My mind is a little scrambled. My husband was flirting with me. I didn’t imagine it. He was definitely flirting with me. We may have also reached an unspoken agreement that we will have sex when I get back to his office.
We had sex in there last night. Was it only last night? It feels like an age ago. I’m wearing pretty underwear today, but it’s not the same sexy lingerie I was wearing last time. I hope he isn’t disappointed by that. From now on, I think I will always wear sexy lingerie when I come here, just in case.
I enter the first door not designated a dressing room or a restroom, hoping it might be a storeroom. It’s a kitchenette. A fancy one, with a large, industrial-sized stainless steel refrigerator and stainless steel counters. The smell of coffee wafts around the room from an expensive-looking coffee machine mounted on one of the countertops.
The petite blonde standing at the coffee maker turns around as the door swings shut behind me.
“Sorry,” I blurt out. “I was looking for a storeroom.”
She raises an eyebrow, looking around pointedly before turning her gaze back to me. “This isn’t it.”
A flush crosses my face, and she looks contrite, her eyes dipping to my hands.
“That looks painful. What happened?”
“Car accident.”
“Ouch,” she winces cheerfully. “I don’t drive, so I’ve never had to worry about that. Did you want a coffee before you continue your search for a storeroom?”
“I’d love one.”
She nods, grabbing a second mug out of one of the hanging cabinets. “I’m Fiona Clatham. I’m a stripper.”
“I’m Tiggy Fitzpatrick. I’m -.”
“Seamus Fitzpatrick’s new wife.”
“Yeah. Her.”
Fiona nods, smiling at me as she slides the mug across the countertop. I open the fridge to fetch the cream, pouring some in and replacing it. Fiona is leaning against the counter, sipping her coffee and studying me over the rim of the mug.
“Do I have something on my face?”
“You’re the first mob wife I’ve seen in here. Shit. Sorry! Am I allowed to call you that?”
“What? A mob wife? Probably not, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She grins with gratitude, nodding as she changes the topic to Oracle.
“I’ve worked here for almost a year, so I can show you around when you finish your coffee. I’ll introduce you to Mellie. She’s the private lounge bartender. She can show you all the stocktake stuff. That’s normally something she does.”
“Thanks. I’d really appreciate any help I can get. I may have promised Seamus I would do an amazing job.”
“What do you get if you do an amazing job?” Fiona stares at me, her eyebrows shooting up as my cheeks turn red. She smirks, giggling and taking a sip of her coffee. “Oh. Well, let’s get you introduced to Mellie so you can earn your reward.”
Fiona quickly stacks our mugs into the industrial dishwasher, waving me out of the room and along the corridor.
“Those are the two storerooms, by the way.” She points to two doors across the kitchen and the dressing room. “What did you do before you got married to Seamus?”
I glance over at her as she opens the door into the private bar, gesturing for me to walk through.
“Oh, I was a social worker. Mainly Roxbury, a little bit in Dot.”
Fiona wrinkles her nose, shakes her head slightly, and sighs. “I see how it is. You sucked me in and made me like you before I knew all the sordid facts.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and she grins at me, waggling her eyebrows. Despite her playful attitude, I think she may have only been half-joking. I wonder what it is about social workers that has her so up in arms.
Chapter Eleven