharp knock, Molly's bare feet padded down the hallway of her flat. As she swung the heavy door open, she stepped back in shock as she caught sight of Charles, waiting impatiently for her. He had obviously come straight from the office, still in his best suit and tie, and weighed down by a bulging paper bag in his arms. Her heart raced at the sight of him looking uncertainly at her, and she urged her brain to engage and say something sensible.
She could think of nothing. The only thing she wanted to do was kiss him until he dropped the bag on the floor and swept her into his arms instead.
Shit.
"What you doin' here?" she managed to at least venture some words in his direction at the sight of him at her front door. A stray curl had escaped from the rest of his hair onto his forehead, and it took all of the willpower she possessed not to raise her hand up and brush it from his face. Once she did that, she knew she would have to run both of her hands through his hair. It was one of many secret fantasies she harboured. She was brought back to earth as he finally responded to her question.
"Checking on you." He smiled sheepishly at her curious gaze on the bag in his arms. "I brought food."
"So I see." She continued to watch him warily as he stood waiting for her to at least respond. He used the full extent of his charm as he searched her with his eyes. "This is usually the part where I get invited in", he supplied with a cheeky grin.
She eyed him warily, desperate to beam at the playfulness in his tone, but not trusting herself. "D'you make a habit of turning up at people's doors uninvited then?"
Charles winced playfully at the jab. "Knew I missed you for a reason. I need my daily dose of being taken down a peg or two" he confirmed quietly. She could see from his amused eyes that he wasn't annoyed at her response.
Molly didn't say a word in response; she doubted she was capable. She simply moved to the side to lean back against the front door and let him pass. She silently thanked whatever god was above her for the fact she had taken a shower and put some clean clothes on just before he turned up. Her hair was still slightly damp and had formed into wavy curls, nothing like her usual straightened style, and she only wore leggings and a top, but it was miles better than the unwashed hair, ratty dressing gown and pyjamas she had been wallowing in for 3 days.
He moved past her and had the good fortune to turn into the small kitchen on the first attempt, rather than the desperately untidy bedroom one door down. She waited at the entrance to the kitchen, watching him curiously as he put the bags he was carrying on the countertop, then removed his jacket. The kitchen was reasonably long but narrow, and couldn't comfortably take two people in its width. He moved back to stand before her, gripping her shoulders to move her slightly to the side so that he could hang his jacket on the door handle. She dutifully ignored the rush of adrenaline she felt when his hands made contact with her body, and he seemed glaringly unaffected.
If Molly wasn't seeing this with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it. He wandered around the kitchen like it was his own, pulling several containers of takeaway food out of the paper bag and placing them in a row on the worktop. Not a word had been said since they entered the kitchen, although she watched him very carefully. He was entirely confident, no hint of self-consciousness as he acted as though he belonged there. He approached her with a carton of noodles and a plastic fork.
"Got your favourite" he looked at her, and for the first time she traced the uncertainty in his eyes. He held the food out as though it was a peace offering, then continued when she didn't respond "I even went through the embarrassment of getting you a fork since you're a nightmare with chopsticks."
The memory of the last time they ate together, and the subsequent lively debate on the merits of chopsticks made her smile, despite herself. She had spent a late night in the office helping him with paperwork, when he offered to order some food from a local Chinese takeaway. It was the same one he had been to tonight. The food that time came supplied with chopsticks, and he had been genuinely entertained by her reluctance to use them. They had eaten at opposite sides of his desk and laughed heartily as they worked.
"It ain't right eatin' with chopsticks, they give me the willies." Her body shuddered and she pretended it was for that simple reason and not his proximity to her.
"I know, I remember" he murmured with amusement as he continued to hold out the container. She reluctantly took it from him and waited as he pulled his own meal from the tray, together with another couple of boxes. She led him across the hallway to the tiny box room, where she had managed to squeeze a couch and a TV, together with a couple of small storage tables. For a moment she was embarrassed about her tiny flat when he was probably used to much more sophisticated surroundings, but he gave the impression that he didn't particularly care.
They sat on the couch, Molly forcing herself to concentrate on the food on her lap rather than looking to the side and meeting his gaze. She had to keep her feelings under control. His closeness to her on the small 2 seater couch wasn't helping with that. She watched secretly from the corner of her eye as he wrapped his chopsticks around the noodles and placed them in his mouth, licking a stray piece from the side of his lips, and murmuring in wholehearted approval at the taste. Molly thought it might just have been the most erotic noise she had ever heard him make, and shifted uncomfortably where she sat. He cleared his throat awkwardly, after taking another couple of mouthfuls.
"How are you feeling?"
She took a deep breath to try and calm her racing heart. Her next admission was entirely truthful.
"Not great."
He nodded slowly as he continued to eat. "If you don't come back soon, I think I'm in danger of Emily tampering with my coffee when she makes it." He looked down, ashamed of himself when admitting it. "I've been a bit of a dick without you there."
