Hunter and Morgan: Gatecrasher Page 7

  "Hmm," said Caleb. Morgan guessed he was thinking about a lot more than closure, but now wasn't the time for him to argue about that either.

  "Just make sure it's what you want," he said diplomatically.

  "Who knows what I want?" Caleb slumped against Morgan's shoulder and waved his glass of water, sloshing a fair bit of it on the sofa. "Who knows?"

  Fair comment, thought Morgan.

  Monday morning dawned with its usual quiet inevitability. Morgan showered and dressed, noting that he'd forgotten to do laundry over the weekend. It probably wouldn't have been worth trying: Caleb had spent most of Saturday looking wan on the couch and would not have welcomed the whine of the spin cycle. Sunday had been hot enough to shove them both off the couch to go and sit in the Folk Café for the afternoon. The music was a bit depressing, but the air conditioning was fabulous.

  He stuck a load of shirts and underwear into the washing machine and set out for work. Move-U was still there, sadly not visited by bailiffs or stolen by fairies over the weekend. Mark and Wendy were sitting at their desks, talking about Mark's long weekend at a friend's wedding. This time next week the woman Morgan was providing cover for would be here instead of him, and they'd all be talking about her holidays.

  "Usual drill, Morgan," said Wendy. "Clean the window first."

  A please wouldn't have gone amiss.

  "Fair warning," Mark said. "It's gruesome."

  Morgan filled his bucket with water and detergent with a sense of dread. What would it be this time? Homophobia? Racism? Chewing gum?

  He sighed, snagged the alcohol spray and headed out to the window display.

  The stench hit him before he took in what he was seeing. There was a stream of cocktail-stained vomit mostly dried on to the window and below it a puddle of piss. It must be recent, probably the early hours of Monday morning, not to have evaporated by now.

  Morgan stood there for a moment, fighting his body's urge to add his own breakfast to the whole mess. As the nausea waned, pure, white-hot anger surged up in its place. The kind that came with power. Fast and elemental. Dangerous. Morgan put his bucket and spray down with shaking hands and walked up the street, away from Move-U and the mess and the stink. He found a patch of grass with a couple of benches on it by some kind of war memorial and sat there. He closed his eyes. If he could just breathe, connect with the deepest part of himself, the part that just went on breathing and living whatever else was happening, the part that could see emotion and magic and humiliation come and go and come and go without stopping - if he could do that, he'd be okay.

  Morgan's breaths lengthened, his heartbeat slowed and his magic subsided. He was still angry. But he was in control.

  He took another couple of minutes to make sure everything was stable, and then he went back to the shop. He took his bucket and spray and walked past Wendy and Mark to the cleaning cupboard. He emptied the bucket, dried it, and set it back on the shelf. He took off his apron and hung it up on the hook. He didn't listen to the sniggering that was going on in the office.

  He went to his desk, aware they were watching his every move, and took out the few personal items that he'd kept there: a Kit-Kat, a packet of paracetamol, a clothes repair kit, his own personal stapler with his name on it, and a spare phone charger. He put them in his rucksack, hitched it on his shoulder, and went to Wendy's desk. He put his keycard for the photocopier on the top of her overflowing in tray. "It's been a pleasure," he said. He nodded to Wendy and to Mark. "All the best."

  "You can't just go," said Wendy.

  "Yes. I can."

  "Your contract–"

  "Does not include cleaning."

  "It's part of the job. We all do it."

  "Great. You won't miss me, then. I must have taken everyone's turn over the past week."

  "It's not the same for you. You could just…" Wendy mimed what Morgan presumed, to his horror, was supposed to be someone casting a spell. "Magic it clean."

  How the hell did she know he was majos?

  "Well?" said Wendy. "Why don't you? What's the point of having it if you don't use it?"

  Morgan left Move-U before she got a first hand demonstration.

  Over the walk from Move-U to the station, Morgan focused on not thinking of anything. He caught a train straight away to the centre of town, where Pearl's agency was. He felt deliciously, dangerously calm. He held the (very clean) glass door to Oyster Recruitment open for a tall man in a grey suit who was on his way out. He smiled politely at him and got a beaming smile in return. And a lingering glance.

