Delectable (Sinclair Bryant)

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*Note* A shorter chapter and probably a bit boring but I wanted to give more insight to how I'm interpreting Sinclair. Stay with it, it will get exciting ;)

Sinclair had the least productive day he could remember as he sat back in his black leather office chair; Mandy, his receptionist, was on her break and his lunch was sitting untouched in front of him. He didn't often eat his lunch at his desk, much preferring to escape the office and the same four walls but after Natalie's intrusion yesterday, the sleepless night that fiasco resulted in and a wretched commute, for once, he didn't want to go anywhere.

The phone that sat on his desk had been watched like a hawk and answered faster than Mandy could. Every call had been a disappointment because it wasn't her. Sinclair had never been "the ladies man" people often crassly spoke of. He'd had a few girlfriends, of course, and a wife, but he wouldn't exactly call himself knowledgable when it came to relationships. It was partly why he had blamed himself for Natalie's infidelity – the first time anyway. As such, he wracked his brain, over and over on how to make it up to Sian and worried if she'd even want him to.

By the time Mandy came back half an hour later, he'd not figured out what to do and only managed to force down half of his lunch, the other half was wrapped back up and pushed to the side.

"Brought you a coffee back," Mandy began as she kicked the heavy door shut with her heeled foot, "Forgive me for saying, but you look like you've had a heavy weekend."

"You are an angel," Sinclair replied with a half-smile and took the polystyrene takeaway cup from her.

"Did you finish with that report?" She asked as she placed her own drink down on the desk that was on the other side of the office.

"Yes...all done," he sighed and pulled the green folder from his top drawer.

"Three copies?" She asked in clarification.

"Please," he replied and then began nursing the warm cup between his hands.

Mandy set about her tasks for the afternoon, organised and efficient as ever. However, she wasn't so busy that she didn't have time to glance at him every now and then, worried about the distant look on his face.

*

"Sian!" Andre bellowed across the kitchen, so loud the other kitchen staff looked up from their own tasks. "How long? I've asked twice now, if you can't get it together in time, get out of my fucking kitchen!"

The other staff ducked their heads before Andre honed in on them. Sian, admittedly distracted, was working at her usual pace. It just so happened that Andre was in a horrifically hostile mood that dinner shift. Needless to say, lunch had been far more pleasant because he wasn't scheduled in.

"2 minutes, Andre," she replied.

"Hurry up," he yelled back.

"Yes, I'll just speed up time shall I?" she muttered under her breath as she grabbed the finishing garnish she needed. When she passed it over to Andre, she could smell alcohol on him. He'd had his break an hour before and whilst she thought she could smell something earlier, it was hard to detect as there was always alcohol in the kitchen, for cooking with, but this was definitely emanating from him.

Sian shook her head as she went back to her station and began working on the next dish. This wasn't the first time Andre had drank on the job. Perry flew into the kitchen moments later, distracting her from her rage-fuelled thoughts about Andre; both gave each other a sympathetic smile and continued on. She had stayed with Sian last night and although she wanted her to be happy, which Sinclair seemed to be doing well (up until yesterday) she had told her to take the time she needed. Sian had taken over as comforter, or referee might be the better term, when they both arrived at work.

The debacle of the missing £50 had not been solved and therefore the three wait staff that worked last night would all be docked an even amount out of their wage. Perry, knowing full well it wasn't her mistake, was therefore not on her finest form. Her face saying everything she couldn't get away with; not without losing her job anyway. Jimmy tried his best to cheer her up but his efforts fell flat every time, therefore he looked like a kicked puppy moping around the kitchen.

All in all, it was a shit day and as if it couldn't get any worse, it was pouring down with rain outside. Sian jumped in the first black cab she could flag down, which cut her 20-minute walk down to a 7-minute drive and saved her from getting completely soaked.

The cabbie talked, asked the usual questions which Sian tried her best to answer but she couldn't shake her melancholy. She picked at a piece of lint as she thought about Sinclair; she was going to have to tell him that she eavesdropped on his private conversation. Otherwise, he might think she was completely overreacting. She knew there was some overreaction on her part but she didn't think she was solely to blame. Her thoughts were cut off as the taxi pulled up, the driver turning and asking for his money.

She paid then ran to the door of her building, opening it with the key fob as quickly as she could. Once inside she shook off the drops of rain that had landed on her and took off her hat. When she'd climbed the stairs and got through her front door her phone was ringing. It was so late, it could only be a handful of people she thought, as she made her way into the living room and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

The familiar voice on the other end reminded her of something she had been ignoring all day.

*

With a whiskey in hand, Sinclair meandered around his large and lonely home. He had tried to read and failed, tried to watch the television but zoned out of what was on the screen. If anyone were to ask, he wouldn't even be able to tell them what channel he had decided upon, let alone the programme that he had ignored. The realisation that he was in deep when it came to Sian weighed heavy on him.

As he headed upstairs to his home office, he passed the bedroom he once shared with Natalie, brushing his fingertips over solid oak. The ghosts that lay in wait behind that door would suffer another solitary night as he breezed past and into the bedroom he now used. Opening the wardrobe in the corner of the room, he ran his hand to where he knew he had left the item.

Sian's scarf was draped over the clothing rail in there. He shot back the last of his whiskey and huffed, feeling ridiculous and a bit of a creep for keeping it now but it didn't stop him from taking it out and wrapping it around his neck. It was nearly December and the weather was making that fact very well known. The scarf brought a strange comfort and warmth. Shuffling backwards, his legs eventually hit the bed and he collapsed down into it.

Sinclair hadn't meant to get so attached, so quickly. He never did. But he always did. A therapist would probably tell him that it stemmed from his parents. From being sent to boarding school and the unconscious abandonment issues that bred. Every holiday home he would talk his Mother's ear off about everything he had learnt that term, always clinging onto information that might impress both her and his Father. Not that he found a lot of time to tell his father, who was either at work, locked away in his office or off playing golf.

Alas, Sinclair had never seen a therapist and the feelings that he never quite understood, still remained a hindrance to him in his adult life. He tapped his feet on the floor as he stared at the ceiling. The house was deathly quiet. His mind was painfully loud.

"Fuck it," he said, a sudden burst of energy overtaking him as he pushed himself up and looked at his watch. Thinking she'd be home by that point, he dialled the number he had quickly memorised without a clue in the world what he was going to say, other than 'sorry' again. The line didn't connect, instead, he was met with the monotonous engaged tone, meaning she was already on the phone.

After his third try and third failure, he clicked the receiver back into place and lay the phone back down on the bedside table. He looked at it with a frown on his face before pinching the top of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Unlike the night before, Sinclair didn't find it hard to get to sleep, as he lay back down on the bed in defeat, the last shot of whiskey finally hit him. He faded into sleep, fully clothed, on top of the sheets with Sian's scarf still around his neck.