The Bonus Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  WHAT'S NEXT?

  The Bonus

  Alice Lingard

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  © 2014 Alice Lingard, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook may be

  reproduced, uploaded to the Internet or copied without the author's permission.

  DISCLAIMER

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real

  persons, dead or alive, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Web Site: http://www.AliceLingard.com

  New Releases Notification: http://eepurl.com/OPqnb

  Chapter 1

  Lacey was fed up. Really fed up. Fed up with her job, fed up with having no money, and fed up with her love life—or lack of it. She was working the late shift at Chipmunk Pizza. Her three years at university and a student loan had been so worth it. Why hadn’t someone in the careers service told her that her degree in psychology would be about as much use as a chocolate teapot? Why had they encouraged her to waste three years of her life? For what? This? She earned just enough to cover rent and her other bills. Even food was now a luxury. If it hadn’t been for her staff discount on pizza, she’d have died of starvation long ago. It was little wonder her love life was non-existent. She worked six nights a week, and on her night off, she was too tired and broke to go out. The last serious boyfriend she’d had was at university—that was almost two years ago. Dear old Graham. A nicer, kinder guy you couldn’t have wished to meet. Between the sheets, he'd been about as exciting as a trip to the reference library.

  Something had to change—and fast—otherwise she was going to go insane.

  “Are you still doing the two for one offer?”

  Lacey snapped out of her daydream, and back to the present. Across the counter, were two guys obviously the worse for drink.

  “Wednesdays and Thursdays only,” Lacey said.

  “Go on. You can do it tonight. We won’t tell anyone.”

  “Wednesdays and Thursdays only.”

  “Miserable cow.”

  It was a toss-up which of the two was the ugliest, but Lacey decided the guy with the greasy, black hair just about edged it.

  “Do you want to order anything or not?” Lacey ignored the insult—she'd become immune over the last few months.

  “Nah. You can shove your pizzas. We’ll go to Pizza Stop.”

  “Bye,” Lacey said. “Have a nice death.”

  “Everything okay?” Carlos, her boss, had walked through from the kitchen.

  “Yeah. Just two arse holes.”

  “You’ve got a driving licence haven't you, Lacey?”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t been behind the wheel since I passed my test. I can’t afford to run a car.”

  “But you can drive?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “We’ve got a big order from the Commodore. It has to be delivered at nine-thirty on the dot.”

  “Commodore? Where's that? Never heard of it. Is a hotel?”

  “It's that residential complex by the river—been up a couple of years now. You must have seen it. There's a huge bronze statue of a dragon outside.”

  “I know where you mean. I've seen the dragon, but I didn't know what the building was. I assumed it was offices.”

  “Executive accommodation according to the blurb. You'd not get much change out of three million for an apartment there. I don't think you or me will be moving in any time soon.”

  Lacey checked the clock above the door. “Where’s Tony?”

  It only now occurred to Lacey that she hadn’t seen Tony, the delivery driver, for over an hour.

  “Someone ran into his back-end at the traffic lights near Armbrough. He called to say he didn’t know how long he'd be.”

  “Why don’t you make the delivery?” Lacey asked.

  “I have to run the kitchen.”

  “You don’t expect me to take the van do you?”

  “Yeah. It’s around the back The keys are on the rack in the office.”

  “I’m not driving that thing. Can’t I take your car?”

  “The insurance won’t cover you in my car. You’ll have to take the van. Hurry up or you’ll never make it in time.”

  “Great!” Lacey said under her breath as she threw off her apron. Chipmunk Pizza was an international franchise. The delivery vans had a huge, luminous chipmunk mounted on their roofs. If anyone she knew saw her driving that monstrosity, she'd lose what little credibility she still had. “I’m going straight home after I’ve made the delivery.”

  “Fair enough, but get your skates on.”

  Lacey didn’t normally finish until eleven-thirty, so at least she'd get something out of the deal. It should only take her fifteen minutes to make the delivery—then she could shoot off home.

  “Jees, how many have they ordered?” Lacey’s heart sank when she saw the pile of boxes on the bench in the kitchen.

