Audacity (Seraph)

The next afternoon, I swing by George’s desk and out we sashay to find a suitable venue for our introductory coffee. My initial agenda has shifted somewhat, because Gabriel has decided that George should be the only person at Rath Mor who knows the full extent of my job description. He argued at lunch yesterday that we’ll need George on board for ‘logistical help’—that is, booking hotel rooms.

Gabriel actually suggested that he tell George, a proposal I instantly quashed. Only one of us is aware of his PA’s gigantic crush, so only one of us has the emotional intelligence to handle this gently.

‘Oh darling,’ he says, giving my powder blue Chanel shift dress an appreciative once-over, ‘you are most definitely not Gladys, thank fuck.’

‘I certainly am not.’ I smooth down my dress, which Gabriel has already removed once today, and wonder idly if I should go show that Torty woman what tweed is supposed to look like. For his part, George looks fabulously fashionable in perfectly cut chocolate-brown trousers and a chunky cream sweater.

‘The Ritz?’ he suggests as we meander down Berkeley Street.

‘It would be rude not to,’ I agree.

We settle on a well-stuffed sofa in the iconic Rivoli Bar. Its walnut panelled walls and gold Art Deco flourishes feel decadent, even in the middle of a January afternoon.

‘The thing you need to know about our Angel Gabriel,’ George begins conspiratorially, ‘is that he’s shockingly bad at looking after himself. I don’t mean he’s incompetent—he lived by himself for years, obviously—but he doesn’t put himself first.’

I refrain for now from saying that Gabriel has indulged in quite the act of self care by hiring me. Sex on tap aside, I can well believe it.

‘Go on.’

‘You can take the man out of the priesthood, but it’s a lot harder to take the priesthood out of the man, if you catch my drift. He’s still a giver. He chats with everyone in the office like he’s hearing their confessions. And that recurring Wednesday lunchtime meeting in his calendar? That’s him trotting his lovely arse down to a soup kitchen off Ladbroke Grove.’

‘He volunteers at a soup kitchen?’ I ask. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It makes perfect sense, but it’s so… grass roots. Hands on. I assumed he would just throw money at these kinds of things.

‘He funds the soup kitchen, and yeah, he volunteers there. A priest mate of his runs it—Father John. He was struggling to keep its doors open, so Gabriel stepped in and promised unlimited funding.’

‘Got it. What else should I know?’

‘He forgets to eat lunch unless I put it in front of him and stand there menacingly while he eats, and even then, he eats for fuel during the day. He’s definitely too low-maintenance for a billionaire. It’s most disappointing.’

‘How much have you had to bling him up?’ I ask, my eyes narrowing. I’m beginning to wonder if Gabriel would still be living like a priest if left to his own devices—seven-figure religious artefacts aside, obviously.

His grin is devilish. ‘Quite a lot. I’m very good at spending other people’s money. I worked for the Royals before this, you know. Tight-fisted gits. So the suits are my doing. He was wearing high street suits when I came on board.’ We both shudder. ‘I tried to get him to go down the Tom Ford route—he has that fabulous, rangy body shape—but he ended up going to Savile Row. Still, he cleans up well. And his house has been a whole thing. What a fucking palaver.’ He puts up his hands in a show of resignation.

‘How so?’

‘Well, he took on one of his family’s properties—nice place in Manchester Square. You know, just by the Wallace Collection? Anyway, it had great bones but inside it was like something out of an Eighties bonkbuster. Strictly between us, Maeve’s taste—that’s his mum—runs a little nouveau, bless her. So I took over the interior design project. We haven’t done much structural, but it’s been a gigantic ball ache. It’s just about done now, and it’s fucking fabulous, if I say so myself. Not a gold carriage clock in sight.’

I giggle. George is my kind of person: whip-smart and judgmental as fuck.

Also: that’s good intel about the house. Manchester Square isn’t too far from the office. Could be good for the occasional fuck.

When the server comes, I put a hand on George’s arm. ‘I vote we have a proper drink. I have something to tell you, and I’m not sure coffee’s going to cut it.’

We order—champagne for me and an old fashioned for him. Once our drinks have arrived, he sits back, nursing his cocktail and appraising me.

‘Let me have it, you little beauty. Jesus, I may love dick but you are frankly stunning. Honestly. You’ve put a few noses out of joint in the past twenty-four hours, believe me.’

I smile with satisfaction. ‘About that.’

‘What about it?’ He sits up straighter.

I pull a pen and a sheaf of papers out of my Birkin. ‘New NDA. Sign first, then I’ll tell you.’

He sighs as he slides the papers towards himself. ‘Another fucking NDA. This had better be worth it.’

‘Oh, it definitely will be.’

He signs with a flourish and picks up his tumbler. ‘Well? Shoot.’

‘Gabriel hasn’t just hired me as his EA,’ I begin, watching his face for a reaction as he takes a sip of his old fashioned. ‘He’s hired me to fuck him.’

