The Art of The Affair

9

After a restless night of tossing and turning, I was relieved to show up to the pub on a night that Malfoy wasn't working.  The night went by easily, and it was uneventful.  It was also a strange one.  The evening dragged by as if it would never end.  I guess the lack of unexpected chaos and unpredictability that his presence usually brought to an evening had made it boring without him.

The following morning, I went in early to meet with the representatives of the company I'd chosen. By the time they left, two hidden cameras were installed.  I could access the feed on an app on my phone, which meant that I could watch when I wasn't there.  I was convinced that was the only time the thief was going to strike.  I hoped the two new angles would provide the proof I needed.

That evening, on the first night with the new views, I did some more shopping and checked the feed on my phone a bit.  Once I got home, I scanned the video when the person of interest was behind the bar and nearly spilled tea all over myself when I saw what I was looking for.  The movement was so polished, so discreet, that I'd had to watch it several times to be sure.  I immediately grabbed my purse and headed for the station.

I arrived just under an hour before close.  Katie was off tonight so it was just Malfoy and Jason.  Both of them seemed surprised that I'd made an unexpected late appearance, but only one of them looked overly happy about it. I knew which one of the reactions was at least genuine.  

After dropping off my purse in the office, I picked an empty stool and asked Jason for a Coke.  Malfoy glared at me from the end of the bar but I wasn't flirting with Jason.  My intention was to make sure he didn't try to ring up a phantom tab now that I've showed up and deposit any cash to cover his arse.

At quitting time, he seemed puzzled that I was still at the bar, sipping on my second glass of Coke.  He didn't ask Malfoy to run the report and count the drawer, so Malfoy split - leaving Jason and I alone.  

I debated whether to confront him or not, but I wanted a clearer shot than the one I'd seen.  It would be Ron's choice on how to proceed anyway, not mine.  But I would tell Ron whose brilliant idea it was to install the hidden cameras.  

While Jason dropped the deposit into the safe, I pretended to need to stick around to work on something.  Once he was gone, I sat down and backtracked the security feed from the old camera.  My eyes squinted at the computer monitor as the grainy footage played at the exact time I'd recorded him on the new camera, but as expected, Jason knew what he was doing.  He'd purposefully kept his back toward the perched old camera that was in plain sight during the moment in question.

The sound of the front door unlocking and opening startled me, and I rushed to minimize the video from the old camera.  But it wasn't Jason striding across the creaky old hardwood.  It was Malfoy.

"Forget something?" I asked as he approached the office doorway.

The intensity of his stare - just for a second - put thoughts in my head that shouldn't have been there.  I was relieved when he only leaned his side against the doorframe and asked if I'd taken his advice and installed the hidden camera.

"You told me not to tell anyone, remember?  Shouldn't that include you?"

"No," he deadpans.  "And?"

I tilt my head from side to side and arch an eyebrow, silently conveying that I might have something.

"Sounds like you won't have to be here much longer then.  Soon your life will go back to the way it was and you won't have to put up with this place anymore, or me."

Sure, the win will be sweet. I always enjoy winning, but there's something else there that shouldn't be.  

"We should have a drink to celebrate," he says, pushing a hip off from the doorway.  "Come on, don't be a prude."

It's a childish tactic but it works.  I follow him behind the bar, intending on pouring my own pint.  Instead, he bends down and reaches way back under the bar for something.  When he straightens, he produces a bottle of whisky that isn't dusty-looking.

"Why is there a bottle of liquor hidden-"

"I put it there earlier," he interrupts.  "I thought it was going to be here a little longer, granted, but catching the smug little shit in action calls for something other than beer.  Now," he pauses, unscrewing the cap.  "There isn't a shot glass in this place so, drink up."

He tilts the full bottle back and takes a mouthful.  His lips, wrapped around the glass, are exactly where mine are about to be.  When he sets it down, I can't exactly explain why I won't drink after him.  So I put the bottle to my own lips and take a healthy drink.  

Swallowing the whisky was like swallowing a raging fireball.  I coughed a little as I set it down and slide it over next to me, but he didn't laugh as I expected him to.  He probably already knew I didn't drink much. 

"Cold-blooded," I remark as he drinks.  

He swallows and slides it back my way.  We're shoulder-to-shoulder nearly, though who had inched closer wasn't clear.  

"Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"Cold-blooded," I shrug, putting the bottle to my lips again.  After I swallow, I shake my head a little and make a noise of distaste - which he ignores.  

"I don't have a hearing problem.  I have a context problem."

"We aren't toasting to Jason being caught. You're celebrating getting me out of your hair soon.  Well, the jokes on you.  I know and I'm drinking anyway."  

I slide the bottle his way with a smug smirk on my lips.  He eyes me with a smirk of his own.

"That almost hurts my feelings."  

I snort and roll my eyes.  "What feelings."  

I could feel the liquid spreading through me.  It was making me feel bold - provocative, even.  Telling him that I wasn't actually looking forward to the end of this assignment I'd once dreaded was unnecessary, but the words tumbled out anyway.

"I'll miss fighting with you."

"Same.  You're the only one who isn't afraid of me." 

"I was," I admit as I impatiently jerk the bottle from his hand.  

I set the bottle down a little harder than I meant to and he takes it away.

"That's enough," he says, screwing the cap on.  "Go home.  Your husband's waiting for you."

"Right," I snort again.  "You don't know how wrong you are.  Well goodnight, lock up, then."

My balance is already being affected but I'm quite sure I could've handled a couple more drinks.  He says something from behind me but not loud enough for me to hear.  I toss up a hand and extend my middle finger.  The absurd pleasure it gives me to do something I shouldn't makes me laugh as I let myself out.