Beholden Read online

  Beholden

  by

  Fox Brison

  Bold Fox Publishing

  First Edition: October 2017

  This is a work of fiction. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the author’s express permission. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit Fox at www.foxbrison.com

  Or on www.facebook.com/FoxBrisonAuthor

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Prologue

  Adele

  My black and silver silk kimono slid effortlessly onto the bathroom floor, and I stepped inside the walk in shower. Closing my eyes as the cool spray pounded my body, I lathered my puckered skin, memories from thirty years ago bubbling to the surface; unfortunately these weren’t as easy to wash away as sweat and grime.

  The fire hungrily consuming the costume I was wearing…

  My mother screaming...

  My skin corroding…

  The wail of the ambulance...

  Physical and mental scars I would never be rid of…

  The pain.

  Chapter 1

  Adele

  Shit, this cannot be happening! I leant against the lamppost glaring irritably at my feet, and in particular the heel of my left shoe protruding at a very odd angle from the sole. Already running late I was left with three options, none of which were particularly palatable: go barefoot; remove the intact heel; or find the nearest decent shoe shop and purchase a new pair.

  Option one was out. I wasn’t going to ruin the expensive pedicure I’d had the previous day by traipsing through filthy streets in my stockinged feet, and option three would take forever - I wasn’t indecisive, I simply had extremely high standards.

  Option two it was.

  Glancing up, I suddenly became conscious that I was the recipient of several sympathetic stares. It was something I grew up with and had quickly grown to abhor, so in defiance I snapped the heel off of my right shoe, flicked my dirty blonde hair haughtily, and pursed my lips until they were two thin lines. I imagined I looked like an arsehole in every sense, but I didn’t give a toss; it worked and people began to avert their gaze. Their pity was both misguided and unwanted; I had three more pairs of Christian Louboutins in my closet at home. If anyone needed pity it was them in their Primark pumps and Lonsdale trainers.

  A triumphant lungful of air later, I resumed my march towards ‘Haggis and Neeps’, Edinburgh’s newest designer eatery, and thus my lunch with Adam Carlisle, the junior partner at the architectural firm of Cameron, Shaw and Carlisle where I plied my trade. Today’s the day I’m finally going to be handed the keys to the executive bathroom, I thought eagerly; okay we didn’t have an executive bathroom, but if we did Adam would be giving it to me wrapped up in an oversized bow. After twelve years of pure slog, this red letter day was the culmination of many a sleepless night, frequent early mornings, and hour after hour of working with people who most days didn’t know their arse from their elbows without my precise direction.

  I couldn’t fathom why Adam didn't just tell me the good news back at the office, but I suppose protocol demanded a champagne lunch to celebrate. The heat was building up in the crowded streets, and although the sky was bright blue I sensed a summer storm brewing in the air.

  I didn’t realise how prophetic I was until much later.

  Chapter 2

  Adele

  “Adele, you’ve been with us for what, nearly twelve years now?” Adam began what I prayed was a short trip down memory lane.

  Sentimentality gave me chronic indigestion.

  I took a bite of my haggis. It was one of the things I was going to miss the most when I moved to New York. Not the lunch meeting with my boss, no, the haggis. However, I wished he would cut to the chase. I may have savoured the earthy pepperiness wrapped up in sheep intestine, but I was less enamoured by small talk. It was utterly tedious, usually inane and frequently pedestrian in nature.

  Although allowing Adam a few minutes of nostalgia wasn't going to kill me, especially because I knew what was to follow. Promotion. I nodded and smiled in all of the right places whilst mentally tapping my toe impatiently.

  “Slightly more,” I said indulging his need to process.

  “So it’s fair to say I know you pretty well.”

  “Aye, I’ve enjoyed working with you, Adam, I’ll be sad to say goodbye,” I dragged the conversation back on track.

  “Goodbye?” He stopped eating, placed his cutlery deliberately onto the plate and took a sip of wine. I couldn’t understand why he found my words perplexing, nor why he was being quite so precise in his actions.

  “Well yes. Don’t get me wrong, I love Edinburgh but I’m ready for a new challenge. I can’t wait to go to New York and the Jordan Golf complex will be the perfect swan song.” I was surprised he hadn’t ordered the champagne yet. “By the way, when are you going to give me the design brief for that?”

  “Adele, I think you may have misunderstood the purpose of this meeting.” He nervously flattened down the hair on the back of his head. “I’m sorry but the partners don’t think you're right for the Jordan Golf contract.”

  I felt like I was in San Quentin on death row and Adam was the prison warden escorting me down the dank grey corridors to my doom, where my last view, before a thousand watts of power jolted through my body, would be of his sombre face, watching me twitch until I was finally ended.

