“Fuck you.” Al half steps, half jumps forward and swings at the taller woman before Leanne or Daisy can stop her. Her fist makes contact with Gem’s jaw and she stumbles backwards. Her foot slips on the beer-stained floor and she tumbles to the ground. The crowd whoops with excitement, and out of the corner of my eye, I spot a male member of security, walkie-talkie pressed to his ear, striding towards us. Daisy sees him too and gestures for me to help Leanne, who’s desperately shoving Al towards the door.

It doesn’t take much persuasion to get her to leave now. She’s so jubilant she practically skips out of the room.

“Fucking yeah!” She punches the air then winces and hugs her right hand to her body. She glances behind us as we hurry her towards the exit. “Where’s Daisy?”

Leanne and I exchange a look. “She’ll be fine. She’s chatting up the bouncer.”

“Dirty slut.” Al laughs all the way out of the building and into the waiting cab.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It’s the next morning and I’ve only been at my desk for ten minutes when Geoff, my boss, wanders over. He lingers behind me, his hand on the back of my chair. I shuffle as far forward as I can so I end up perched right on the very edge of the seat.

“Late again, Emma.”

“Sorry.” I keep my gaze fixed on the spreadsheet in front of me. “Tube was delayed.”

It’s a lie. We didn’t get Al into bed until 2 a.m. and then I had to wait for a taxi to get me back to Wood Green. By the time I rolled into bed, it was after three.

“You’ll have to make up the time. I want you here until seven.”

“But I need to get to Clapham by then, my brother’s in a play.”

“You should have thought about that this morning and got up earlier. Now …” My chair creaks as he rests his full weight on it and leans around me so his mouth is inches from the side of my face. I can feel his breath, hot and sour in my ear. “I’m expecting that spreadsheet by lunchtime so I can look over it before I speak to the sales team this afternoon. Or should I expect that to be late, too?”

I want to tell him to stick his spreadsheet up his arse. Instead I curl my hands into fists and press my fingernails into the palms of my hands. “You’ll get it.”