Page 3 of Just Like You (Square Mile Rogues #2)

Kieron

A s if my day could get any worse? I usually didn’t mind the air travel.

The lounges were alright, enough to grab some grub, and then I’d board and get some work done before some well-needed shuteye.

No chance of that today, and some stern words would be had with the airline.

Which, as always, would be delivered by my current assistant…

slash PA, slash dogsbody and target of my usual bad temper and would no doubt result in some hastily gifted air miles and a curt copy-paste message of apology from this shitheap of an airline.

And my delightful PA would once ag ain turn all that back at me and in the end?

I’d sit in my office feeling like I should be crying in the toilets like an intern on day one.

Losers. Weaklings. Useless piece of shit humans who I simply couldn’t stand.

They couldn’t stand me either, but that was a whole different set of parameters.

The way the world turned, I’d long given up on calling out to the humanity of large corporations because simply put? There was none.

I was the living proof of that because I’d given up on my own, years ago. Uni did that to you. Followed by getting headhunted straight into my company of choice, and even as a junior dogsbody at Delaware Financial, I’d marked my territory and got my priorities in check.

I did my job, and I did it well. Climbed the ladder, greasing the right people with the right attitude and the ones below me with restrained contempt. Sometimes even not so restrained.

Which made me a complete arsehole, I was well aware of that.

I didn’t smile. Didn’t do anyone any favours.

Why would I? Would anyone offer me any back?

Absolutely not. The world didn’t work like that, and rather than live my life with grudges and fears, I just did what needed to be done.

Casualties lining my path as I waded through the cesspit that was financial aggregation.

Yeah. That was me. Had nothing to do with my aggressive nature either, because that’s what people said.

I was made for this. Pitching services against one another and getting the best deals for what I could sell.

Electronic media that floated around on the world wide web.

Clever programming that did everything it promised and more, delivering perfection every time.

All things you couldn’t touch. And that no money in the world could buy.

Sometimes I thought perhaps it was all in my head, these imaginary results I was touting to our clients.

Sometimes I wished I was actually dealing with something real. Something I could feel.

I felt very little, and that was not me being pathetic and talking out of my arse. Life was as real as bloody cartoons on TV. The ones I’d grown up watching and still sometimes put on. Something to ground me into a reality that wasn’t so fraught with stress.

I laughed out loud like the madman I was, sat in this pathetic excuse for a chair as this stewardess tried to offer me a meal. Chicken or pasta apparently, served on a small plastic tray that supposedly fit on the tray table in front of me. I couldn’t even get the table fully down, sat like this.

I wasn’t overweight. Nor was I unhealthy in any way. I worked out five days a week, ate a diet low in fat and high in protein, allowed myself a healthy dose of carbs on the weekend and attended my yearly medical like clockwork. I was good; it was just, I was a size and a half, and yeah…

I hadn’t travelled in economy since I’d been a lanky teen heading down to the C?te d’Azur with my mother for another of her adventures.

I shuddered again and dismissed both the tray and the girl attached to it with a swift flick of my wrist.

Like the plonker I was. I did have some self-awareness. I knew full well what it made me into, this entitled behaviour I presented.

It had become the expectation. The norm. Also…kept me safe. Sane and… Fuck.

Kieron Andrieu kept everyone at a distance for a reason.

And it was just easier to behave like I did, rather than to make small talk and fool people into thinking I was someone I wasn't. I was just me, like this.

Cold, and efficient. Indestructible. Hard.

I needed to be hard, because life wasn't always kind. Anyway, here was the gay boy, the manager of some sort. Didn’t look a day older than twenty-five and had dark circles under his eyes.

No wonder, having to deal with the public like this.

I tried to avoid other people as much as I could, hence the enclosed business class suite I’d booked and paid for was my travelling companion of choice. Privacy. Space. Perhaps even a movie to relax me.

Instead now I was crammed into this goddamn economy seat, still wearing my jacket with a scowl on my face.