  “What? Why on earth not?” I glanced around but the silver cutlery and crystal glasses clanking and clinking, accompanied by a dull murmur of civilised conversation, masked my outraged exclamation. “I am by far the most experienced and best qualified person for the job,” I continued in lower, but no less as vexed, tones. “I know it and, more importantly, so do you. That contract should be mine.” I squeezed my white linen napkin tightly, a temporary stress ball; losing my temper wasn't going to help my journey to the heights.

  Unless of course the heights involved designing housing estates in Kazakhstan.

  “Wait.” An unsavoury thought invaded the inner workings of my analytical brain. “If I’m not getting Jordan Golf that means I’m out of the running for New York.” My mind was working nineteen to the dozen and the conclusion it reached made me sick to my stomach. “Oh. My. God! You’re giving it to Aileen Entwhistle?”

  “She’s a good architect, Dell, and has exceptional leadership qualities, this morning’s meeting demonstrated that in high
definition,” Adam explained calmly, albeit with an apologetic slant. “You basically emasculated James Morrison and seemed ecstatic about doing so.”

  Seemed ecstatic? I’d been bloody euphoric. James Morrison was a complete dick and to make matters worse, he was also an incompetent dick. I shared a wolfish grin with my inner bitch. Ten minutes into the briefing he was sweating, twenty saw him shaking and at the thirty minute mark he could take no more and scurried to the bathroom followed by Aileen Entwhistle.

  I’m guessing it was to avoid the humiliation of pissing in his pants.

  I scowled. And for that Aileen was getting my promotion? Because she mollycoddled junior architects, kissed their boo boos, and accepted mediocrity? Aileen portrayed herself as the nice guy of the office and I was the photographic negative to my rival’s technicolour vibrancy; she joked around the coffee machine, helped old ladies across the road and probably wore a cape underneath her neatly pressed pale pink blouse, but I’d seen a darker side to the sainted Aileen Entwhistle.

  She owned a ruthless streak wider than the Forth Road Bridge.

  “And I don’t have these so called leadership qualities?” I placed my knife and fork down with none of the finesse Adam exhibited; in fact I used such force I’m surprised the plate didn’t crack in two. “Every project I’ve supervised in the past three years has come in on time, under budget and with kudos from the client. Name one other architect in the firm that can claim that. I can spearhead teams, Adam, and I’m insulted by your insinuation to the contrary.” My gast was flabbered and was accompanied by a healthy dollop of disbelief.

  And yes, the garnish was ire, but it was the parsley on top of your pasta - you removed it to enjoy the rest of your meal first, and when you’d scraped the last vestige of sauce with your garlic bread and were chatting idly to your pal? That’s when you ate the parsley, more as an afterthought than as an addition.

  “It’s not just the money or the time, although yes I grant you they are important, but so is forming strong working relationships. The feedback from project managers and heads of construction on your developments all report the same thing; they find it difficult to communicate ideas, especially if a problem arises.”

  I shrugged dismissively. “I expect the same standards from the people I work with as I do from myself. I don’t see the problem with that.”

  “No?” Adam took another leisurely sip of his wine stalling for time. “That’s exactly my point. The issue isn’t your architectural skills, it’s your interpersonal ones. You don’t communicate. You don’t compromise. You don’t work well with others. And the fact you don’t see this as a problem is a problem.”

  “Blunt.”

  “Truthful,” he countered. “You’re like a kid who hasn’t been taught how to share her toys.”

  “Adam, being good at my job is a damned sight more important than being an effing tree hugger.” I was reaching the end of my tether.

  “There’s a difference between being a tree hugger and being unapproachable. You’re unapproachable.”

  My insides froze. I hadn’t seen any of this coming. Yes I was brusque and maybe I didn’t make friends on the job, did that make me incapable? Did that mean I was going to be languishing at this pay grade for the rest of my career?

  “Adam,” I said coldly, “if that’s what you're looking for, I’m sorry, I can’t be that person.” I picked up my glass and ignored the tremble in the liquid. I wasn’t upset I was bloody furious, and it took every last ounce of self-control not to throw the 2013 Stag’s Leap Merlot in his face. “If I was a man we wouldn’t be having this conversation, you’d be patting me on the back for my no nonsense approach.”

  “Actually, Adele, you’re wrong and I’m offended you think I’m such a chauvinist.”

  I pushed my chair back and readied to leave. I’d had more than enough of this conversation. “Fine, I’m wrong. You’ll have my letter of resignation in the morning.” I can’t believe this is happening. An hour ago my L1 visa application was ready to go and now what? Now I was second best to a second rate architect?

  “Wait, Adele!” Adam's voice contained an element of panic. The tables had turned and he hadn’t seen that coming.

  Touché, Ms Jackson, I congratulated myself.

  “We don’t want to lose you from the firm, in fact, that’s the last thing we want.” He frowned, straightened his tie… and suddenly his face lit up. I swear to god I expected him to shout Eureka and a light bulb to flicker above his head. “You’re right, Dell. After twelve years of loyal service you deserve a fair crack of the whip. How about in the name of objectivity I set you a challenge.”

