Quiver: Watched by Shadows (Quivering Shadows Book 2)

Quiver: Watched by Shadows

Book Two

Livia Rook

Chapter One

T
wo weeks had passed since my world was turned upside down; shaken to the core I no longer felt like myself anymore. I was on edge and distracted and in danger of losing my job if I didn’t pull myself together.

He
hadn’t returned for any of the information I’d been able to gather, not that there was much, and I was beginning to think his whole spy act, or whatever it was, was exactly that: A ruse to get me to take my knickers off, a line he used to reel me in. And like a sap I’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

But still I couldn’t concentrate. I daydreamed at my desk and got no real work done; the filing was piling up, and people were starting to notice.

It would be extremely corny to say that I was unable to sleep, but it was true; I’d lay awake in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs from all the turning, thinking only of him.

I’d replay that night over and over in my head, scrutinising and reliving each moment, every kiss, every moan. Had it been just a dream?

He took me to new heights, and I feared that I would never reach them again.

“Earth to Kate?” Max said. I’d been staring off into space, my gaze fixed as I was trapped in another mental rerun of that splendid night.

“Huh?” I replied, blinking away the carnal images.

“I’ve been standing here for the best part of minute trying to get your attention. Are you OK? You had the weirdest expression on your face, like you were…” He blushed, trailing off.

Max is my friend and boss. Well, technically my supervisor. Not a tyrant like his dad, Terry Quadrello, or as some like to call him (behind his back of course) Terry the Brick, who was the real head honcho. Terry doesn’t deal with the day-to-day monotony of the office; it’s not his style. But he does come in for a chat every so often, window shopping, to peek at what the other office girls have on display for him; in their skimpy outfits, they know exactly how to get his attention. Max though, is his polar opposite. A sweetheart, cute, dependable… But once you get him going, he does tend to ramble on.

“Everything is fine, Max,” I said, still thinking of the paused images playing in my mind. I knew I had to stop doing that, but the movie was on a loop, whether I wanted it or not.

“Did you need something?” I asked.

He rattled the keys he held and shifted his feet. “Well, yes,” he said as he looked around, “everyone else has already left, gone for the weekend, and I need to lock up.”

“Oh, shit, sorry. Let me grab my coat, and I’ll be out in a jiffy,” I said.

“There was another thing,” he paused. He seemed unsure on how to proceed and grabbed the nearest chair, placed it close to mine and sat.

“Look, there’s no easy way to say this, but it’s been… how would you put it? It’s been noted that, well…”

“It’s OK. Max. Just tell me,” I interrupted. It would be the only way to get him to his destination without going around all the houses.

“You’ve been here long enough now, but your performance. It’s dropped… a lot,” he whispered, indicating the piles of files stacked high on my desk.

“I’ve tried to cover for you over the last few days, but a few of the others have come to me. Worried,” he said.

Those treacherous bitches. I guessed, though, that they did have a point. This low paying sit-on-your-ass-all-day job was still a position I couldn’t afford to lose. And fantasies of one guy – and let’s call it what it was: a one night stand – had to stop getting in the way of paying my real-life bills.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to fire you,” he smiled and leaned close, placing a hand on my knee. He had kind brown eyes with crackles of burnt orange flecks, warm like the beginning of autumn. His hand rested upon my knee. I had to tell myself not to read anything into this innocent gesture. He was just being friendly.

“Thanks, I promise to do better,” I said.

“Fancy grabbing a drink?” he blurted, “I don’t feel like going straight home, and maybe we can chat about how we can get you back on track?”

If I went with Max to the pub, there was a danger of missing
him
, my mystery guy. Every evening after work, I’d normally hang around for a bit longer, pretending to do some extra work, just to make sure I’d catch the last bus home – the same exact one I took when I met him. I had hopes of re-enacting that most delicious night, but he’d not yet reappeared, and I ended up trudging home, disappointed.

One evening I’d decided to ride the bus a little longer, and I got off to revisit Kingston station and what I called “our alcove”. I stood in the shadow of that alcove, hidden away from the other passengers, rubbing my palms over the cold steel door with my legs parted. Closing my eyes and hoping when I reopened them he’d be behind me, tall and beautiful and wanting me again. But he never showed.

I didn’t want to be this person. I had to move on. I gave myself a strict talking to and decided not to think of him anymore… if only it were that easy. Maybe some alcohol would wash the memory of him away - at least for one night.