  He walked through the enquiries area, which was thronging with potential recruits, past the break area and the toilets to the office at the back. The wall was half-glass and the blinds were up so he could see Pearl was alone. He knocked once and went right in.

  Pearl looked up from her desk. Her generous curves were poured into a blue, white and orange dress that somehow gave an air of no-nonsense professionalism. Her hair was relaxed, glossy, caught at the neck in a large mother-of-pearl barrette, smoothed and polished within an inch of its life. She wore no make-up other than a smooth swipe of purple over each eyelid. There was something motherly about Pearl: perhaps her ample bosom, or her loud, joyous laugh. But people underestimated her at their peril. There was steel in those big, dark eyes. And she was directing them at Morgan right now.

  "How the fuck did Move-U know I'm majos?" Morgan said. It wasn't what he'd intended to say; he'd spent the whole journey here persuading himself it wasn't the most productive thing to lead with. But it just slipped out anyway.

  "Well, good morning to you, too, Mr Kerry. Will you take a seat?"

  Pearl indicated the seat in front of her desk, and without even thinking about it, Morgan sat.

  "Now, young man, if you would like to start from the beginning?"

  One 'Mr Kerry' and a 'young man' and he'd only said one sentence. This was not going the way he planned.

  "I think I'm within my rights to ask." Morgan muttered.

  "I have no idea how they discovered that. I can assure you, it did not come from me. However, it is becoming very common these days for HR departments to run their own background checks."

  Oh. Oh, shit. Of course.

  "It's not illegal," she said. "But you know, if it's not in your contract, you don't have to use your talent as part of your job."

  "I know. It's just…" Morgan sighed. "They made me clean the window."

  It sounded so pathetic, once he said it out loud. Petty and ridiculous.

  He could feel Pearl's eyes burning into him.

  "They did whatnow, boy?"

  He told her, in accurate and humiliating detail, what had happened. It sounded more pathetic with every word he uttered. He'd dealt with worse, after all. The real reason he'd quit - the only reason - was that he'd been scared witless that one petty incident had aroused his magic so fast, so powerfully that he'd almost lost control. He finished, "I'll take the penalty for non-completion."

  "Wait one moment."

  Morgan waited with a sense of growing dread as Pearl picked up the phone. Her large, gold hoop earrings glinted at him.

  She dialled. He heard the ringing, a click, a sing-song 'Move-U HR department, how may I-'

  And then Pearl laid into them. Morgan sat there, eyes going wider and wider as she released a string of invective so powerful, so deadly calm and professional that he quaked on behalf of the person at the other end. There were words like 'degrading', 'unsanitary' and 'breach of client trust'. She ended with a devastating, 'Oyster Recruitment will be unable to provide you with staff in the future without a reassurance in writing that this will not be repeated,' and set the phone back in its cradle.

  "Oh," said Morgan. "Thank you."

  Pearl sighed. "You should have come to me earlier, child."

  Great. He'd gone from 'young man' to 'boy' to 'child' in the space of ten minutes. But on the whole, he'd rather Pearl feel sorry for him than be mad at him.

  "I didn't want
to make a fuss," Morgan said.

  "Fortunately for you, I love making a fuss. Administrators are not cleaners. Now, what are we gonna do with you for the rest of the week, huh?"

  "I meant it. I'll take the penalty."

  "Ah, stop it with the martyr face, Morgan. As it happens I have one client who has been begging for a repeat visit. Won't have anybody else."

  Morgan frowned. He was pretty good at his job, but then so was everyone else at Oyster. Pearl wouldn't have it any other way. Who had he impressed so much they'd want him back? The bank from last month? That had been pretty sweet. Or the solicitors? Or… Oh. Oh no.

  Pearl tapped a key on her keyboard and the printer made a discreet 'beep' and started to smoothly roll out a letter-headed document. A contract.

  "Hunter," Morgan said, dully.

  "The very same. You impressed him."

  "I checked the not preferred box."

  "And I just got you out of washing sick off a window."

  "But the job was done. And, just so you know, that was mostly cleaning, too. His office was a wreck."

  She went very still. Oh no.