"You should be nice to her, she already gets enough shit from Richard." Molly continued to pick at her food as she looked straight ahead, desperate to avoid his eyes or the sight of him eating so enthusiastically. She found it was turning her on to the point that she couldn't think straight, and she tried to extinguish the fire she felt in her lower abdomen.
Charles sighed deeply, and shifted on the couch so that his back faced the armrest, conscious that she was studiously avoiding him. He faced Molly's side and tried to make eye contact.
"Have I done something to piss you off?"
"What makes you say that?" Her tone was defensive, and his eyebrows raised in surprise that she was even asking the question. It was obvious enough to him.
"The fact that you're pissed off." He stated it in a matter of fact tone that pissed her off even more.
"I'm not pissed off" she muttered quietly.
"Molly-" he placed his food down on the table with a frustrated sigh. "-I've known you for nearly two years. I know you well enough to know that something's bothering you. I'm asking you if it's something I've done."
She found the courage to look at him and reply with a partial truth. "It's nothing you've done" she hesitated, failing to add that it was entirely due to things he hadn't done, and the way he didn't feel. She couldn't find a way to vocalise that without humiliating herself, and so didn't say anything more in response.
He stared at the television screen, trying to pass off his next question as a barely considered one, rather than the nagging worry which was now beginning to scream at him.
"Molly? You are coming back, aren't you?" His tone was uncertain, and she suddenly worried that he had seen right through her. She forced herself to look at him, seeing for the first time the tiredness that seemed to have settled over him. It was another hint of the vulnerable side that she was seeing far more frequently these days, and she felt a flicker of a flame of desire burn yet again in her stomach as he volunteered this usually hidden side of himself up to her. He had put himself out there, and she smiled gratefully at him for letting himself be less than 100% in control like he usually tried to be. She placed a hand lightly over his where it sat on the couch between their bodies, and instantly regretted it. The feel of his skin burned her palm, and she longed to stroke it and intertwine their fingers. She held her breath, not daring to move. She could only whisper a response.
"Course I am."
His intense gaze continued, the TV long forgotten. He suddenly stared at her hand resting on top of his and whispered, low and with a husk in his voice.
"When?"
She felt her cheeks burn at the intensity of his gaze on their hands. She lifted her hand suddenly, willing herself not to get any closer. "When it passes" she murmured softly, willing her face not to betray her. She delivered her best unaffected smile, knowing it didn't quite meet her eyes.
He continued to push her, and she found herself wondering for the first time whether he knew her better than she thought he did. "When what passes?"
She sighed, and held his gaze.
"Whatever I've got."
A heavy silence pounded between them for an extended moment. The only noise in the room was the muted tone of the TV, and she found herself trying to decipher his face through the low blue light coming from it. The rest of the room had fallen into darkness, and the low light of the television provided the only hint of brightness. It felt like he had moved closer to her, but she wasn't sure when it had happened. After a moment where she was sure she saw something flash across his face, he hesitated and looked carefully at her. She suddenly panicked that he had seen right through her and that he possibly felt the need to spell out to her that nothing would ever happen between them. In her panic, she broke the moment between them, reaching beside her to switch on the lamp at her side. With the brighter light now flooding the small room, the atmosphere switched and she saw his sharp intake of breath, followed by his usual controlled face suddenly switching on. He could have been in a boardroom, suddenly playing his poker face. Despite the sudden increase in light, she found herself utterly unable to read him.
He broke the silence with an attempt to regain some normality instead of the lingering hint of awkwardness.
"I hope it's not too bloody long in passing. I'm not a fully functioning member of the rat race without you to keep me company. And Emily just isn't the same."
Molly sighed as the sense of hope that they were about to have a real conversation slipped away. "I meant what I said earlier. Be nice to her. She's good at her job, she don't need you being a shit to her."
"She's not you" he stated simply. Molly felt her stomach leap at the endorsement, and then suddenly felt resentful of the rollercoaster of emotions that he was continuing to subject her to, whether he was aware of it or not.
"Lucky her" she muttered, looking down at her food.
They continued to eat and chat a little after that. Normality was somewhat resumed, but there was a quiet acknowledgement that there was still an unbearable tension between them. Unfortunately, neither had the first clue of how to resolve it.
Later that night, when they had said their awkward goodbyes and the door closed behind him, Molly went to bed with a heavy heart. She replayed the conversation countless times in her head, fantasising that instead of the strained atmosphere, she had done what she really wanted to; and leaned forward to kiss him instead of switching that stupid bloody lamp on.
As the images took root in her brain, she took them even further, giving in to the same temptation that had already presented itself to her on many lonely nights over the last few weeks. After her fantasy reached its shuddering climax, she caught a sob in the back of her throat and promised herself it would be the last time she allowed herself to do this. She was only hurting herself, and the problem wasn't going to pass unless she forced it to.
She knew it would be nigh on impossible, but she would try and forget how she felt. It was either that or cut all contact with him completely; something which she wasn't ready to do. She just hoped with all of her heart that she could manage it.
AN. Thanks to everyone who has commented / read. You are all absolutely brilliant. And don't worry, Molly won't be miserable forever! Hope you enjoy!
