Read Online Quantum Poppers by Matthew Reeve - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Matthew Reeve
Ads: Link
since
your promotion you’ve turned into a right…’
‘Careful Kerry,
you may regret your next word.’
‘I’ll be extra
careful then to select the most inflammatory one I can think of.’
He smiled,
gathered the two inch-thick documents together, and dropped them into his out
tray. ‘I could probably come up with a few myself if needed.’
He stood,
predominately in order to see the bare flesh of Kerry’s legs which were
selfishly being hidden by the desk. He was glad he did, she wasn’t wearing
tights today, and the visible skin below her knees glowed in the sunlight with
a delicate sheen of oil. He couldn’t help but think what it would be like to
massage in whichever products she used to bring out the essence of tan quite so
much.
‘I don’t think
I need any help in conceiving inflammatory words to describe you.’ She then
turned on her heels and headed to his office door. John remained quiet,
gambling on her desire to leave the room. It was no surprise when she hesitated
by the door.
‘Was there
anything else,’ he said, moving around the desk.
‘Why do you do
this John? The self-deprecation, the constant need to punish yourself. Guilty
about something?’
‘My conscience
is clear,’ he said and took a further step towards Kerry. He loosened his tie
as he crossed the office, temperatures were rising. A bead of sweat rolled down
Kerry’s cheek and her lips parted slightly as he approached. She was now backed
up to the door. ‘How’s yours?’
‘I’ve done
nothing wrong.’
They were a
metre apart. Her palm rested against the door as did the sole of her left foot.
His conscience was fairly clear, yet through sheer willpower he remained from
dirtying it up too much.
‘If what I have
done is perceived as wrong, well, it takes two to tango.’
‘That’s what
you call it do you?’
‘I’ll let you
know when I think up something better.’
He reached
towards her hip and noticed at the last second how she closed her eyes. He
could smell a perfume which Caroline would never wear and noticed the flick of
her tongue across her lips before she pressed them together.
‘You’ll
probably be there at the time,’ he whispered and passing her thigh with a
gentle brush he reached for the door handle. The door swung open into the
office where Kerry’s stumble went unnoticed due to the staff being walled in
behind plastic barriers, distracted by the constant drone of ringing phones.
Kerry brushed
down her skirt as if caught in the act of something much more physical and
walked away. He stared at her figure-hugging form as she headed along the
perimeter of the office floor and with one final glance over her shoulder, one
in which she couldn’t hide a smile, disappeared from view.
John worked for
Alfred Bros, a subsidiary of Rivers and Sons, some bastardised offspring he
couldn’t quite get his head round - were they their own cousins or something?
He was an accountant, which meant he managed reams of paper, ensuring the
correct numbers got filed into the correct columns. Sometimes he and his
partners made a lot of money and sometimes they did not. Thankfully no big
losses had occurred in his time there, twenty years to be exact. The
eighteen-year-old kid, suited and booted on the train, had transformed into
this forty-year-old man, still suited and booted, only now not so fresh of face
(but thankfully thick of hair). His office stood on the 34th floor of Callor
Tower, south of Waterloo, and from the vast window impressive views of London
spread out beneath him. The dome of St Paul's could be made out amongst the
modern and too-perfect looking monoliths to capitalism which surrounded it. It
was a single breast-shaped object within the phallic erections of a thousand
other banker's buildings. Low-level clouds occasionally blocked this view,
something he judged his success in work upon. If he literally had an office
within the clouds then someone was smiling down on him.
His phone
your promotion you’ve turned into a right…’
‘Careful Kerry,
you may regret your next word.’
‘I’ll be extra
careful then to select the most inflammatory one I can think of.’
He smiled,
gathered the two inch-thick documents together, and dropped them into his out
tray. ‘I could probably come up with a few myself if needed.’
He stood,
predominately in order to see the bare flesh of Kerry’s legs which were
selfishly being hidden by the desk. He was glad he did, she wasn’t wearing
tights today, and the visible skin below her knees glowed in the sunlight with
a delicate sheen of oil. He couldn’t help but think what it would be like to
massage in whichever products she used to bring out the essence of tan quite so
much.
‘I don’t think
I need any help in conceiving inflammatory words to describe you.’ She then
turned on her heels and headed to his office door. John remained quiet,
gambling on her desire to leave the room. It was no surprise when she hesitated
by the door.
‘Was there
anything else,’ he said, moving around the desk.
‘Why do you do
this John? The self-deprecation, the constant need to punish yourself. Guilty
about something?’
‘My conscience
is clear,’ he said and took a further step towards Kerry. He loosened his tie
as he crossed the office, temperatures were rising. A bead of sweat rolled down
Kerry’s cheek and her lips parted slightly as he approached. She was now backed
up to the door. ‘How’s yours?’
‘I’ve done
nothing wrong.’
They were a
metre apart. Her palm rested against the door as did the sole of her left foot.
His conscience was fairly clear, yet through sheer willpower he remained from
dirtying it up too much.
‘If what I have
done is perceived as wrong, well, it takes two to tango.’
‘That’s what
you call it do you?’
‘I’ll let you
know when I think up something better.’
He reached
towards her hip and noticed at the last second how she closed her eyes. He
could smell a perfume which Caroline would never wear and noticed the flick of
her tongue across her lips before she pressed them together.
‘You’ll
probably be there at the time,’ he whispered and passing her thigh with a
gentle brush he reached for the door handle. The door swung open into the
office where Kerry’s stumble went unnoticed due to the staff being walled in
behind plastic barriers, distracted by the constant drone of ringing phones.
Kerry brushed
down her skirt as if caught in the act of something much more physical and
walked away. He stared at her figure-hugging form as she headed along the
perimeter of the office floor and with one final glance over her shoulder, one
in which she couldn’t hide a smile, disappeared from view.
John worked for
Alfred Bros, a subsidiary of Rivers and Sons, some bastardised offspring he
couldn’t quite get his head round - were they their own cousins or something?
He was an accountant, which meant he managed reams of paper, ensuring the
correct numbers got filed into the correct columns. Sometimes he and his
partners made a lot of money and sometimes they did not. Thankfully no big
losses had occurred in his time there, twenty years to be exact. The
eighteen-year-old kid, suited and booted on the train, had transformed into
this forty-year-old man, still suited and booted, only now not so fresh of face
(but thankfully thick of hair). His office stood on the 34th floor of Callor
Tower, south of Waterloo, and from the vast window impressive views of London
spread out beneath him. The dome of St Paul's could be made out amongst the
modern and too-perfect looking monoliths to capitalism which surrounded it. It
was a single breast-shaped object within the phallic erections of a thousand
other banker's buildings. Low-level clouds occasionally blocked this view,
something he judged his success in work upon. If he literally had an office
within the clouds then someone was smiling down on him.
His phone
Similar Books