  "He hired you for office clear out and organisation. Did he not?"

  "Yes, Pearl."

  "Was there any sick?"

  "No, Pearl."

  "Pee?"

  "No."

  "Other unsanitary human or animal fluids?"

  "No. I'm sorry. I'm just… Upset. I'll do data entry, call centre, anything. Please. He probably forgot how the system worked, I did tell him and–"

  "Enough, Morgan. He doesn't want you for filing. He wants you as a PA. He paid on time and you impressed him so much he wants to give you a three month contract. Sign here. And stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's not very attractive."

  It was on the tip of Morgan's tongue to say that the guy he'd held the door open for earlier had thought otherwise, but he kept quiet. There would be no talking Pearl out of this without a lie, and Morgan was rubbish at lying. Besides, Hunter might have been a dirty cheater but he wasn't a bad employer. He didn't deserve the chewing out Pearl had just given Move-U. Except possibly by his boyfriend.

  There was only one thing for it. He'd have to talk to Hunter and explain why he didn't want to work there or have anything to do with him ever again. Then Hunter would cancel the contract, Pearl would put Morgan on call centres for the rest of his life, and he could just crawl into a ditch and die.

  "Sorry. Thanks," Morgan said and signed.

  Chapter Eight

  Morgan got to Hunter PI to find the downstairs door ajar. A workman was peering into the guts of the buzzer mechanism. Morgan jogged up the stairs to the top and knocked on the glass-panelled door before opening it.

  Hunter was sitting at his huge, gorgeous desk, looking into a shoebox. He didn't have the sling anymore.

  Morgan rapped on the door again, and this time Hunter looked up.

  He smiled, broadly, eyes sparkling, and got to his feet. "Morgan! Pearl said you were working at some Estate Agents."

  "I was. I'm not anymore."

  He moved into the room, trailing his index finger along the curved reception desk inside the door. The office was just as he'd left it. Clean and tidy. There were a few more things on Hunter's desk: a laptop (MacBook Pro), a coffee cup on a coaster. A leather desk-tidy. All perfect and tasteful, and just what Morgan had imagined.

  "It's good to see you again." Hunter held out his hand.

  Morgan shook it. It was warm and strong and sent tingles up his arm. Oh dear. He'd been telling himself he was over Hunter by now. Clearly he'd been a bit optimistic about that.

  "I take it that the fact that you're here means you're willing to accept my offer," Hunter said.

  "Pearl said you wanted a PA. For three months."

  "Yes. I've been subcontracted by West Yorkshire Police to help out with a project. It's highly confidential. Not pretty. And it's a lot more work, on top of the caseload I already had. I need someone who can hit the ground running and understand what the work is. You showed a lot of promise, you know, in the short time you were here."

  Morgan felt a little glow of pride. "You mean, you want me to help you with investigations?"

  "Yes. Don't get me wrong, there will be a ton of paperwork to deal with. I was a police officer for nearly a decade; I can tell you the bureaucracy is a nightmare. But it would be great to have a fresh pair of eyes, someone to talk things over with. And there's tasks I could delegate." He smirked. "The boring stuff, you know. Desk research. Endless Googling. Reading through phone records - believe me, they're never as juicy as you expect."

  Morgan let himself imagine it. Working here. Investigating. Helping people. Solving mysteries.

  "So, will you?" Hunter asked. His voice and expression had lost all of their edge: his eyes were practically begging him. Morgan imagined them begging for him to do something else, and sighed.

  "There's one thing I need to clear up first," Morgan said. Because okay, yes, he was going to take the job. Not for Hunter, not for Pearl, but for the little thrill of excitement he'd got at the thought of helping with detective work. Apparently he'd discovered a soft spot for a vocation he'd never even considered before. But he couldn't cope with anymore misunderstandings between them. "What happened at the train station that night."

  "Ah," said Hunter. "That."

  "I know it was one of those impulsive, spur of the moment things," Morgan said. "And that you didn't mean anything by it–"

  "Actually–"

  "– and I enjoyed it. I did."

