Wanting the Man - Book cover

Wanting the Man

Maree O'Brien

Chapter 4 - Errors in Judgement

The ding of a message arriving surprised her. In contradiction to her personal email account, her work account had been silent and empty. She was starting to think there was a problem with it.

On any typical day, it had a steady stream of interoffice communication and external correspondence. But since Wednesday, it had been barren.

If it had not been for the file Mr. Wood sent her, she would have presumed that it was deactivated by IT. She wondered, as another theory, if Mrs. Windsor in HR was screening her emails.

She clicked on the envelope icon. It might be another abrupt note from Mr. Wood.

Her heart nearly did flip flops when she saw the first email, but his unfriendly and straight to the point manner had it drop like a stone. But this new message was not from Mr. Wood. It was from Jill.

With unsteady hands, she looked at the dark line of text. The subject line was blank. Should she open it? What if it wasn’t nice?

So her personal email was overflowing with unpleasant notes and everyone she knew sneered at her, but she couldn’t handle Jill belittling her as well. That would be too much.

Maybe it would be better to leave it unread and pretend she didn’t see it.

She switched back to the spreadsheet she was working on. Andrea tapped her fingers on the keyboard without pressing hard enough to type.

Switching to the mouse, she flipped over to a different sheet and scrolled up and down without finding anything. What was she looking for?

That’s right, these sale figures looked too high and there was something off about the expense figures too. The turnover was correct, but the figures that made it up puzzled her.

Maybe it was the email distracting her from her task.

That was probable as no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the overheads, her eyes kept drifting down to that small envelope glowing on the bottom of her screen.

She wasn’t going to get any work done this way. She took a deep breath, reopened the mail and, before she could talk herself out of it, clicked on the unread message.

‘We need to talk. This is out of control. Meet me at ESB at 9 p.m. tonight. Don’t reply, will tell you all later. J’

Andrea read the brief message several times before she closed it. It didn’t make sense. Jill was a very verbose person. She couldn’t write short sentences.

But this had come from Jill’s email account and she did refer to ‘ESB’—East Street Bar—a little off the track bar that Jill had spoken of before.

But why the secrecy and why didn’t she want her to reply?

Only after checking the figures several times, given how distracted she was, she printed the report. She gave a simple prayer as she stood at his door. This had taken longer than it should have.

The email had unsettled her and some of the figures still struck her as odd. But she had the information that he had requested and had highlighted several things that needed investigation.

“Yes,” he didn’t look up to see who had tapped on the door. “What is it?”

“The turnover projections, Mr. Wood,” she took a step forward while holding out the report.

“Just drop it on the desk,” he still didn’t look up from what he was doing.

Taking small steps, she edged to the desk and placed her paperwork on the uncluttered corner before she turned to leave.

“Did you see Tom?” he muttered under his breath.

She turned back to him, not sure if this was the start of a conversation or just a yes/no question.

“Yes,” the uncertainty was clear in her voice.

When he didn’t say anything else, she flushed, bit her lip, and swung back to the door in an attempt to escape with some dignity intact.

“Is everything OK?” he added.

She twisted back to him and stood silently. What was she supposed to say to that? If she answered with a sociably acceptable ‘Yes, it’s fine’ response, she would be lying.

But if she said no, where would she start explaining how ‘not all right’ things were?

He growled a huffed breath, “I’m just asking if Tom, I mean, Dr. Layton was professional. Did he say anything I should know about?”

He looked uncomfortable. She watched him squirm and wondered what brought this on. He never looked anything less than calm and confident. This emotion didn’t suit him.

“He was really nice,” she shuffled her feet searching for something else to say to ease his discomfort. Was he asking about the test results? That seemed unlikely but what else could he be asking for? “He did some tests.”

“That’s fine Miss O’Neil,” his voice cut across her whisper. “I don’t need to know your private business. He’s an old friend and I just wanted to make sure he didn’t fill your head with stories about our misspent youth.”

“Oh,” the disappointment was too obvious in her voice.

“Of course, if you need time off work or counseling that can be arranged,” he cringed and looked away.

She turned slowly back to the door, confused and hurt.

“But I don’t recommend it,” his voice had her stop again, this time she didn’t turn to him, “If you start running it’s very hard to stop. Keep busy Miss O’Neil, that’s the only advice I can give you.”

She swung to see his face. The voice sounded like him but the words didn’t sound like they came from him. He was working on his computer again.

He didn’t look up or explain himself, but she could see his unease in his tensed shoulders and the way his movements weren’t fluid but instead were short and sharp. What was that all about?

This time when she turned back to the door, he stayed silent, and the only sound that followed her out of his office was the clicking of his fingers moving on the keyboard.

She dropped to her desk even more confused than ever. This whole situation was messing with her head. Nothing made sense anymore.