He claps his free hand to his mouth and jerks forward, coughing violently. I remove his drink from his other hand. ‘You okay?’

‘No.’ He rasps out the word and continues to cough. ‘Nope.’

I wait until he has his choking under control. ‘Look. I know you’re attracted to him. I’m sorry.’

He jerks his head up. ‘Seriously? You barely know me!’

I scrunch up my face in sympathy.

‘You think Gabriel knows?’

‘Please,’ I scoff. ‘He’s clueless.’

Relief flashes across his features, followed by hurt. ‘He’s hired you to fuck him. Does that mean what I think it means?’

‘It means I’m what’s known as a “full service” EA. I meet the professional and sexual needs of extremely powerful men within their office hours. It’s highly efficient.’

He’s full-on gaping at me. ‘Hoooly fuck. Is that actually a thing?’

‘It absolutely is. A very discreet, very expensive thing.’

‘Hang on. Let me get this straight. So you’re telling me our precious Priest Boy hired himself a… oh my God. Oh my God. This is better than Fleabag!’

I bark out a surprised laugh. ‘You’re taking this a lot better than I expected.’

He visibly sags. ‘Oh, please. It’s not like I thought I had a chance. I know he likes women. Loves them, if the amount of times I’ve booked him a private room at Alchemy is any sign.’

‘I heard he traumatised a cleaner there,’ I say with a smile. ‘That’s when he decided to hire me.’

‘It was a low point, that’s for sure. Do you know what he did, though? He had me chase Alchemy for the cleaner’s details and send her a huge bunch of flowers and a grand’s worth of Tesco vouchers. How sweet is that?’

I roll my eyes. Of course he bloody did. ‘Ridiculously sweet. God, he’s a good man.’

‘He is one hundred percent Jesus in this scenario,’ George confirms. ‘And you know what that makes you, right?’

‘Let me guess. Mary Magdalene?’

He nods. ‘That is correct.’

‘I’m the fallen woman, the whore who tries to corrupt him.’

‘The whore who sees him,’ he corrects me. ‘And who falls for him.’

‘Well, that’s not going to happen. I’m just here to keep his mind clear and his dick wet.’

He flops dramatically back on the sofa. ‘Jesus Christ. Pun intended. You lucky, lucky bitch. I can’t bear it.’

‘Is this going to be a problem for you and me?’

‘No.’ He shakes his head and presses his lips together before continuing. ‘Alas, my love for him is as selfless as it is unrequited. I just want to see him happy and well looked after. And if it has to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you, because you literally couldn’t be any hotter, and you’re also a total badass, which I really like. Plus, I bet you’re as good at blowjobs as I am.’

‘I absolutely am,’ I agree.

‘Have you fucked him already?’ He turns to look at me. ‘You have. Of course you have. Fuck, you’ve already had the privilege of seeing him naked.’

Yes, I have, and it’s a fine, fine sight. I usually take great pleasure in knowing that these incredible men want me and no one else, but I hate this for George. He’s a lovely guy who cares about Gabriel a lot, and it’s shitty. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’

He waves my apology off. ‘You can make it up to me by getting knocked up, because you guys would make the most gorgeous babies, and also please marry him and shove your big fat diamond in the faces of all those horrific Sloane Rangers who drool over him at work. I’d pay good money to see that.’

‘I can confirm I have no intention of compromising my birth control or marrying the guy, but I promise you, my only objective is to make him happy.’

‘Yeah.’ He looks me over. ‘God, you’ll definitely do that. I have to say, the man has impeccable taste, even if he doesn’t appreciate your Etro and Chanel game. I love that he hired you. I’ve been dying to see what kind of women he goes for, but honestly? I can’t fault you.’

I smile at him. ‘Why, George, that’s very touching. Thank you.’

‘So where do you do it? Have you been booking the hotels? Because I can take that over for you, obviously.’

‘My agency booked a hotel suite for my audition,’ I tell him, ‘but today and yesterday we’ve just done it in his office.’

He presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose and exhales long and hard. ‘There is so much to unpack in that sentence that I have total overwhelm. Why is it so hot that he auditioned you? Right, that’s going straight into the spank bank—with him auditioning me, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’ I shrug. ‘I think that one will work well for you.’

‘And you have an agency?’

‘I do. Seraph. They make sure everything’s above board. I wouldn’t do this on my own. They’re amazing.’

‘Seraph,’ he muses. ‘That’s an angel, right? I love that for you. Are there loads of these angels around?’

‘Seraphim, we call ourselves. And yes. Next time you meet a CEO with his attractive young EA, you can speculate as to the nature of their relationship.’

‘I will. I absolutely fucking will. And you’ve been shagging him in his office while we all sit around the corner, totally oblivious. Excuse me while I die of jealousy. But it’s now making a lot more sense as to why he asked me to get a remote control lock installed on the outer door last week.’