  "You did? But–"

  "Of course I did. You're very… But there's some things I won't go along with, and cheating is one of them. My therapist says I have impossibly high standards of loyalty and a shit ton of abandonment issues because my father left my mother for another woman. I don't know, my therapist says a lot of things. But. Anyway. I don't do cheating. So you're off limits. And honestly, that's probably for the best, if we're going to be working together for a while, anyway, because you're very… I did like you. And Pearl is quite insistent on the no fraternisation clause."

  "Is that why you got all stroppy with me? Because you had a boyfriend? Is it Caleb?"

  "Caleb? No! No, not me. You." Morgan licked suddenly-dry lips. "You and Peter."

  "My ex, Peter?"

  "Your… Ex. Oh."

  "How on earth did you get the idea I… How do you even know about him?"

  "He rang. The day you were hurt. He said he was your next of kin."

  "Jesus wept. No, Morgan. I haven't been with Peter for a year and a half. I just don't keep my records up to date. They went onto my phone while I was unconscious, to see who to contact. He's a friend, but that's all. He was fucking annoyed with me, if you must know. I'm free. Single. And I thought maybe…"

  Morgan blinked a few times, letting the newly-arranged world settle into place around him. The world in which Hunter hadn't cheated on anyone. Where they had, in fact, both been free to do whatever they pleased with each other.

  But they hadn't. Because Morgan was a complete and utter idiot. For fuck's sake. The chance had slipped through his open, stupid fingers. Yeah. Attachment issues. Ms Rosero would have a field day with this.

  Hunter got up and came around the desk in slow, prowly steps. "This thing about Pearl," he said. "How strict?"

  "You've read the contract," said Morgan, a thread of mournful regret seeping into his voice unbidden. "What d'you think?"

  Hunter scrunched his nose up and tilted his head. "When you say read…"

  "Oh. So you haven't read it?"

  Hunter shook his head. He had one of those eye-twinkling, filthy smirks on his face. Morgan was in serious trouble.

  Hunter took another step, which brought him right up in Morgan's personal space.

  Oh God.

  "You said you like me." Hunter spoke softly. He didn't have to speak very loudly because he was so close Morgan could feel the whisper of his breath over his cheek. And then his ear, a
s Hunter leaned right in and whispered, "I like you, too. I was thinking about that kiss all night."

  "Were you?" Morgan's voice came out as an unmanly sort of squeak.

  "I bet you were, too."

  "Can't say I remember," said Morgan.

  Hunter saw the tease for what it was and chuckled. He threaded his fingers through Morgan's.

  "She's really serious about fraternisation," Morgan said.

  "Don't worry about it," Hunter said.

  "But–"

  "I haven't signed the contract yet."

  Oh. Oh, but…

  Then Hunter's mouth was on his and Morgan's brain shorted out.

  It was soft at first, sort of innocent. But then the tip of Hunter's tongue teased at Morgan's lower lip, and of course Morgan opened his mouth, just a little but it was enough to invite Hunter in, and Hunter didn't need asking twice. He slid his arms around Morgan's waist, pulled him in close, and it was so easy for Morgan to let him, to put his own hands flat on that broad back, feel the muscles shift and ripple as Hunter moved. There were reasons that this was a bad idea: the Pearl thing, the don't-shag-the-boss thing, the fact that Hunter could be really grumpy, especially in the mornings or if he couldn't work things out. But he tasted so good (hints of coffee and peppermint) and he smelled so good (some kind of subtle, clean-smelling aftershave, citrussy shampoo) and he felt absolutely fucking amazing. Hunter was holding him so close there was no way he could ignore Morgan's hard-on as it jabbed him in the hip, mirroring the press of Hunter's own cock against Morgan's thigh. The kiss went deep; Morgan popped the button on Hunter's trousers and slipped his hand inside.

  Hunter gasped.

  "Just once," Morgan whispered. "Before you sign."

  "Are you serious?" Hunter's voice sounded thin and needy, and okay, Morgan had his hand on his cock - and oh, God, it felt warm and thick and Morgan wanted it in his mouth - but, really Hunter's lips were quivering at Morgan's neck. "Just once," he repeated. "Let's make it good, eh?"

  "Oh God," Hunter whined, and fumbled with Morgan's fly. "After the three months, we can talk. Okay?"