“You’re not eating, Mr Andrieu?” he said softly. Standing there with his blonde curls hanging over his eyes, looking all innocent and… I almost allowed myself to think it. Not a good idea.

“I ate in the lounge,” I grumped. Which was not a lie, but I had quite looked forward to a nice bit of cheese with a red wine. No chance of that down here, sat amongst the chavs in the cesspit of humanity .

“I understand your disappointment…” he started again.

What was it with this guy and his inability to understand that I didn’t give a flying fuck about his lame apologies?

He was just a worker bee. Disposable and replaceable with the next one in line.

Something I kept saying to my interns. Don’t get comfortable , I’d grunt.

There are ten more where you came from, lining up to replace you. One mistake? You’re out.

Another of my arsehole traits. Treat people mean, keep them keen.

Some of these interns thought they could change me.

They’d butter me up and try to make me like them; sometimes they’d even flirt.

Others would scurry away faster than I could smell the fear coming off them.

Waves of it as soon as I turned a corner.

I didn't work well with others, and when I had to?

I'd bark orders and shout and hope they would complain to my boss, which was when she'd have them removed from my tiny, insignificant orbit.

Followed by a stern telling off and a sigh.

My boss was rather cool, for someone who was one of London's leading financial CEO's.

She was important, not only to the company, but also to me.

Sometimes I thought I was important.

For the record? I wasn’t, which had been brutally confirmed by the treatment I’d received today.

Bastards, the lot of them.

Yet he was still here, leaning on the aisle seat in front, with that iPad in his hand. Scrolling up and down, then looking up at me. He was wearing glasses now, dark-rimmed ones that perfectly framed his face.

Clean shaven. A small stain on his sleeve .

“Your shirt is stained,” I said. The smallest of details could sometimes push a man off balance. I liked causing exactly that. Gaining advantage by playing dirty. Just a little. Rocking the boat.

“Smashed a plate full of gravy.” He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Wasn’t the best today. You’re not missing anything. But…” He smiled knowingly. “Glass of Shiraz? It’s rather nice, and if that is not to your taste?” He turned the iPad around, offering me a screengrab of the business class wine list.

See? Buttering me up.

“I’ll have a glass of Shiraz,” came from the idiot next to me, a twenty-something who looked like he’d dressed in the dark and wore a snapback. Backwards.

My eyes must have widened in disgust because this Julian? Just smiled knowingly at me.

“My apologies, Sir, Mr Andrieu has been wildly inconvenienced today. Just trying to make him smile.”

Now I did laugh because no, he wasn’t making me smile. He was making me mildly irritated and quite embarrassed, and I hated being both of those things.

“Just drop it,” I hissed at…Julian. Jules, apparently, according to the steward, who now tapped his arm and tried to whisper something in his ear.

I didn’t envy these kids, running this freakshow. Gravy on their arms or not.

“Just trying to help,” he hissed back. “But I will leave you in peace. ”

Good , I thought, as he walked off. A swagger in his step.

The kind of man I couldn’t stand. Weak. Small. Insignificant. A bit like me right now I thought.

Exactly like me, I realised trying to shuffle in my seat, causing the man next to me to have to move his tray table.

“It’s unfair,” he whined. “He should offer the same to everyone. We’re all being inconvenienced here, being strapped into these seats. Legroom is a thing.”

I whined out a sound that I hope conveyed my disinterest in starting a conversation.

Message received, my fellow passenger stayed silent, as I closed my eyes.

Two hours later, I gave up, since I could no longer feel my feet.

Instead, I climbed out of the seat assigned to me, and I stood up outside the toilets, no doubt inconveniencing the crew even more since I was blocking access to their fold-down seats.

At least, standing here, I’d managed to get Wi-Fi onto my laptop and was dealing with the array of emails and messages I’d missed.

Meetings for tomorrow. A bill to pay. Apparently, my corporate gym membership was due for automatic renewal, and did I want a free session with Gary-the-personal-trainer?

Not in my wildest dreams. I deleted that one with a swift tap of the return key and shuffled to the side to let some overdressed bloke out of the toilets.