I laugh. ‘He used that this morning.’

‘I bet he did, the dirty bastard. Right, well we can do better than that for you, my dear. I assume you’d like to fuck the delicious Mr Sullivan in an actual bed from time to time? I can set that up for you. What’s your preference? Claridges? Here is nice, too. If you leave it to him, he’d probably book some budget horror.’

‘Let’s do Claridges. It’s closer and less of a circus.’

‘Agreed. Discretion will be your friend. Although you should know that money is already exchanging hands around the office over how soon you guys will fuck. Everyone’s watching you, just so you know.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I promise, ‘I’ve got this. I’m so discreet I could be fucking the king himself and no one would know.’

He chortles, delighted. ‘Stranger things have happened at Buckingham Palace, let me tell you. And I promise I’ll be discreet, too. You don’t help plan three royal weddings and not take a vow of silence. But this is the most delicious secret ever. Do you know what the best bit is? Everyone in the whole fucking place is positively jostling to put a ring on that man, and you just want his dick.’

‘Abso-fucking-lutely,’ I tell him. ‘Now, why don’t you give me the lay of the land? Aside from the fact that everyone’s already sticking metaphorical pins in me, tell me what else I need to know.’

‘I wouldn’t assume they’re metaphorical, darling. There are probably a few dolls in desk drawers doubling as pin cushions already. But let me see.’ He takes a thoughtful sip of his drink. ‘Generally, Gabriel is well liked. Adored, even. I wasn’t here during his old man’s reign, but I think he got pretty lazy towards the end. I mean, wouldn’t you, if you were that loaded? He was way more interested in the gee-gees than the estate, apparently.

‘But there’s some definite frustration among the ranks that we haven’t seen big changes yet. I think they all expected the Angel Gabriel to turn things around immediately, but you can’t turn the Titanic overnight, can you?’

‘Exactly,’ I murmur, making a mental note of that. For God’s sake, Gabe’s been a priest for a decade. It’s not like he’s come straight out of an MBA. They need to cut the guy some slack. ‘What would you say the biggest issues are in terms of what they want changed?’

‘Well, most of it goes over my head, but it seems there’s a view that they should either start managing other families’ assets or cut back the investment management team, which is a bit bloated. But the lack of a foundation seems to be the most egregious issue. It’s not like the Sullivans don’t give a shitload to charity—they really do—but it’s not a cohesive strategy, you know?’

‘Gabe mentioned yesterday that the foundation was a matter of urgency for him.’ This is excellent. I was integral to the creation of a foundation for my first boss in the tech sector. It’s definitely an area where I can add value.

‘It is, but good luck putting a rocket under Eleanor Whitmore’s arse. She’s supposedly leading the whole thing but her approach to our “charitable projects” as she calls them, is very champagne socialism, if you catch my drift. She still thinks it’s 1985 and she’s running the charity committee at her son’s prep school. But don’t let the pearls fool you. She’s got teeth, and she doesn’t like to be challenged.’

‘Roger that.’ I make another mental note. It doesn’t get more juicy than structuring a foundation. It’s any MBA’s wet dream. I’m not about to let some old fart decked out in the family pearls get in my way. ‘Is that woman Torty involved? She’s in charge of stakeholder relations, correct?’

He pretends to shudder. ‘Yes, and she’s smart, and definitely hungrier than Eleanor. But she’s a ghastly name-dropper. She’s all Cadogan this and Grosvenor that. She’d love to think the estate is all about preserving gorgeous old buildings when really, the docklands is still a shithole. A lot of those communities are still seriously deprived. I think she needs to learn to read the fucking room. Oh, and she needs to find someone else to fixate on instead of drooling all over the lovely Gabriel. She’s been circling him like a posh shark for months.’

I sigh. I have faith in Gabriel and I want to help him achieve whatever vision he has for this great chunk of London that he owns. But without the right team, his job—our job—will be a lot more difficult.

‘What else?’ I push. ‘What about Old Jim?’

‘Old Jim is a ghastly old lech, and fuck knows how he’s not on the liver transplant list yet. He’s a functioning alcoholic. I wouldn’t know a P&L from a balance sheet, but apparently he’s excellent at what he does—when he’s sober. Greedy old fucker, though. I can’t imagine he’d be the biggest fan of increasing our charitable efforts.’

‘He will when I wow him with tax efficiency possibilities,’ I say with confidence. I allow myself a sip of crisp, cold champagne. Delicious. ‘George, you’re a star. Will you be my spy?’

‘Sure,’ he agrees easily. ‘I’ll be your eyes and ears on the floor while you’re busy getting fucked over the boss’s desk. Just… look after him, okay? He’s still new to this world. It’s a lot. He’s a good man, and that heart of his is like an open church door. Whether he knows it or not, he needs nasty little bitches like you and me to protect him from that lot… and from himself.’