  “Twenty.”

  “Why would they send out for pizza?” Lacey said. “I thought that crowd ate oysters and caviar.”

  Carlos shrugged. “I didn’t ask. It’s the best order we've had all week. I’ll help you stack these in the van.”

  With the van packed, Carlos went back into the kitchen. How long was it since she’d passed her test? Eighteen months at least. She’d only ever driven the one car—the one she'd taken her lessons and test in. This van was much bigger and the controls were laid out differently. If she pranged it, Carlos would go ape shit. He already had one of the company’s two vans out of action.

  Lacey turned the ignition, depressed the clutch, and engaged first gear. The van jerked and the engine died.

  “Shit!”

  At this rate, the pizzas would be cold before she reached the Commodore. She tried again.

  ‘Wait until you feel the clutch bite.’ She remembered the words of her driving instructor.

  Success! The van crawled down the alleyway towards the main road.

  By the time she reached the Commodore, she was a nervous wreck. She’d stalled at almost every set of traffic lights. The only saving grace had been the roads were quiet at that time of night.

  Lacey followed the signs to the car park.

  “Can I help you?” A stern faced man seated in the security office glared at the van. He rolled his eyes when he saw the giant chipmunk seated above her head.

  “I have a delivery.”

  “We don't need any chipmunks.” He grinned for only a moment before reverting to his stony expression. “Are you sure you have the right address? You do know this is the Commodore, I assume?”

  “Commodore—yeah. I have an order of twenty pizzas.”

  “I doubt that very much. The Commodore has its own restaurant.”

  This guy was getting on her tits now. She dug into her pocket and pulled out the order slip.

  “Mr Rory Westgrove, penthouse suite.” It was the first time she’d looked at the sheet of paper. Penthouse suite? Wasn’t that on the top floor? Did they expect her to take twenty pizzas all the way up to the top floor?

  “Let me see.” He took the paper from her. “I need to make a phone call.”

  “The pizzas will be cold,” Lacey said, but the man was already on the phon
e.

  At this rate, she’d not be home any earlier than usual.

  “Here.” The man passed the paper back to Lacey. “You’re to take them up to the penthouse suite. You'll need this too.”

  Lacey took the plastic card from him.

  “What's this for?”

  “The penthouse has its own lift, but you'll need this pass card to use it. You can park over in the far corner. Make sure you take the right lift—it has direct access to the penthouse.”

  “Is there anyone who can give me a hand?” Lacey flashed the man a smile.

  “No.” The man opened the barrier, and then slid his window closed.

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  She spotted the sign for the lifts, and drove as slowly as she could around the rows of parked cars. The car park was full of top end motors. If she caught any of them with the van, her wages would be gone for the next year.

  There were two vacant parking spaces close to the lift. Lacey parked the van so it spanned the two bays—its rear end was as close to the lift as she could get it.

  “How the hell am I going to do this?” she said aloud to herself. She couldn't carry all the pizzas in one go, and someone might call the lift before she'd finished loading them. She'd have to wedge the doors open until she had them all inside.

  Lacey took the tool box out of the van, put the pass card in the slot and pressed the lift's call button. When the doors opened, she placed the tool box against one of them. If anyone wanted the lift, they'd have to wait. It took her a few minutes to carry the boxes over to the lift. Once they were all stacked inside, she raced back to the van, and threw the tool box in the back. She made it to the lift just before the doors closed.

  The control panel had only three buttons: 'B', 'G' and 'P'. She pressed the one marked 'P'.

  As the lift began its ascent, Lacey wondered how she’d keep the doors open when she reached the penthouse. She should have brought the tool box with her.

  A bell rang and the doors opened. Lacey froze.

  She’d assumed the lift would open onto a corridor, but instead she found herself in what she could only assume was the penthouse suite itself. In front of her was a huge table. Seated around it were at least a dozen men and five or six women, all in business attire. The room was silent, and all eyes were trained on her. It was obvious she'd walked in on some kind of meeting.

