Set me free
Jack
I’d forgotten about the bloody uniforms.
Maybe because I’d never really taken much of an interest in them before. I’d been coming out here to host this week for the last three years and had always considered the serving staff as window dressing. I had an uncomfortable feeling that that made me a colossal arsehole. I winced as I remembered a conversation I’d once overheard between my old boss and Tim Blight about staffing the boat.
“The staff have got to be attractive. A few guys but mostly girls. Young and with enough flesh showing to be just skirting the edges of inappropriate,” my old boss had said. I was still climbing the ranks at the time, hungry to impress and not about to pull up a superior on his attitude.
That was five years ago, before I’d started my own company and bought the boat from that old bastard at a ridiculously low price after his company went down the tubes. I was in charge now, but the boat set-up hadn’t changed. As I watched Urvi move around the main lounge I hated myself a little bit. This sexist bullshit just wasn’t acceptable. Yes, I paid these people well. Yes, I wanted my guests to have a good time. But this wasn’t a meat market.
I grunted as an unwanted hand slapped me on the back and turned to see George, the client from hell, come up beside me. “You put on the best damn parties in Saint-Tropez. Loving the fine fillies handing out the champers this year.” He lowered his voice and moved closer, his gin-scented breath grazing my cheek. “See you managed to snare the exotic barmaid from Dragon’s Den. Do you and your people scope out all of London for the best pus -?”
“Finish that sentence and your teeth will make their way down into your stomach before you can blink.” My voice was even, betraying none of the rage behind my words.
“W-w-what on earth?”
“George!” Stella said, stepping between us with a wide smile then shoving me back with a sharp elbow. “Didn’t see you board. Journey okay? How’s business? Don’t mind Jack, we’ve been doing this fake threat thing for weeks now – Itoldhim some people wouldn’t get it but he insists it’s funny as all hell. Why don’t you come over this way and I can introduce you to some of the top guys and gals in our creative team?” She shot me a vicious look over her shoulder as she led a bemused George away and I felt a muscle tick in my jaw.
“Same old George Montague then,” Ben’s voice came from behind me and I forced my shoulders to relax, not wanting Ben to see how much that creepy, rapey, racist bastard had wound me up. “Surprised you’re doing business with him at all if I’m honest.”
“His money’s as good as anyone else’s,” I told Ben, striving for a passive expression as I turned towards him. The fact that there were plenty on my staff who agreed with Ben made me even more defensive. “Can’t be too picky. You know that.”
“Hmm.” He shrugged, his face unreadable until something caught his eye over my shoulder and a slow smile spread across his face. “Ah, Giblet Tickler.”
“As pet names go that’s got to be the grossest I’ve ever heard,” Urvi said in her husky voice and I turned to see her right next to us, holding a massive tray laden with glasses of champagne. “You are such a charmer, Baloo.”
“Baloo?” Ben looked mock-horrified. “You’ve gone too far there, short stuff.”
Giblet Tickler? Baloo? Short stuff? How long were we on that goddamn flight? It was only a couple of hours. Why were these two exchanging bloody nicknames?
“Er . . . hey Jack,” she said, and when I caught her eye she smiled. She wore no make up, but with her thick, dark eyelashes she didn’t need it. Her hair was up in a high ponytail and she looked absolutely stunning, if about fourteen years old. “How’s the businessing going? Catch any big fish yet?”
Fighting to maintain a light grip on my glass, I took a sip of my champagne instead of saying something to her I might regret. I needed to get control of my irrational anger towards this girl. I wanted to shake her and ask her why she was taking drugs when she had so much going for her? Why she had led me on and made me feel like we had some sort of connection, when all the while she knew I wasnot her type? Not thatshewasmytype anyway. Not anymore.
“It’s fine, thank you,” I told her, my tone clipped. Her smile wavered and her expressive eyes looked hurt for a moment before she masked her reaction.
“Oh, er . . . good. That’s good.” A tremor ran through all the glasses on the try and panic swept through her features. It looked too heavy for someone as small as her to carry.
“You’d better unload the rest of those before you drop them,” I told her and turned back to Ben. I didn’t watch her walk away. If I’d looked at her any longer I would have grabbed the tray and told her to sit down. Those dark circles were still under her eyes and she still didn’t look well, at all.
“You know the Giblet Tickler pretty well then?” Ben asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.
“In passing. She serves drinks at the Dragon’s Den. It’s not like she’s a friend. I’ve barely spoken to her.”
“Hmm,” Ben murmured. “Strange that a brief, innocuous interaction with someone you barely know has left you looking like you want to commit murder.”
“Listen, mate,” I snapped, having had enough of Ben’s idiot comments and mind games. “You’ve made it clear that you’re not going to be using my agency for your campaign. You’ve left me hanging at every turn. And that’sfine.Use whatever tired-arse, shitty campaign my competitors come up with. Your loss. But stop trying to wind me up, andstay awayfrom my staff.”
I’d been treading lightly around Ben for weeks, hoping he’d come around to the fact that our service was the best, swallowing my annoyance that he hadn’t come straight to me and trusted me in the first place. But enough was enough. His company and his business could go fuck itself. There were plenty other prestigious and less high maintenance clients out there. To my surprise Ben let out a loud bark of laughter.
“You’ve been buttering my muffin for over six weeks now, Jacky boy,” he said through his amusement. “Sucking up to me, hoping I’d choose your agency, allowing me to shove your pride down your throat. And then one little girl comes along and boom! No more Mr Nice Guy. Real Jack makes an appearance at last.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Well, I’m pleased. Ilikereal Jack: he’s a bit of an arrogant prick but he’s a lot more fun. I’ve been waiting for my friend to re-emerge from behind Arse-Licking Jack for a while.” He clinked his glass against mine and I wanted to punch him in his smirking face. “Good luck with that one.” He nodded towards Urvi who was still circulating with the tray, which was thankfully now largely emptied of champagne. “And take my advice - tone down the unbelievable tosser routine with her. Women tend to go for men who are slightly less than total dickheads. Men like me.”
“Ben – “ I snarled, but he was already walking away. He may have been one of my oldest friends, but it took all of my self control not to tear after him and threaten to rip off his tiny penis if he so much as looked at Urvi the wrong way again.
