Page 14 of Forever Not Yours (Square Mile Rogues #1)

I had no illusions of this working out, despite Jakey trying so goddamn hard, a bit too hard, and it was draining me. If he didn’t start to give me a little bit of space, I might actually do something stupid.

Who was I kidding? Stupid was my middle name.

Also, the goddamn sensor had gone off in the night, again, and I’d stubbed my toe trying to get to the fridge, where of course, Jakey had caught me drinking his fancy orange juice straight out of the bottle. So sue me. I’d been crashing and needed it.

The last thing I’d needed was a midnight lecture, but he was like a dog to a bone, just couldn’t let me be.

Blah, blah, blah.

There was definitely something wrong with my pump, though, and I should really go prick my finger again, and send Faye out to pick up my prescription boxes that had been shipped to Juliet because I was a plonker who couldn’t remember to change my address. I also needed to get a new pump, because I was about to start a meeting with Carbonnati Ltd and didn’t have time to do any of those things. And I needed to pee, I realised, as I downed another glass of water. It was hot out there today, and the air conditioning was running, but I still felt too warm, thirsty, stressed, fuck. Time .

I was so bloody worn out, and now I had to spend an hour with Juliet trying to make us look good when neither of us were anywhere near functioning. She looked even worse than me, pale and drained, despite the heavy make-up she’d slapped on. It still made me sad, seeing her like this, because she didn’t deserve this, all that I’d put her through.

“Concentrate,” she whispered, catching up with me in the hallway and passing me a folder.

Like I could do anything else.

The Carbonnati team was led by that vile Jasper Kopetski, and he and his assistant were sitting opposite Juliet and me in our fancy boardroom, both droning on about nonsense that I’d already gone over in detail whilst talking over Juliet every time she opened her mouth. And there went my glucose alarm on my phone, shrilling loudly, like the icing on the cake of this already shitty day.

“We’re in a meeting.” Kopetski slammed his big hand on the glass table. “I hate being interrupted.”

“Apologies,” I said, plastering on my most charming smile. “Seems my glucose monitor here is on the warpath. ”

“If you’re unwell, you should have asked a colleague to step in. Have you no decent employees here? All this woke nonsense is doing my head in. Is this how you treat your clients? Personal phones going off left, right and centre?”

Slightly exaggerating there, Mr Kopetski?

“We’re on a tight schedule,” the minion said, waving his own phone in my face. “It’s very simple. Can we just get on with agreeing on the numbers here.”

Agreeing? More like whipping our arses like animals in a ring, their ring, like the circus this was.

“Mr Dewaert is diabetic,” Juliet said, her voice smooth as silk, but Kopetski once again slammed his hand on the table.

“Modern nonsense,” he barked.

I sat there and said nothing. I hated when people outed me and my health. It made me feel weak, damaged—I was both, but the world didn’t need to know that. That was private, hidden away behind clothes and closed drawers, and that’s the way I liked it. Damn you, Juliet.

But this time, I couldn’t really blame her since I’d done it to myself, speaking before thinking .

“This will be a good deal for you as a company. Having the Carbonnati group on your roster is a game changer in the financial world,” smarmed the minion, pasty and pale with a thinning hairline, like most of our kind, the office jockeys, insignificant worker bees.

“The Carbonnati group is of course a valued client, but you cannot break laws for your own gain, Mr Kopetski.” Juliet leaned over the table, her hands firmly on the edge, ready to sting if needed. “The financial ombudsman—”

“We will not budge on the contract.”

God, I hated him. Hated this. Hated how Juliet sighed. The cold coffee on the table. The way my breath hitched as I tried to get myself under control. Water. I was bloody thirsty, but I didn’t dare move. Didn’t want to enrage this bastard anymore, and Juliet was already on edge. We both were, and my pump was going off as well. I fiddled with the monitor, trying to silence it.

I felt nauseous and had a headache. I needed more water and to pop some pills, but I didn’t dare to cause any more disruption to this goddamn meeting .