She looked at the email again. Maybe Jill knew something that would make this all clear. She seemed to be implying that she had some information that would help Andrea.

But why was she being so cryptic? There was only one way to find out. She made an impulsive decision—she would go. She would be there at nine tonight, and she would find out what Jill had to say.

Her instincts might be screaming at her to avoid any place that served alcohol like the plague, but she had to trust Jill. She had to risk it.

She waited until everyone had left and then took the fire escape again. She kept her head down and didn’t look at the building entrance.

If there was another group of men waiting, she didn’t want to give them any reason to notice her. She took no detours and kept her eyes downwards the whole way home.

Her doubts were mounting as she closed the door and pulled off her hat. There were too many ‘what-ifs’ and the benefits weren’t clear. What if she went and found out nothing?

She dropped to the sofa and cradled her head. If she found out nothing, it would still be worth it. Jill was the only friend she had left and she would walk over broken glass to keep her.

If Jill asked her to do this, then she had to do it.

With that in the forefront of her mind, she got ready. She needed a disguise but she couldn’t wear a discount dress-mart number.

The bouncer on the door wouldn’t let her near the place looking like this! She had to look good but just not too good.

She let her hair down and pulled the curling iron from its cardboard box. Her mother had given it to her one Christmas many years ago and it had never seen the light of day.

After reading the instructions, she set her hair until it was a mass of tight spiral curls. It took ages but it looked different.

Then she pulled on a pair of dark tight jeans and paired them with a loose but long blue shirt that had a thick woven belt at the waist.

Its neckline was a deep ‘V’ shape and after experimenting with brooches and pins, she found that she couldn’t alter it without it looking strange.

So she added a large paste stone and dark metal necklace and left it as it was. All she needed was a pair of OK-to-run-in high-heel shoes.

With her clothing sorted, she touched up her dark eyeliner and brick-red lips. It wasn’t a look she would normally go for and she wasn’t sure if it was enough.

After all, the majority of people wouldn’t recognize her by what she wore; most knew her by what she wasn’t wearing.

She took a large bag packed with pepper spray, a heavy wooden ornament that was gathering dust in her bookcase, and a fully charged mobile phone.

She had thought of packing a letter opener or a knife but decided that, if searched, she would be caught carrying concealed weapons and being arrested wouldn’t help matters.

Instead, she pushed every ring she owned onto her fingers and said a quick prayer to any deity who would listen as she walked out her door.

Somewhere she had read that if you walk quickly with purpose, you are less likely to be a target of pickpockets.

She knew this wasn’t the same, but if pickpockets left her alone, then maybe everyone else would too.

The town was busy with people celebrating the end of the working week; however, it was early in the evening.

So, other than a few easy-to-avoid drunks, most people were too busy getting to where they were going to notice her.

Jill had tried to get her to come to this bar before. She had gone on and on about its rustic charm and genuine atmosphere.

As Andrea looked up at the small sign on the otherwise blank brick wall, she did wonder if she was at the right place. This didn’t look anything like the bar Jill spoke of.

Maybe there were two East Street Bars. Or, it was possible that Jill had meant something other than the East Street Bar.

Maybe ESB stood for the eastern side of the boardwalk, the entrance to South Ballpark, or maybe an extra side of bacon. But she was here now and she’d come this far.

She had to follow this through now.

At least the bar was in the good side of town and the bouncer was well dressed and wasn’t covered in tattoos and piercings. That was a good sign, right?

With no line outside, the bouncer nodded her in straight away and she headed to a small table furthest from the DJ booth.

Most of the clientele were clustered around the bar and were dressed in business suits or tight dresses.

The bar was sophisticated with heritage colors and pictures of racing yachts flying through the water were dotted around the walls. It was a classy place.

Andrea wondered if she was underdressed but at least she wasn’t wearing the polyester floral number with no visible waistline that was left in the plastic bag next to her front door.

She looked for Jill while she questioned whether she should go to the bar to get a glass of water, having something to hold would make her feel more confident. She decided just to wait.

It wasn’t late and she wasn’t sure that she had it in her to make it all the way to the bar. Something about being in this sort of place set her on edge and made her feel nauseous.

To calm herself she concentrated on the dark stained wood grain on the table and followed Mr. Wood’s advice. There was something in those sale numbers that just didn’t sit right with her.

Any other day the problem would jump out at her and she wouldn’t be sitting here trying to work it out.

Thinking about work, when it only highlighted how much this was impairing her ability to function, didn’t help much.

Jill was still nowhere to be seen and time was ticking by, slowly as she waited. It was nine thirty p.m. when she seriously started to question whether she was at the wrong venue.

Andrea checked her phone again, for the millionth time, when something landed on her table.

“See, I told you Sam,” the voice belonged to a tall man with dirty blonde hair and a smile that didn’t reach his intense eyes, “The lady is sitting here without a drink. That’s just not on.”