“Sure, why not? I could do with a stiff drink.” What did I have to lose?

I collected my belongings, and we walked down the narrow stairs to the ground floor together. The entrance was shabby; you’d never think it was the base of operations for one of the most notorious businessmen in the Northeast, but that was Terry all over, the Quadrello family way – he wouldn’t let Max spend a penny where it wasn’t needed.

I watched as Max keyed in the code to arm the alarm. He skirted around me to grab the main door and held it open for me.

Dusk had already fallen as we stepped outside. Max offered his suited arm, and giggling, I linked up with him.

Chapter Two

F
or a Friday night, the Castle Arms, which was conveniently (and dangerously) located just 50 meters from the office, wasn’t jam-packed. We were able to grab our usual seats in the corner, upholstered in rough, ruby-red, hard-wearing fabric with studs hammered into the backs. Looking around, you could tell the old place hadn’t been redecorated for years. The smell of tobacco smoke, ingrained in the furnishings, still lingered years after the smoking ban. Round wooden tables with their polished tops wobbled dangerously, and folded beer mats, depicting local heady brews, were re-used and strategically placed under table legs to prevent pints from toppling over.

“What do you fancy? I’m buying,” Max asked.

“Oh, a white wine. Thanks,” I replied, taking my seat and glancing around as Max made his way to the bar. No matter where I was, I tended to do this; it was a habit that was becoming a desperate obsession. Every street I walked, every bus I rode, every public place I entered, I searched the crowd – skimming over each person, skipping over blond-, grey- and red-haired men, trying to find that familiar face. He had short brown hair, quite like Max’s, I mused. The colour of dark chocolate - bitter, with a hint of sweetness. My fingertips still remembered the soft texture of his hair. Come to think of it, if it wasn’t for the difference of their eyes, they looked quite similar. How hadn’t I noticed that before?

Maybe one day my searching would provide fruitful results. I shook my head, scolding myself. Enough!

Returning, Max manoeuvred through the increasing number of patrons with drinks in hand and nearly fell into my lap as he brushed past.

“Do you know if anyone else will turn up?” I asked. Sometimes, a few of us would end up in here after the work week.

A sudden flash of disappointment crossed his handsome face. “Aren’t I enough for you tonight?”

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“I’m kidding,” he said, grinning his sweet smile. “Nope, it’ll just be the two of us. I heard the other girls talking about going to The Boat instead.”

I nodded. Wasn’t invited again… Not that I would’ve gone. The Boat was just as tacky as they were; a nightclub moored on the river that cut through the centre of the city, installed with a bloody revolving dance-floor of all things. It attracted hordes of students and gangs of stag and hen parties looking for the cheapest (watered-down) drinks over the weekend. Not somewhere you’d go for a quiet, sophisticated drink. But the girls loved it, what with the free entry Terry was able to get them… He did after all own the floating eye-sore.

“So, what do I need to do to get back into your good graces?” I asked.

“Straight to business eh? I haven’t even sipped my pint yet,” he chuckled.

“Sorry, I’m worried, and you’ve been so good to me. I just don’t want you to think that I’m an ungrateful cow,” I said.

“No danger of that. Look, how about we forget about it? Fresh new start on Monday?”

“I’d like that,” I replied, casually placing a hand onto his thigh, feeling the toned muscle beneath; had he been working out?

Max was the type you’d be proud to take home to meet the parents (if I had any), settle down with, the whole shebang. He’d do anything for you, as he’d proven when he managed to pull some strings and get me the job at the office.

We sat and chatted, reminiscing about good old times we’d had at university together, getting comfortable with each other again outside of the confines of work. I was enjoying the attention, and my skin craved to be touched.

A devilish thought embedded itself in my mind: Sitting next to me I had a potentially willing participant, who, if I was reading him right, was giving me all the right signals.

After a couple more vinegar-like house wines I was feeling its effects. Emboldened, I drained my drink and almost broke the stem of the wine glass as my unsteady hand crashed it back onto the table’s surface.

“Want another one?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No. But I want something else,” I replied. We’d been skirting around the obvious for over an hour now. I was going to have to take the initiative.

“Wanna have some fun?” I asked. I took his hand and pushed passed a group of lads, a billowing cloud of aftershave surrounded them. They gave us knowing glances but were more interested in our vacant seats as I led Max out of the pub.