Economy travel was for idiots; that much was clear. I didn’t belong here, and I felt as out of place as the plastic glass of water that I grabbed off a passing tray, another of the crew acknowledging me with a fake smile.

I downed it in one, then crushed the plastic in my grip. Something satisfactory to calm the frustration in my veins.

“Would you like a bin for that?” he said. Julian. Jules. Like we were now old friends. I tried to stop myself from rolling my eyes, and he just laughed. He had a nice laugh, one of those sparkling ones where I really had to stop myself from…smiling.

And he was pushing a bin. Like the loser he obviously was. Glorified waitress and all that.

Also, the way he was standing? Hand on his hip?

Gay. So bloody gay, and now I was blushing and…

“Mr Andrieu, we’re landing in a bit, so let me just once again convey…

our apologies, and…” He held his hand up to stop my rant.

Yes, there was one on the tip of my tongue.

“Please contact our customer service centre with your booking reference, and I will put a report in as well to ensure the difference in fare is refunded to your account.”

“A bit late now,” I huffed.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “But hey, I’ve tried? Honestly, I tried. Anything you wanted, I would have given to you.”

He looked tired. As tired as I felt.

“Anything,” I spat out, like it was a question .

“Anything. But you decided to be a grumpy arsehole, so here you are. Still standing down here drinking water when you could have spent the flight in my office sampling the fine champagne of first class.”

He said that in a hissing whisper, with just an edge of…

He was pissed off with me. Unexpected, but…

“And instead?” he continued, “I will leave you to stand here and get whacked with the toilet door. Your choice. Remember that next time you need a favour. We’re not here to piss you off.

We’re here to help, and Aurelia didn’t appreciate your tone of voice, nor did Bea or Ahmed.

We have all tried to help. That will also go in my report, just so you know. ”

“And who’s the arsehole now?” I squealed.

Not smart. Not clever. I could feel something bubbling under the surface. Not anger. Not anymore. Instead I was… Fuck. Double fuck. These were the kind of situations I wasn't good at.

“You could have had anything,” he said sternly.

“Anything? So if I’d asked you to blow me in the loo, you would have?”

Okay. I was both an idiot, and a bastard.

And I was not proud of that little outburst. That was the kind of stupidity I usually reserved for after-work drinks with too much testosterone and beer in my blood.

Where I did stupid things and got away with it.

Here? I was pushed into a corner between a toilet door and a bulkhead.

With a small man moving right in. All the way up against my chest. His face, his little face in those glasses .

He was gorgeous when he was angry. Absolutely beautiful. Plump lips and those rosy cheeks. A reddish tinge on his face, to accompany the black in his eyes. They were blue. Really gorgeously blue. And he needed to sleep those dark circles away because…I had them too. I was tired. So bloody tired.

“You need to watch your tongue.” His voice was all prickles and sharp syllables.

I wanted to apologise, and I probably should have, but then I was me, and these were the kind of stunts I usually got away with. And this little pathetic…man…was riling me up.

“You were no doubt a bully at school, am I right?” He was talking slowly. All serious and I suddenly grabbed at my tie, worried he would beat me to it and strangle me, because that’s the vibe I was getting. Anger.

And not a bit of fear. I’d expected fear.

“On top of that, you now live your life trying to belittle everyone around you. What a sad life that must be. And yes, my job is to cater to your every whim, but sexually harassing the very staff who are here to look after you? Pathetic, Mr Andrieu, and as if I didn’t have enough crap to deal with?

I now have to go write up another report on you and your inability to utter a simple word of gratitude. ”

What gratitude? I wanted to huff out, but he didn’t give me that choice, grabbing that last word like it was a million-dollar prize. And that was the last time I saw him, because he wasn’t even at the disembarkation door to wish me farewell.

He could have let me have the last word, just a simple goodbye. But then again? He was just another twat I’d never see again. And suddenly I wondered why that realisation had made me feel. Because I definitely felt something, and I had no idea how to handle that.