I was fine. I had dosed up and even given myself extra, knowing I would be munching biscuits like an idiot, and still, I’d failed to restrain myself. My mind was silently trying to tally up what I’d shoved in my mouth today vs what I’d loaded up in the pump this morning before the gym, and there went my phone again, making Mr Kopetski flail his arms in obvious disgust. He hated me. I hated him right back and was getting antsy as anything. This wasn’t good, and I really needed to excuse myself and go prick my finger and change this bloody volatile pump before I ended up having to ship myself off to hospital.

Not good. And it made me nervous.

“If I can just…?” I stood up, but Juliet discreetly shook her head.

“We just need five more minutes of your time, Mr Kopetski, to get your requirements right. The bonds you suggest need to be—”

“I asked for Mr Dewaert to make me a proposal, and he seems to be more interested in his phone.”

Bastard.

“I do apologise,” I said, trying to switch off my phone in my pocket in case the alarm went off again. I probably needed to dose up as an interim fix, and there was emergency stuff in my office. Coffee would do nothing here, but I still took another sip. Cold.

“Now, Mr Kopetski, if you can give me a week to run the analysis and put together a comprehensive proposal, bearing in mind the new changes you have outlined, then—”

“You have two days. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

He seemed to like that word. Nonsense.

“Two days,” I reluctantly parroted back. It sounded like I agreed. I’d need to work around the clock for that. Big investment. Huge risks. Things I normally lapped up, but I needed time. Proper calculations. Numbers. I could do the basics in two days, but it still made me sweat just thinking about it. “We will need time.”

“Then I’ll go elsewhere.” Mr Kopetski stood up, his large body straining under the sudden movement.

There were biscuit crumbs all down his front, a coffee stain on his tie.

I wanted to laugh but swallowed instead .

“Mr Kopetski, a pleasure to see you again, and let me and Mr Dewaert have our team once again look over your proposal and try to find you a suitable solution. One that is above board for us all.”

Juliet smarmed in that stoic way she did so well. She held out her hand. He turned around with a snarl, let his minion open the door, who followed him out with an apologetic smile on his face.

I hadn’t even caught his name, whoever he was.

“Bastard,” Juliet muttered.

“I can’t do this in two days.” I sat back down on the chair and even managed not to wince. My skin felt better today. Less bruised. I couldn’t decide if that made me happy or just more confused.

“Bash, can I have your attention for a minute? Just level with me here.”

“Mr Kopetski is off his head. I know it’s a huge contract, but there are—”

“I don’t give a shit about Mr Kopetski. I’m ringing Damien and giving him a piece of my mind, and insisting we deal with him only from now on. If he keeps sending us this absolute clown, I will cancel the contract. No regrets my end. ”

“Good.” Relief. A small amount at least.

“But I think you should consider finding another place to work.”

“What?” I shrieked. I wasn’t proud of the way I reacted. Calm, Bastien. Fucking calm the fuck down.

“I don’t want to come into work every day, feeling like I’m either about to explode or burst into tears. I can’t do this. I’m the CEO. I run this…this company. And if you’re here, I can’t do that effectively. I need to move on. I can’t do that when wherever I turn, I hear your voice. Not with having to sit here next to you every day feeling like shit because we couldn’t make this work. I’m hurting, Bash. Reeling. Every minute of the day. And it needs to stop.”

“So you want me to leave?”

“I want you to ring Caroline at Smythe’s. I’ve already mentioned you to her, and she said she has options.”

“I… Jules. Please.”

“No.” She was stern. Defiant. So strong. I’d always admired her for that, how she held her head high. She looked straight at me. “No Bash. You’ll always be my weakness, the soft spot in my armour. I can’t let you ruin what I’ve built here, and I mean that. You will. I will bend over backwards for you, and someone will stab me in the guts. That’s what you do to me. You’ll be here, and I will forever be reminded of the things I couldn’t have. I don’t want that. And to be even more honest—”

“What?” Fuck, I was angry now. If I wasn’t careful, I would start to cry. I snorted. She looked at me in disgust.