  “A challenge?”

  “Yes, Jordan Golf.”

  “Go on.” I rubbed my forehead to erase the tension headache that was beginning.

  “Kevin Jordan is arriving this week. I’ll give you and Aileen the brief, and on Friday at the annual charity ball, whoever can schmooze and impress him and his wife the most wins the contract, and thus the promotion. Now I can’t say fairer than that.” He looked as pleased as punch with his idea. “However, you must give me your word that if you lose you won’t quit.”

  “Schmooze?” I asked, perturbed. Schmooze? It didn’t sound any better in my head. I wasn’t exactly in the running for ‘the most sociable person of the year’ award, so how in god’s name was I going to schmooze my way to a promotion?

  “Exactly. Convince him he should work with you, using your charisma and…” he appeared nonplussed for a second. I didn’t blame him because this was not sounding too appetising to me either; Aileen possessed a doctorate in sucking up whereas my style was a tad more along the lines of take it or leave it. Nevertheless, I did like the concept of a design off, it would give me the opportunity to prove once and for all I could draw circles around Aileen Entwhistle.

  “Maybe it would be a good idea if you brought someone," Adam hedged and cowered, obviously expecting an explosion.

  “You mean a date?” I was appalled. Just when I thought this meeting couldn’t possibly get any worse…

  “It might take the pressure off and you’ll find it easier to mix.”

  Mix? Why was everyone obsessed with me mixing? I was happier being the dressing on the side not tumbled in amongst the limp lettuce and soggy cucumber. However in this instance maybe he was right. Instead of a merkin to hide my sexuality, I'd have a toupee to enhance my personality. There was just one stumbling block.

  Where was I going to find a significant other in four days?

  ***

  I returned to the office in a foul temper and Janine, my personal assistant, bore the brunt of it. “If I've told you once, Janine, I've told you a thousand times, when you scan documents make sure they are perfectly aligned. If I have to tell you again, you'll be collecting your P45 from HR.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms Jackson.” She didn’t look contrite, she was pissed off. It was an expression I readily recognised.

  “Bring me the Harris folder. You can manage that, can’t you?” Janine left the office. She didn’t slam the door, but she clearly wanted to.

  I sighed wearily and swivelled in my chair, barely registering my second favourite view in the world, Edinburgh’s unique skyline. I’d worked my arse off climbing the ladder at Cameron, Shaw and Carlisle, serving my apprenticeship on dreary office blocks and housing association projects. But after scaling the greasy pole to the dizzying heights of lead architect, the grease turned to glue and I stuttered to a stop.

  Jordan Golf.

  I was desperate for the ‘big’ contract, the game changing contract, the name making contract; Jordan Golf was that contract. A large conglomerate from Florida, they’d purchased a huge swathe of land on the east coast between Edinburgh and Dunbar with tentative planning permission for a new centre of golf excellence, one to rival other major Scottish institutions such as Troon and St Andrews – and they were willing to pay through the nose for it. I salivated at the thought of working on such a high profile commissio
n, because if it was mine and it went the way my projects usually did, the next stop was New York and all the prestige that came with it.

  I could literally have licked my lips at the prospect but resisted because, let’s face it, it would have looked unbelievably creepy.

  I’d hardly taken a breath since Adam presented me with his challenge; now I’d had time to think I was less than thrilled to be told there was a snag in my blueprint for architectural domination, and that my only chance of hearing the magical words ‘congratulations, Adele. Pack your bags you’re going to New York,” involved having a complete personality transplant. He wanted me to compromise, communicate, cajole and probably cave when there was a problem? Shit. I was stuffed because I couldn’t manage my own team without reducing them to tears, so how the hell was I supposed to schmooze a delegation of American businessmen and their Stepford wives?

  Not referring to them as Stepford wives would be a start.

  Adam's ‘date’ suggestion was beginning to sound more and more attractive, but it was Monday and the ball was on Friday. Where could I find a girlfriend at such short notice? It would be like hunting the snark. I snorted. Short notice? If Adam told me I needed a date for New Year 2020, I still would have struggled. My choice was limited to finding a date from either the local Indian takeaway or the panoply of business contacts that dominated my address book.

  “This has to be signed ASAP,” Janine pushed a receipt for a plant hire company under my nose. I was so distracted I didn't notice her enter. My pen flew over the sheet, and as I watched her leave a teasing voice popped into my head. If only you could hire yourself a girlfriend as easy as you can hire a crane… I frowned. No. I couldn’t. Could I?

  Could I hire a plus one?

  ***

  For the rest of the afternoon instead of focussing on my latest commission, I was combing the internet for escort services in Edinburgh.

  Yep I was about to become that person.