Idol. Carrie Duffy

even made it to bed – hell, her standards were really slipping. Thank God she’d taken off her make-up when she got in, Jenna thought, reaching up to touch her face. It felt soft and smooth, and Jenna sighed with relief; the last thing she needed was a break-out on top of everything else.

      Sitting up carefully, Jenna swung her long legs over the end of the sofa and paused. She needed a glass of water – or maybe some coffee; rocket fuel would certainly get her going. Picking up the empty tea mugs, Jenna padded through to the kitchen. While she was waiting for the kettle to boil, she flicked on her laptop.

      ‘Oh fuck, no. Oh Jesus!’ swore Jenna as she logged on to TMZ and saw the lead story.

      8

      The offices of Willis & Bourne were located on the twenty-fourth floor of the Broadgate Tower, in the heart of London’s Square Mile. Paul Austin, as a senior executive, had a private office at the far end of the corridor, guarded by his PA. As the early morning sun filtered through the tinted windows, Paul sat behind his kidney-shaped desk, leafing through a copy of the Financial Times. There was an unfavourable report on a Japanese telecoms firm in which he’d just invested a large portion of his clients’ money. It did not make for happy reading. Irritably, he tossed the paper aside and turned his attention to the Internet, flicking through share prices, business headlines and breaking news.

      One headline caught his attention – it involved Jenna Jonsson. Paul read swiftly through the article and found himself even more interested. So, Miss Jonsson wasn’t as squeaky clean as she made out, it seemed, and some lucky guy was getting to bang her. Paul’s cock leapt in his pants at the very thought of it. Jenna was one hot piece of ass – he’d have sold his own grandmother for a fuck with Jenna. Then again, Paul Austin would willingly have sold out his grandmother for a lot of things in life – loyalty was not one of his defining traits.

      Paul’s interest in Jenna went beyond that of the casual voyeur or horny teenager. As of last month, she was one of his newest clients. It was still fresh in his mind, the way she’d strutted into his office dressed like Business Barbie, in a tight pencil skirt that showed off her high, round butt, and a low-cut white blouse that strained against her tits every time she leaned forward. Of course, she’d brought her manager with her, some jumped-up flunky in a suit who’d watched Paul’s every move like a hawk, so he’d had to keep things professional. He’d talked at length about dry stuff – real estate in Bulgaria, mineral mining in South Africa, investment yields, long-term trends and so on. She’d nodded that pretty little head and all he’d been thinking about was how much he’d like to put his dick between those luscious, glossy lips and force it deep into the back of her throat until she gagged.

      It was highly unusual for a client of that calibre to visit him in his office – usually it was a question of their accountant contacting him directly and all communication went through them. But he gathered she’d been on some kind of independence kick since her mother died. Wanting to take over her own affairs, manage her own money or some such bullshit. Stick to singing, sweetheart, thought Paul with a sneer.

      But hell, as long as it had led Jenna Jonsson straight to his office, who was he to complain? Maybe next time he could get her to come over without that ape of a manager. He could ring her up with some spurious excuse; pretend to be consulting her because he really valued her opinion on whether they should invest in American pharmaceuticals or ethical fashion in India. They could conduct business over dinner. Or in a hotel room. Yeah, that’s the kind of business he’d like to conduct with her …

      Which reminded him …

      ‘Come through please, Angela,’ he requested, pressing a button on his phone. Angela Lee was his PA. She was in her mid-thirties, short and a little on the chunky side, with mousy hair cut into a bob and black-rimmed glasses. It was better that way. In the past Paul had hired a succession of attractive and willing temps, but numerous affairs and one narrowly avoided harassment claim later, he’d plumped for the plain yet capable Angela.

      She arrived in his office with her notebook and pen at the ready. Her clothes were smart, and she’d made an effort with her make-up, Paul noticed, wondering whether to point it out. He decided not to. ‘I’d like you to order something for me.’

      ‘Yes?’ Angela gazed up at him, her expression eager to please.

      ‘Well, when I say for me, I really mean for a friend of mine,’ he smirked, as Angela pressed her lips into a disapproving line. She knew what was coming – it wasn’t the first time he’d made this request.

      ‘I’d like you to order some lingerie. The recipient’s name is Sadie Laine and I’ll email you the address. Get something from Agent Provocateur. Something red and trashy.’ If Sadie was going to behave like a whore, he’d treat her like one.

      ‘What size?’ Angela’s pen hovered above her notepad.

      Paul sat back in his ergonomic chair, brushed a piece of lint from his Gieves & Hawkes bespoke suit and looked her over appraisingly. Behind him the wide glass windows offered a stunning panoramic view over the City, the world’s financial hub where billions of dollars were traded every day by the rich and powerful. They were the Masters of the Universe. Men like Paul Austin were untouchable and they made their own rules.

      ‘I’m not sure exactly.’ He pretended to consider the issue. ‘She’s considerably thinner than you are – she works out, you see. You don’t go to the gym, do you Angela?’

      Cheeks flaming, Angela shook her head. She made a mental note to join tomorrow.

      ‘I didn’t think so. She has a flat stomach, slim hips.’ His eyes trailed over Angela’s body, coming to rest on her chest. ‘And her breasts are larger than yours. Do you think you can work out the sizing from that, hmm? Just do your best, sweetheart.’

      ‘I will,’ Angela assured him. Her face was still flushed from the way his gaze had lingered on her breasts. She found herself wondering who his latest floozy was – where she lived, what she looked like. What she had that Angela didn’t …

      Over the months that she had worked for him, Angela had seen a string of mistresses come and go, one after the next, all at the beck and call of Paul Austin. He didn’t seem to realize that Angela was waiting for him, ready to fulfil his every desire. No matter how hard she tried with her appearance – skirts getting shorter, outfits tighter and more revealing – he rarely paid her a second glance.

      She knew she was a walking cliché, the wistful secretary in love with her boss, but she couldn’t help herself. She regularly found herself wondering what it would be like to be the wife of a man like Mr Austin. Angela had never been the pretty girl, the popular girl that all the boys wanted. When the women in the office went on a night out, Angela was never invited. She would see them in the toilets on Friday evenings, applying lip gloss and styling their hair, all chattering and laughing, and she longed to be part of that group. She knew that dating someone like Paul Austin would bring her instant status. If she was with him, they would have to be nice to her. They would have to treat her with respect.

      Instead, Angela spent her Friday nights at home in her dingy studio flat, dreaming of the day when Mr Austin would finally notice her as something more than his über-efficient secretary. She would curl up in her lonely bed and let her hands slip down between her legs, wrapped up in the fantasy, imagining him striding masterfully across the office towards her and …

      She realized she’d been staring at him. He was looking at her, an amused expression on his handsome face. ‘Is everything okay, Angela?’

      ‘Fine.’ She recovered herself. ‘Fine. Will there be anything else?’ she asked, trying to keep the hopeful note out of her voice.

      ‘I think that’s everything.’ Angela turned to go but Paul stopped her. ‘Oh, have there been any messages for me?’

      ‘Yes.’ Angela checked her notepad and made a face. ‘Your wife called. She said not to forget that you’re having dinner with John and Melissa Van Nordstrom, and if you could try to get home early because the boys have been asking to see you.’