Page 46 of Tangled Control

I shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t,shouldn’thave done it.

Sleeping with my boss is definitively not part of my career plan.

I’ve become the person I’ve always despised. Well, it’s not like I expect to achieve a promotion from my affair with Rian, but still, I’m ashamed and utterly disappointed in myself. I know that most of this shame comes down to the issue of my dad: that I’m the result of an affair Mum had with her boss.

Her married boss.

It was the usual story of the boss taking advantage of his young employee. At only nineteen, she was overwhelmed by his attention, the gifts and promises. He elevated her position from typist to office clerk, feeding her tales of how she could progress in the company under his guidance, as long as she worked late, behind the locked door of his office. Mum innocently thought it was true love and that this was her Cinderella story, the poor girl from the wrong side of town marrying the king and they would rule the world together. She believed him when he said he would leave his wife, and they would live happily ever after.

Not so much.

When Mum discovered she was pregnant, Dad accused her of tricking him, of getting pregnant on purpose. It all came to a showdown when his wife found out. It became a big scandal. All Mum’s colleagues – her friends – turned their back on her for sleeping her way up the ladder. She was forced to leave her job.

My father dutifully paid minimum child support and still sends me token money for Christmas and birthdays. Over the years, we’ve sporadically spoken on the phone and occasionally met in person. It’s always awkward and lacks sincerity. He’s still married to his wife and has three children, all older than me. I know that seeing me reminds him of his mistakes and regrets.

At one point during my teenage years, I rebelled, challenged my dad and called him all kinds of names. The rebellion was followed by a period of refusing to have anything to do with him.His lack of effort to make things right hurt even more. It wasn’t until my late teens that I finally realised all the resentment I felt towards him only hurt myself. Letting go of the anger would set me free. But it’s easier said than done. You don’t have to be a genius to see that my drive to prove myself is really about proving I’m worthy. Knowing that my dad probably doesn’t love me, knowing that, to him, I’m nothing but a bad conscience he has to deal with, well, it still hurts.

And now history is repeating itself.

The only difference between Mum and me is that for me, there are no dreams or hopes to break – I know it’s only sex between Rian and me – I’ve no starry-eyed illusions of a happily ever after.

“Miss Taylor!”

I groan and stop in my tracks. There’s no doubt who is calling. Not only does his familiar deep voice send unwanted sparks up my spine, but no one else calls me by my last name. With my head tucked down to shield me from the rain that has escalated from drops to a shower, I hadn’t noticed Rian striding up next to me, of course, well prepared with an umbrella in hand.

“Mr Kearney.”

“Where are you headed? Can’t you see it’s raining?”

“I’m just getting a sandwich, and since it’s raining, if you don’t mind, I’ll keep going.”

“Bet you’d love an umbrella…”

I hate his smug face.

“Aren’t you a smartass.” I narrow my eyes, trying to shoot daggers, and he laughs.

“I’ll walk you down.” He holds the umbrella a bit higher to allow me room under it.

“There is no need, Mr Kearney, I can…”

“Stop being ridiculous. I can’t afford for you to get a cold and take sick days just because you’re too stubborn to accept a friendly offer.”

“Fine!”

I huff but step under the umbrella.

“I think…you should have the turkey sandwich with cranberry and goat cheese.” Rian grins down at me as we queue up - Rian has decided to get a sandwich as well.

“A Christmas sandwich in spring?”

“Well, nothing like Christmas to cheer someone up. Maybe it would melt that frown off your face.”

There’s pressure at my lower back - his hand. We stand way too close for me to think straight. I try to hide the hitch in my voice behind a snort. “Well, I think you need to get that stupid smirk offyourface. Why don’t you have blue cheese with pickled onions, gherkins and jalapeno on granary?”

“Fuck.” He huffs and scrunches up his face. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Sounds like something that would be served in one of those fancy Michelin star restaurants that you go to.” I bite my lip to stop a smile.