WHO Marcella WHEN Wednesday evening WHERE an apartment in New York WHAT A re-evaluation WARNINGS swearing, sexual references and coercion
"Shit."
The knife clattered on the granite countertop, and Marcella snatched up her hand, finger already leaving red splotches on the surface. She watched it run down her skin for a moment, a little mesmerised by the colour and the pain.
"You okay babe?"
"Yeah, I just cut myself."
The man she'd been seeing the last few weeks was sitting with his back to her on the sofa, one arm across the top of it, the other hand nursing a bottle of Stella Artois. He half-turned his head to look at her where she was standing in the kitchen at the island in the middle, cutting vegetables for a stir-fry.
"Want me to kiss it better?" He smile was lecherous, and she couldn't help her lip curling in distaste a moment before smoothing it into a smile.
"Aww, so sweet. No thank you. I'm going to go clean it up."
She loved this bathroom. When she had her own place, she would copy some of these elements, like the gold faucets and the marble tub. Some of it was similar to John's bathroom, but not as classy. She'd gone into his personal bathroom at his country estate once, just to look. It was amazing and beautiful, more rustic than his city penthouse but still with a luxurious old world charm. But it only stood to reason that it would be impeccably done. John Haveland is a man of impeccable taste.
As she watched the water run red in the sink, she glanced up at her face in the mirror. The frame was lined with strip LEDs for perfect makeup application lighting, and it made her skin glow a little. Her makeup was still good, of course. At least her makeup was better than Isabelle's.
Oh, Isabelle. She held a white facecloth tightly over the cut and awkwardly rummaged in a drawer for a sticking plaster. Isabelle with her fresh-faced glow, her strawberries-and-cream complexion. She'd known the name, of course. She knew John's past, she had to to do her job properly. She'd stalked Isabelle's social media, looked up her family. She'd just never expected to see the woman up close. When Marcella had arrived at the apartment to take notes for the designer, it had been Isabelle leading the conversation, saying what things would go where. Marcella had said very little then, just kept it polite and professional. And now her boss was out on a date with the bitch, "reconnecting" and telling Marcella to hold all his calls for the night.
Was it weird, how much she and Isabelle looked alike? Both slim, brown eyes, long dark hair, Marcella a little taller but not by much. Had John seen that when he'd hired her? Is that why he'd hired her? So why hadn't he ever made any moves on her, if he was so keen to reconnect with the ex? It's not like she would have turned him down if he had. He was an attractive man, and his aloofness made him more appealing to her. He hadn't been celibate without Isabelle either, because she'd been the one to shoo forlorn lovers out of the door on occasion. She wrapped the bandage around her finger and wiped the counter down with the edge of the bloody facecloth, then tossed it in the hamper and went back into the kitchen.
Troy was at the counter she'd left, swinging the knife like a circus act. "I finished cutting the bell peppers for you babe," he said, smiling like he'd done her a favour. She wrangled a smile, but inside she was vexed. Now all the pieces would be uneven and the finished meal wouldn't look as Insta-worthy.
"I'd better heat the wok then," she said, bending down to fetch one from the cupboard. Behind her, Troy's fingers curled around her hips and he thrust up against her ass, almost knocking her off her heels and headfirst into the pans.
"I like you bent over like that," he purred. She found her balance and stood up, turning in his grip to face him.
"Honey. You almost hurt me," she said, trying not to sound too annoyed.
"I thought you liked it when I hurt you," he said, capturing her mouth in a kiss. His mouth was a little too big, she thought, and he didn't try to make up for it, just overlapped her lips and slid his tongue in like a slug. He wasn't a good kisser. But his bathroom was beautiful. She put her hands up to his shoulders and pushed him back a bit.
"No, I don't," she demurred. "I'm in the middle of cooking, and I still have some emails to deal with for Mr Haveland-"
At the name, Troy stepped back with a look of disgust. "God, Marcie, Mister Haveland. It's always Mister Haveland. Mister Haveland needs you at 5am, Mister Haveland says you have to go get him stuff in the middle of our dates, Mister Haveland has to make sure you do everything perfectly."
"Well he is my boss, Troy, it is my job!" Marcella fired back, hands on her hips. Troy made a face at her and threw up his hands.
"Why don't you just marry him if you want to be with him that much?"
"I'm a professional, or you'd be gone in a hot minute," she snarked back. There was silence between them for a few minutes. She went back to preparing the wok on the stovetop, but when she turned back, Troy was looking at her with a shit-eating smirk on his face. Her work phone was in his hand, held over the garbage disposal between two fingers. She took half a step forward, hand out.
"Ah-ah-ah. You want your precious Mister Haveland back, you have to do something for me." He glanced downward significantly.
How had she ever found this man attractive? It couldn't just be the passing resemblance to Zac Efron, which as she looked now, they really were nothing alike. He was always trying to push her boundaries, pressure her into doing things she wasn't comfortable doing. But the apartment... the views over the city... She clenched her fists and dropped to her knees in front of him, even though in the mood she was in she'd happily bite his dick in half. He just looked smug at exerting power over her, and ruined her hair by pulling on it excessively and making her gag. When he was done, she spat aggressively into the sink, rinsed her mouth, and snatched back her phone.
"You know I hate doing that."
"So you say, babe, and yet you keep coming back for more. How about I even let you call me Mister Haveland later on to say sorry." He was trying to schmooze into her ear, and she shoved him back.
"Fuck. OFF." It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and at least Troy looked surprised. "Don't fucking touch me for the rest of the night. God, you're an asshole."
"Don't get your panties in a bunch. Fucking bitch." He stomped off back to the sofa to ignore her while she finished cooking.
She let him fuck her later anyway, because his bed was beautiful and soft and hers was saggy and uneven, even if there was nobody in it trying to "accidentally" slip into the wrong hole.