“You don’t want to be here either, Bash.”

It had been just over three weeks, and if I thought I’d ruined everything that awful weekend in Edinburgh? Bah. I was apparently just getting started.

Faye? Nowhere to be found, but I needed to ask her to get my lunch so I could get started on Kieron’s analytics. I needed to speak to someone over at the Manchester branch, someone told me in passing as I raced down towards my office. There were messages on my screen that all screamed urgent in bright red, but I didn’t care, frantically rummaging in my desk drawers for my testing kit, which was not there. Could I get my brain to function enough to find it? Nah. Brain? Gone on holiday apparently, somewhere nice and warm, sunning itself in the south of France or some shit.

Fucking Juliet. I didn’t want a new job. I wanted to stay here. I worked here; I was goddamn good at my job. And most of all, I wanted to work here because Juliet was here, and she knew me and how I functioned and had my back.

Test strips, good. Where the hell were the pricking thingy-ma-bob-sticks? I laughed out loud at my thoughts.

Not good. I was not well, and now the sensor was showing high, and the pump had shown numbers that I truly didn’t like.

My head was pounding, and I was also shaking. I was hyper, despite my pump being in and refilled. What the hell? Shit. Damn. Low? Now I felt like I was low. I was a fucking diabetic and knew these things, but it unnerved me when I had to rely on tech, and now I couldn’t even find something sharp to prick my bloody finger.

And here was Faye, not even bothering to knock .

“Bash, someone called Jake is trying to get hold of you.” She looked flustered. “He’s rung about ten times and says your phone is off.”

“It’s fine. I’ll ring him later.” After I got some prick-sticks from the pharmacy down the road. I pushed past her in a huff, grabbing my suit jacket as I left. Just a quick walk, clear my head. The walk would clear all those biscuits I’d shoved down my neck, and then I would…get…stuff, order a new bloody pump. I wasn’t having any of this shit.

Well, I walked. My head was a mess with too many thoughts. Work. Juliet. I didn’t want another job. How the hell would I manage a different job? I was good at this one. I was good because my team made me look good. Because Juliet had taught me well and still did. I was only who I was because of the people around me.

It was a warm day, but I was cold as anything, trying to pull my jacket around my chest, shivering when I should be sweating. Hot or cold? Seemed my body just couldn’t decide today. Crashing? She could fuck right off .

I walked. Down to the river and along the footpath, up a side street and round the block, back down, up over the overpass and past Big Ben, fighting the crowds of tourists with their cameras. People. People everywhere.

Walking was good; it brought those pesky sugars right back down. Good stuff. Also, I could think out here, clear my head.

I suddenly found myself standing in the street, staring aimlessly at the road in front of me. I had no idea where I was. Pharmacy? I’d walked straight past it, several blocks too far past it, and now I was standing by the main crossing heading back up towards the office, but instead of getting back to work, I was staring into space. My hands shaking and my head cloudy, I was an absolute idiot because I’d known it. I needed to eat, right now, and get my sugars back up, whatever the idiot-sensor said. I knew my body, and I’d gone way off track in my head and now…

Ha! Pub on the corner. I knew this pub. It was dark and dingy for a reason, the multiple rainbow flags outside clearly announcing that this was the place for…people who needed a certain thing. This wasn’t a happy, jolly queer pub for pints and laughter; definitely not the place to get a quick and tasty bite to eat. There was a reason the windows were blacked out and why the double doors with the blackout curtains felt too heavy for my worn-out arms.

I’d been here before. I knew the drill.

I had no sense. Zero. What the hell was I doing? I was better than this. Stronger than this. I’d once had so much; now I had so little left.

The sting on my backside as I sat on a bar stool wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the haze in my head, the fog that seemed to muffle everything. The bartender in front of me was speaking words I couldn’t hear.

My phone in my hand. Black screen. I tapped it. And again. Dead. I was sure it had been on earlier. Had I switched it off?

