Once upon a time, Edie James, a short country girl from the South Coast, grew up and accidentally got pregnant by her first boyfriend. She married him, eventually got a job as a PA to a solicitor, had to juggle motherhood, being a wife, working full-time, all while not losing her mind at the same time. Fast forward through her twenties, most of her thirties, to where she is now, twiddling her thumbs at her desk, clock-watching so she can go home, break open a bottle of wine, a bar of Fruit and Nut, and wallow in self-pity. She will no doubt retire to bed at the embarrassing time of nine o’clock, knowing that it’s Valentine’s Day, she’s divorced, and still has an extra half a stone of excess weight to lose, all thanks to Christmas overeating. The bloody Celebrations tub got the better of her when she stupidly believed she could cut herself off after only three chocolates.
And now, Edie, you are talking about yourself in the third person; how much lower can you fall? Where did it all go so horribly wrong? I was meant to meet Prince Charming, be swept off my feet, and live in perpetual happiness and contentment. Instead, the passion fizzled out before my twenty-third birthday, after which we ambled along in comfortable monotony until we eventually came to a rather indistinguishable agreement to end our nuptials, shook hands, and parted ways. The only thing I can take away from my uneventful marriage is my beautiful, amazing, sometimes hormonal teenage daughter, Abi, who is more like a best friend than my child. And yes, people say you can’t be your child’s best friend, but those people are miserable types who belong in a Roald Dahl book as the lead villain.
Did I love Abi’s father? Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps like a pet dog who needed constant attention and reassurance, but like a Chris Hemsworth, rockstar of a man who could literally melt your knickers away with just one smirk? Probably not. We met at university, with him coming from one of the ‘posher’ schools in the area, whereas I came from a school which I had no complaints about but was considered to be at the arse-end of the education system.
Funnily enough, I still came out with better results than him, though I was never to mention this fact. He’d frequently joke that I had managed to marry up the social ladder by getting myself up the duff with his child. He’d then kiss my cheek; everyone would laugh, and I’d secretly picture myself clobbering him over the head with whatever was in reach and would cause the most damage. However, as much of an arsehole I’ve just painted him out to be, I liked Rich. In fact, we’re still friends…of sorts. We had a quick, agreeable divorce and decided to get along for Abi’s sake. He does like to question me on how to keep his current squeeze happy, which is a tad inappropriate, but I just put this down to him being socially retarded.
“Have you got those files for me, Edie?” Nicolas, my rather attractive boss asks with his signature smile and sexy silver hair styled to perfection. And yes, I did find him swoon-worthy and totally eligible for mid-morning sexual fantasies even before my divorce was finalised.
“Of course, Nicolas,” I reply sweetly, then grab hold of said files and proudly deliver them into his outstretched hands; the ones that are still tanned from his recent holiday to the Bahamas. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Tea? Coffee?” A pair of tightly fitted boxers to pose in?
“No, thank you, Edie, it’s almost time for you to go anyway,” he smiles with his brown eyes lingering on mine for a little longer than is normal between a boss and his PA. I feel my cheeks heating with a glow-in-the-dark hue and curse myself for being so obvious with my awkward attraction towards him.
“What is this?”
His serious expression and his gesturing over my desk which is devoid of any sentimental effects, bar my one picture of Abi from ten years ago, has me instantly frowning and secretly crapping myself. Perhaps he can tell that for the last half an hour I’ve been ignoring my recent team meeting notes and have, instead, been looking up how to get out of my mid-life funk.
“Er…?” I reply, no doubt looking like a gormless fish who has forgotten what its role in life is.
“No cards? No flowers?” he asks with theatrical abhorrence, causing me to look even more out of water than before. You’d think by the age of thirty-five years and fifty months old I’d no longer feel like I’m being chastised by my father, but with Nicolas, I always feel significantly unworthy before him. Not only is he taller, sexier, more confident, and ridiculously intelligent with a thick upper-crust accent, but he’s also ten years older than me. In my head, that makes him my superior in every sense of the word. I’m sure if he ordered me to, I’d chain myself up naked before him and let him take me in every which way he could. Being a man, of course, he is still considered fodder for much younger girls than me, ones who can wear lingerie without grimacing in front of the mirror because they’re in serious need of some Bio Oil and a stint at a weight-loss boot camp.
“Edie, it’s Valentine’s Day!” he chuckles, “Surely a single woman like you should have a number of admirers now that you’re no longer chained to someone who obviously didn’t deserve you?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re just lining up around the street waiting for me to get home,” I joke with only a hint of disappointment behind those words. The reality is no other man on the planet would give a flying fig who Edie James is, let alone what her marital status has now become.
“I bet you’re right,” he nods with his customary wink, the ones more attractive people give in pity to those of us who are a good ‘average’ on the scale.
“And you, Nicolas? Are you out to wine and dine some Body Beautiful woman with legs up to her armpits?” I ask before I even have a chance to think about those words. Had I engaged my brain beforehand, I would like to think it would have warned me not to ask my boss such a personal question because it is beyond inappropriate and highly humiliating. He looks at me strangely, like I’ve just asked him to calculate some unsolvable equation wearing only his underwear. However, he then smiles when my eyes grow comically large over the epic mistake I’ve just made. “S-sorry, Nicolas, I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question.”
“Not at all! I asked you; it was fair game,” he replies, then looks awkwardly at his watch. “A rather bland business dinner, I’m afraid. No cards or flowers on the horizon for me tonight. Why don’t you get going early, it is Friday after all, and you don’t want to keep that line of admirers waiting for too long, do you?”
“No, guess not,” I reply in barely more than a whisper. “Thank you, Nicolas. Have a good weekend.”
“You too, Edie,” he smiles and looks at me for a few intense moments before finally walking back to his office and closing the door.
Thank God it’s February, and I’m likely to get a healthy gust of wind to blow away my lust-filled heat. That man should only be let out for special occasions, preferably naked and ready to blow away the cobwebs from downstairs.
AUTHOR BIO
