Chapter 150
PART VII
150
Rachel
Alistair had always had a thing for me. We’d met seven years before when I’d debriefed him and some of my other bosses on one of my first jobs for MI6.
He probably thought he was being subtle about his intentions, but it was rather obvious. Overly complimentary of my appearance… a few veiled passes, delivered in such a way that he could say he just wanted to discuss work over drinks or a meal…
It made me uncomfortable. He was an Assistant Director of Operations in the Europe Division and was on the fast track for advancement. Although I didn’t report to him directly, he was very much in my chain of command.
Whenever he made one of his attempts, I said I was flattered but that I always kept business and pleasure separate.
Still, he kept trying.
And trying.
And trying.
He wasn’t sleazy or gross about it – just annoyingly persistent. He refused to take a hint.
So when I saw Alistair that first week Lars was visiting, I saw an opportunity to put a final nail in the coffin.
We’d just walked into Nova Casa, the Portuguese place I wanted to show Lars, when I heard a familiar voice.
“Rachel p>
There he was – Mr. Assistant Director of Operations himself.
“Alistair,” I said, surprised and unhappy to see him. “What are you doing here p>
“A few of us came for drinks after work p>
That was one of his ways of trying to get me to go out with him: Let’s have a drink after work.
“I thought you were more a fan of Le Gavroche or Club Gascon,” I said.
Both were extremely expensive restaurants that Alistair had offered to take me to. He was a creature of the moneyed class: an education at Eton and Oxford, with plenty of aristocrats for friends.
“Yes, well, one doesn’t always get to choose,” Alistair said with a smile. A slightly snobbish way of saying, Yes, I would have MUCH preferred to go there.
Then he looked at Lars.
I could see the edge of his mouth quiver the tiniest bit.
Probably his insecurity coming out – although Lars was so gorgeous, he would have made most men insecure.
“And you are…?” Alistair asked.
“I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” I said – even though I wasn’t sorry, and I didn’t care if I was rude. I just wanted to get out of there. “Alistair, this is my friend Lars. Lars, this is Alistair, a colleague of mine p>
I would have introduced Lars as my boyfriend, but I wasn’t sure how he would take that.
On the other hand, he had just told me he loved me an hour before, so I doubt he would have minded.
Maybe I should have introduced him truthfully: Here’s the hottest man I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him – and oh, by the way, he fucks me like a god and gives me earth-shattering orgasms.
THAT probably would have ended Alistair’s little veiled passes for good.
However, a part of me didn’t want to let Lars know exactly how deeply I’d fallen for him…
Just in case.
Self-preservation, I guess.
Lars answered in a friendly voice. “Lars Henriksson p>
Alistair’s mouth twitched again as he shook Lars’s hand. “Alistair Webb. So – you must be why Rachel’s taken a week off from work. How’s the trip so far p>
FUCK.
Alistair had known about that p>
WHY had he known about that p>
He wasn’t my immediate superior. There was no reason for him to know I was on vacation.
The two men chatted about various things – what we’d done so far in London, Lars’s accent – until Alistair asked the one question I didn’t want to answer.
“How did the two of you meet p>
I had brushed Alistair off many times with the excuse that I never mixed business and pleasure; I didn’t want to admit I’d met Lars on my trip to Afghanistan.
So I grabbed his arm and blurted out, “Dating app p>
Lars looked both surprised and amused.
“Oh – how long ago?” Alistair asked.
“A while,” I said curtly.
Alistair gestured towards the bar section of the restaurant. “Well, if the two of you would like to join us for a drink, I’m here with Reginald Blakely and Patricia Leighton – you know both of them, Rachel p>
Two other Oxford alums. Both from money, both in the upper echelons of MI6 management.
I was sure an evening with them would feature lots of gossip about aristocrats – did you hear who Lord Fuckwit is cheating on his wife with? – and which of their trust-fund-baby friends had just returned from the Seychelles.
FUCK no.
I plastered on a fake smile. “Thank you for the invitation, Alistair, but we really must be going p>
“But… you just arrived.” He sounded confused – and a bit petulant, too.
I was annoyed, I was uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to be around him anymore –
So I used the nuclear option. Or at least a very polite version of the nuclear option.
“Yes, well, we’re late for something p>
“What p>
“Sex. Toodle-oo,” I said and dragged Lars with me out of the restaurant.
It was cruel, yes – to so blatantly tell a man who had a crush on me that I was about to go fuck the Viking god I’d just introduced him to.
But it worked.
Alistair completely stopped hitting on me after that, and he never mentioned Lars again.
That is until Lars disappeared.