“So she is,” his friend with the dark straight and long hair said. They were both wearing suits and the second guy’s hair fell into his eyes. “That’s just wrong. I’m Sam and this is Archie and we are here to save you from drink-less-ness and utter boredom.”

“Yes, Sam and I are here to do the superhero thing and save you from this horrible predicament,” Archie pushed the drink towards her. It was amber brown with spheres of carbonation sticking to the glass. “We bring beer.”

“Thanks,” Andrea tried to sit a little taller, “I appreciate it but I’m waiting for a friend.”

“I’m friendly,” Archie said while nodding, “I’ve been told I’m very friendly. I could be your friend.”

“I’m much friendlier than you,” Sam elbowed Archie, “And I paid for the beer which proves it.”

“Look guys, thank you but no thanks,” she pulled her bag close, “I’m waiting for someone I know and I’m not in the mood for company.”

“I don’t think the lady likes beer, Sam. I think we should’ve gone with my plan and got one of those fancy cocktails.”

“Your plan was stupid,” Sam huffed. Then he looked up and shrugged, “We’re sorry we’re bothering you. Keep the drink as an apology. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Andrea,” she answered without thinking.

“Well, Andrea,” Sam stuck out his hand, “It’s been nice talking to you. I hope you have a good evening.”

“My plan was not stupid,” Archie muttered, “Enjoy the drink, and if you change your mind, we’ll be at the bar.”

Andrea let out the breath she had been holding and released her bag from the death grip her fingers had on it. They were just ordinary guys being nice. This whole thing was changing her.

If that had happened earlier in the week, she would have invited those guys to join her while she waited for Jill. She wouldn’t have been afraid of them.

There would have been no blinding panic that they had ulterior motives. No, she just would have been happy to banter with them.

Had she lost her innocence? Or was she just a little less naive? Maybe it was just that she was less gullible?

Whichever way you looked at it, she wasn’t the same girl she was at the start of the week. A wall existed where once there was an open gate.

She looked around the room and recognized that she had adopted an automatic assumption that all people meant bad things to her.

Would it wear off, or would she always be jaded and cynical due to this one devastating experience? Would she never get over this? Would she ever truly trust anyone ever again?

She couldn’t answer any of these questions. She sighed and figured that only time would tell.

That’s when one overriding question sprang to mind—did she like this new Andrea?

If this was the new her, if this was now things were going to be from now on, could she live with this version of herself? She honestly didn’t know.

It was getting late, and Jill still wasn’t here. She looked at the drink on the table.

It would feel good to have her fidgeting hands holding something, but she still couldn’t bring herself to touch the glass. It represented too much pain and heartbreak. Alcohol had done this to her.

Those traitorous drinks had caused her inhibitions to vanish and reason to surrender to madness.

No matter who was with her, if she had been sober, nothing anyone could say or do would have made her do those things. It was alcohol’s fault, and she had no intentions of ever touching the stuff again.

She looked up and caught Archie watching her. She flashed a polite smile but looked away towards the door. Where was Jill? She hated meeting Jill anywhere.

It was easier for them to go together as Jill often got distracted and forgot the time.

“Not meaning to bother you again,” Sam was back, “You’re not drinking? I feel bad. Can I get you something else?”

“Thanks, Sam. I’m all right. I just don’t feel like drinking at the moment.”

“That’s no good, no good at all,” he frowned and turned to say something to Archie. He was smiling again when he turned back to her, “We can’t have you sitting here all sad. I think finding your friend would put a smile on that face. How about we help?”

“No, I don’t...” she started to say.

“It’s no bother at all. I insist. Have you looked out the back?”

“Out the back?”

“There’s a small garden bar out the back, didn’t you know?”

“No,” she looked around the room for a sign or any indication that the bar extended outdoors.

“Yeah, it’s new,” Archie added. “Come with us, we’ll show you.”

She hesitated. What was she waiting for? These guys were only trying to help. They had done everything right so far. So why was she still expecting the worst?

“Come on Andrea,” Sam nodded towards the back, “It’s just out here.”

She was still uncertain but she was off her chair and, with her bag clutched to her, she followed.

Her eyes darted around, expecting someone or something to jump out at her from somewhere hidden, but her feet stumbled forward.

With Sam leading the way they went down a passageway between the toilets to a dark door. She turned to look back to the bar but Archie was behind her blocking the way.

“This isn’t right,” her eyes were wide and she was feeling sick.

“Nah, this is perfect,” Archie laughed, “Told you my plan wasn’t stupid.”

“Plan?” she stuttered.

“Archie and I just want you to come and have some fun with us, that’s all Andrea,” Sam smiled but his eyes weren’t showing any humour.

“You’ve got the wrong person,” her eyes flew to where people were still drinking at the bar. She could just see them from behind Archie but they seemed oblivious to her situation.

