His Saving Grace

Chapter 8

JAMES

Ten days later…

I’m in a foul mood. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been in my office since four AM, or because Grace got her car back two days ago, because I’d enjoyed bringing her to and from work. It broke up the monotony of the mornings and put me in a good mood for the rest of the day.

I miss it.

My initial goal was to soften her enough to get back in her pants, yet weirdly, I feel an even greater sense of satisfaction from the fact she no longer looks at me like she wants to ram her small and cute knuckles into my face. Each day, she’s become a little more willing to answer my questions. She’s stopped hesitating. She’s fun, and that’s a new experience for me. I want, need more, even if that makes me the most selfish guy on the planet.

The only thing I miss is that she doesn’t blush as easily anymore. I need to work on that.

The building is deserted on a Saturday and I’m enjoying the calm. I’m easily distracted of late, making concentrating difficult, so I use the quiet of the weekend to catch up on all the loose ends left over from last week.

I’m reading through the contract my solicitor has drawn up for the new magazine deal when there’s an unexpected knock on my door. My brother, Max, walks in before I can answer. He’s only three years older than me but he dresses like an old man. Today, he looks like he’s off to the golf course, dressed in an argyle jumper and beige trousers. The funny thing is he’s never picked up a club in his life.

“The bald guy on reception let me in,” he explains. “What are you doing here on a Saturday? And why aren’t you answering your phone?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and stuff the contract back in its envelope. “I had a backlog to clear. Saturday’s the perfect time. No interruptions.”

“On your birthday?” Max produces the hand he’s been hiding behind his back and passes me a small box wrapped in silver paper with a card taped to the top.

“Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile as I take it from him. I put it on my desk, knowing it contains my annual bottle of Armani aftershave without needing to open it.

“If you’re not doing anything to celebrate, Laura and I would love to have you over for dinner.”

“Sorry, Max. I’m going out with some friends.” He knows I’m lying. I’m not a ‘friends’ kind of man. “Another time, though,” I add. I doubt he believes that either.

“Isobel misses you.”

It’s a low blow, playing the niece card. She’s only three. I’m not sure a child that age is even capable of missing someone.

“I’ll come over, I promise.” I take a deep breath and force myself to say it before I change my mind. “Next Friday. I’ll come round after I’ve finished here.”

Max smiles but doesn’t look altogether convinced. I can’t blame him for being sceptical, but I will stick to my word, if only to keep him off my back for a couple of months.

“I’ll let Laura know. I’ll invite Mum, too.”

“Sure.” I start replying to an email that can really wait until Monday, but it makes me look busy and I hope Max will take the hint and leave. He’s a great brother, and I love him, I’m just not in the mood for him today. For anyone.

“I can see you’re busy. I’ll get going.”

“Sorry.” I’m really not. “I have to get things finished here.”

“No problem. Don’t spend all day here though, eh? You should be enjoying today.”

Why? It’s no different to all the other days of my f****d-up existence. “I will. Just later.”

Max turns for the door, pausing when he reaches it. “And don’t forget to call Mum. She tried this morning but couldn’t reach you either.”

“Will do.” And I will, but again, later. I’m grateful she’s staying with a friend in London this weekend so I don’t have to see her. I don’t celebrate my birthday and my mum is just another person I need to pretend for.

“You look tired. You sure you’re okay?”

I’m not tired. I’m bored. Despite surviving on two hours sleep a night for the last several weeks, I haven’t had so much energy in a long time. If I had to choose one emotion to describe how I feel about not being able to sleep it would be gratitude. Relief. It’s terrifying to close your eyes and not know if you’ll be okay when you wake up. Because that’s how fast the switch can flip. “I’m fine, Max,” I say, my tone frustrated.

“Don’t be like that. You know I’m only looking out for you.”

My mouth turns down into a guilty frown. “I know. Sorry. I got up early to come here, but I’m okay. Promise.”

Max doesn’t understand the sheer magnitude of my responsibilities here. He never took an interest in this business and is happy working a management post, nine-to-five in a call centre.

“Good. I’ll call you in the week to remind you about Friday.”

I nod and offer a brief wave before continuing to type out the unimportant email. I close it again, shutting down the system, as soon as Max is out of sight.

“f**k this,” I say to no one, sliding out from my desk. Sick of the boredom, I grab my jacket and toss it over my shoulder. I leave the office not knowing what I plan to do next, hoping it will come to me while I drive.

The further away I get from Davidson House the more energy bubbles up in my stomach. Cranking up the stereo, I press a little harder on the accelerator and head back to my city apartment to change. I need to move. Run. Exercise until my lungs burn. If I don’t corrode some of this excess energy I will combust.

So, after changing into some jogging pants and a white vest, I pull on my trainers and set off, on foot, to Heaton Park. I jog at a steady pace for just under an hour until I reach the north entrance. Once I’m through the gates, I attach my iPhone to the band around my upper arm and plug my earphones into my ears. Hitting shuffle, I set off into a fast run.

Radioactive by Imagine Dragons blasts into my ears as I veer onto the grass, cutting through some trees to avoid the crowded play park and public areas.

There’s a chill in the air, whipping my cheeks, but it does nothing to stifle the beads of sweat rolling down my back. I focus on my breathing, keeping it even, as I increase my speed.

After twenty minutes the muscles in my legs begin to burn and I keep going, embracing the pain. I’m so hyped up I feel like I could run for days without needing a break. There’s another jogger in the distance. He’s fast, but I’m faster, and I challenge myself to overtake him. I do it with ease and carry on going until I reach Heaton Hall. I rest for a moment, admiring the rolling hills in the distance while I stretch my limbs. They ache, but not enough, so I turn back and sprint the same distance again.

Some days, by this point, I call a cab to take me home, but not today. Today, I need this. I need both the exertion and the pain it brings. That’s why I make my way home on foot, stretching my journey even further by using hidden pathways and side streets.

The burn in my lungs I’ve been chasing only appears when I see my apartment building, in the centre of Spinningfields, ahead. I relish it, panting through the throb in my chest as I jog towards it.

Back in my penthouse apartment, I head straight to the fridge and pluck out a bottle of spring water. My throat welcomes the coolness and I drink every drop without pausing to take a breath. I toss the empty plastic into the bin and brace myself on the kitchen counter, my head sagging.

Now what?

My foot taps impatiently against the tiled floor and I scan my surroundings as if they’ll give me the answer. I check my watch, pleased to discover my run has made four hours pass. It’s still too early to hit the bar, but decide that’s my plan once I’ve had a bath and a snack. A few drinks and a good f**k is what I need now.

Happy f*****g birthday to me.

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