Someone sitting down next to me. Big arms. Shuffling the bar stool closer.

My breaths—too loud. Everything too much.

“Water,” I said weakly. I wasn’t sure anyone was listening .

“You okay, mate?” I didn’t recognise the voice. Wasn’t sure where I was.

“Water,” I slurred. Then changed my tune. “Juice.” I tried to swallow the spit in my mouth and tried again. “Orange.”

Perhaps I should have said Red . Stopped everything. He’d said that, Jake. Red stopped everything. Green for go. Orange?

Someone’s grip on my arm. Fingers feeling up my wrists, finding my bracelet and fiddling with it.

“Diabetic?” the voice asked. “Mate, can we have an OJ here, please, and two sachets of sugar?”

Then hands, patting me down, gently, but I didn’t care.

“You have a sensor, mate? Phone dead?”

“Don’t know.”

I did. I knew everything. I just couldn’t make sense of it.

“I’m Barry. My sister is diabetic, and you look like she does when she’s not kept her sugars right and such. Do you have an emergency glucose pen?”

I did. At work in my drawer. One in my gym bag. And of course not in my suit pocket. Who carried stuff like that in their suit pockets? Good people, apparently. Not people like me. Awful people like me who just couldn’t keep things straight.

People like me fucked up. All the time.

“Come on, mate. Drink this and we’ll have you back to right in no time. There we go.”

A glass. Forced to my mouth. A firm hand on my neck as he made me drink.

I liked it.

Just like Jake.

Fuck. Jake.

“Jake,” I managed to say, in between fighting the glass against my lips. “Jake.”

“That your name or your boyfriend?” the man asked. Or perhaps the bartender. A nice-looking chap with a ridiculous amount of piercings now staring at me, holding another bottle of juice in his hand.

“He need another one?” the bartender asked. I couldn’t make out what Barry said back, but somehow, I was making my phone spring back to life. Light. A welcome screen.

“There you go! Bit of battery. Good job. Where’s your sensor, mate?”

Who was this guy again? I found my app and scanned the sensor. Still shaky. Still muddled. Fuck. Low. Far too fucking low.

“And another glass of OJ for you, I think! Another two sugars, bartender, please?”

Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t funny. Barry. Whatever.

Jake. I needed Jake.

Brain back online, slowly powering up like an iPhone after being shut off. How fucking stupid was I? This was dangerous. This was how you ended up in A&E in a diabetic coma. Oh, yes. Been there. Done that. Bloody stupid. Lunch. I’d completely skipped that part, and now I was reaping the rewards of that little mishap.

Everything was too much. The thought of going back to the office terrified me. I wasn’t even wanted there anymore. Driving? Right now, I couldn’t even figure out how to get up from this bar stool, let alone figure out where my car fob was.

The noise around me. The dull light. The fear that was slowly overtaking everything. I didn’t want this. I hadn’t asked for any of this .

The call connected and he picked up. The relief in me was almost crippling as I huffed out his name, tears stinging in my eyes.

“Bastien. Where are you?”

Calm. Calm the hell down. Too much noise. Noise everywhere. I could suddenly hear the disco beat playing behind the bar, the sound of people talking. More people than this, Barry. I looked at him. Big chap. Older. Muscles. Tattoos. The kind of guy I would have so easily let fuck me. Reckless.

I was always reckless. Stupid.

I wasn’t a good person.

“Can you please come and get me?” I whispered in desperation. “Please?”

“Where are you, Bastien?”

His voice. Strong. In control. Jake.

“I don’t know.”

“Twenty-two Tufton Street,” the barman said. “You’re on speaker, in case you didn’t realise.”

I was a grown-up, an adult. I earned a ridiculous amount of money per year, enough to pay more to the taxman than the average person earned. I sat up straighter.

“Jake. I’m so sorry. I’m in a bar in Tufton Street.” There.

“I’m on my way,” he said.

I hated myself. So, so much.