“Nope,” Archie grinned and he pulled one of her curls so it sprang back, “You’re her alright. I’ve seen it so many times that I would recognize you anywhere. I’m betting that if I rip that blue blouse off you I’ll find that crescent-shaped scar right here.”

She backed away and gasped as he brought his hand to the place where her skin was marked.

“Leave me alone,” Andrea was fighting the zip on her bag, desperate to get to the pepper spray or anything that might help her. Then her bag was gone, ripped from her leaving her hands grasping at nothing.

“Don’t be like that,” Sam laughed. “We just want you to dance for us. You can call us Mr. Wood if you want. Hey, I’m woody just thinking about it.”

“Don’t touch me,” Andrea fought his tight hold of her. “I’m waiting for a friend. Let me go. I’m going to scream.”

“If you want to be like that we can go back to my place,” Archie chuckled but the sound was cold, “Because if you start hollering here and you’re going to draw attention to yourself. Then we’re going to have a queue forming. It doesn’t worry Sam and I, because we’re first, but despite their fine clothing these guys aren’t gentlemen. You might not want them vying for your attention.”

“Going back to your place wasn’t part of the plan,” Sam growled.

“Let me go!” Andrea hissed. Something in Archie’s cruel words struck home to her. She was starting to question if the people at the bar would help her or would they think she was enjoying this? If they assumed that her personality was that of the woman on the internet, then they might not intervene.

“Don’t pretend that you don’t love this,” Archie sneered, confirming her suspicions. “We’ve all seen your act on the computer. You’re a naughty girl. It’s clear you appreciate a firm man who takes control. You’re going to enjoy every second of what Sam and I have planned for you.”

“I’m getting impatient. Too much chit-chat, not enough action. Shall we have our fun here or go out into the alley?”

“Let’s go outside, more room,” Archie had her by the wrists, and her struggling was doing little more than giving her bruises. “See, I told you the drugs were a waste of money. She’s the type who wants it rough. Now get that door open and let’s get down to business.”

He pushed the bar down on the emergency exit door, and that triggered a memory.

She screamed as loud as she could, but not a shriek. Instead, she yelled, “Fire!” Then she elbowed Archie, who was trying to push her out of the building, and shouted it again at the bar area. People were starting to turn. The red flashing light helped too.

She’d read it in the newspaper that clubs had to have their fire escapes unlocked for safety reasons, in case there was a genuine fire, but instead they alarmed them.

So if the door was opened or misused, the alarm would be triggered, and their security team was immediately informed.

If she could fight these guys off for long enough, then the security guards would have to come to her rescue.

They would have to stop Sam and Archie, no matter what their personal opinion was of her promiscuity.

She was waving her arms, fighting to get past Archie and screaming ‘fire’ when Sam grabbed her by the hair and dragged her backwards out the now open door.

She couldn’t stop the screams now, and they were actual screams.

One of her hands went up to where her hair was being pulled and tried to claw at the hand which was ripping a clump of her scalp out, and the other flailed as she lost her balance.

She fell. This is it, she thought, this is how I die.

Two hands of steel wrapped around her, but instead of holding her up, they controlled her fall and tightened once they reached her knees. She was horizontal.

One end was held up by the hand in her hair, and the other by the rough hands holding her knees apart. There was a man between her legs.

In spite of the pain searing through her head, she fought. It hurt more, but she wasn’t going to let them do that to her.

Somewhere through the pain, she knew that she was outside the building. She knew she was screaming and crying, but all she could feel was the pain.

She knew she was going to die, but if that took away the agony, then she was OK with death. She wanted to give in. She didn’t want to be the type of girl that men thought those things about.

She couldn’t go through her life with people pointing, whispering, and staring. It wasn’t the life she wanted. Maybe Sam and Archie were doing her a favor. This might be for the best.

“What the hell is going on?” a harsh voice yelled. “Put the lady down. I’ve already called the police.”

There was more pain as the holds that gripped her tightened as they stopped. She heard the wail of a siren over the top of the whimper that left her own mouth.

“Put her down,” the voice said again.

Someone behind her swore loudly and said something that was lost to her. Then the hands that carried her disappeared.

They released her, and the pain turned to throbbing as she seemed to float, suspended for a millisecond above the pavement. Somewhere, she heard feet running in all directions.

Her hands flew outwards, circling. Then, as if the strings that held her in place were all cut, she dropped downwards. A combination of fear and pain dulled her reaction time.

She meant to break her fall, but her hands didn’t cooperate. Her head hit the asphalt with a thud, and a blinding pain invaded her before everything faded to black.

Next chapter
Rated 4.4 of 5 on the App Store
82.5K Ratings
Galatea logo

Unlimited books, immersive experiences.

Galatea FacebookGalatea InstagramGalatea TikTok