Under The Hood

Ch. 7

Jude is late getting to work the morning after the night out.

It feels so unlike him, and I don't want to imagine if someone is the reason for this late arrival.

When he finally steps through the door, I can't seem to meet his eye. There's a puffiness to his face, letting onto his clearly awful hangover.

"Morning," he says, stopping midway to the photocopier when he turns at my silence. "Morning, Imogen."

I force myself to speak. Remember you need this job! "Morning, sir."

The frown he sends my way looks painful. He staggers a fraction and holds his head. "Shit, this headache is awful."

Good, I think.

"Last night a bit of a blur?" I bite back, keeping my head down so I don't have to see his reaction.

He makes some groaning noises, plonking himself in the seat opposite me. "I'm not usually a big drinker. I hate being like this at work."

It feels like he struggles with the lack of control, too, or maybe how he's perceived by others. It's almost like they won't think he's as powerful if they see him struggling. I keep my head down, checking our client lists for the day, switching around a few who messaged to rearrange.

"Did you have a nice time with your friends?" he asks, pushing the chair back to look at me better.

"Yeah, did you?" Gosh, I need to stop being so snarky, but I can't help it.

I'm so hurt, and it's technically not even his fault. I am as much in the wrong as him, maybe even more for not coming clean by now. Still, the longer I leave it, the harder it feels to be honest with him because more bills are coming through the post, and I need this job to pay for them.

Slipping his hand through his hair, Jude eases further back in the chair, resting his leg over his knee. "I wish you'd stayed longer last night. I barely saw you in the club."

My blood starts to boil, frustration rising. If this is some game he's playing at, I don't want any part of it.

"You seemed pretty busy with the girls," I blurt, a little surprised by myself. But the rest of the words tumble out before I can stop them. "Does Brittney know what you're up to when she's not around?"

It takes him a couple seconds to process, shaking his head a few times. "Why would Brittney care?"

I scoff. "She's your girlfriend."

At this, Jude has the audacity to laugh. "No. No. She's just a friend."

Okay, so there's friends, and then there's friends, so which one, boss man?

"We've known each other since school," he elaborates, still smiling. "And I don't think her wife is threatened by me. You probably saw Carrie too last night—her wife. Curly red hair, green dress?"

My head whooshes with dizziness.

Brittany is married? And not to Jude?

Does that mean he's single? Why do I suddenly feel more nervous? Shyness is not in my DNA.

"I'm sorry for assuming, I just saw you both together all over the internet and presumed," I say thickly, my voice wavering at the warm look he gives me. I don't think he knows he's doing it, either.

"Did you google me, Imogen?" he questions, absolutely loving my embarrassment.

"Erm, I," I break off by pressing a few keyboard keys, desperately trying to come up with an answer. "Yes, I did. But only to gauge what sort of person I would be working for."