  “Pizza?” she managed to say—the nerves jangling in her voice.

  No one spoke. Just then, a dreadful thought crossed Lacey's mind. Every now and then someone would phone through an order, and have it delivered to a house where the occupants knew nothing about it. It drove Carlos crazy, and it cost the business a ton of money. Had someone taken it to the next level and ordered twenty pizzas to be delivered to the Commodore penthouse—just for a laugh? No—that couldn’t be right. The security guard had telephoned to check the order was expected.

  “Right on time too.”

  Lacey looked at the man who'd spoken. He was seated at the head of the table—furthest away from her. He had dark hair, which was cropped short. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties. Even though he was seated, she could see he was tall. And drop dead gorgeous. “Someone give the young lady a hand,” he said.

  Immediately the two men seated closest to the lift leapt out of their seats, and hurried over to Lacey. She could only assume from their prompt reaction that the man who had given the instructions was their boss. One of the men leaned inside the lift, and pressed a button which locked the doors open. Why hadn’t she realised she could do that? Between the three of them, they carried the boxes over to the table and began to hand them out. Lacey placed the very last box in front of the man at the head of the table.

  “Thank you.” He swivelled around in his chair to face Lacey. He was even better looking close-up.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Lacey.”

  “Have you worked at Chipmunk long?”

  “Almost a year.”

  “This is for you.” He held out a bank note.

  “Thank you.”

  “No.” He smiled. “Thank you, Lacey.”

  She took the bank note and shoved it in her pocket. His gaze was relentless and made her a little nervous.

  “Thank you,” she said, and hurried back to the lift. It took her what felt like an age to work out which button to press to close the doors. All that time, his gaze never once strayed from her.

  As the lift made its way down to the car park, she pulled the bank note from her pocket. Fifty pounds! She’d never even seen a fifty pound note before. Was it even real? Maybe this was his idea of a joke. Let's give the poor delivery girl a forged note—she could just imagine them all having a good laugh at her expense. Bastards!

  The guard at the barrier barely glanced at her when she handed back the pass card—he was too busy staring at his mobile phone.

  Chapter 2

  “Suzy!” Lacey was pissed off—big time. She stormed into her flatmate's bedroom. “Suzy, have you had my brown jumper again?”

  “Hi.” The skinny young guy with tattoos all over his body looked as though he'd just climbed out of bed. He was butt naked. “Who are you?” he said through a yawn.

  “What do you mean, who am I?” Lacey averted her gaze by staring at the cobwebs in one corner of the ceiling. “Who the hell are you?”

  “This is Daggers.” Suzy's head appeared from under the duvet.

  “Daggers?” Lacey said.

  “Yeah, that's me.” He nodded. “I need a dump.”

  Lacey stepped aside to let him pass. When he was out of the bedroom, she said, “What the fuck, Suzy?”

  “Sorry.” Suzy wiped the sleep from her eyes.

  “What about Steve?”

  “What about him?”

  “I thought he was the one?”

  “He is.”

  “Then why—“

  “Shhh!” Suzy put a finger to her lips.

  Lacey lowered her voice to little more than a whisper. “Why is Daggers, or whatever the fuck his name is, in your bedroom?”

  “He's cute isn't he?”

  “Cute? Are you kidding me? He looks like he's just done a stretch in prison. Why do they call him Daggers anyway? Does he carry a blade?”

  “Blade?” Suzy looked puzzled.

  “A knife? You know—a dagger?”

  Suzy laughed. “No. Course not. His name's Dagworth or something like that. Everyone calls him Daggers.”

  “But why is he here? What about Steve?”

  “He needn't know. You won't tell him, will you?”

  “It's none of my business. But you're a bloody idiot to risk a nice guy like Steve for—”

  “You need another bog roll in there.” Daggers came back into the bedroom. “I've just used the last sheet. You got any Weetabix?”

  Much to Lacey's relief, he pulled on his jeans and a tee-shirt.

  “No! We don't have any Weetabix.” Lacey spat the words.

  “No worries. I'll make do with toast.”

  Lacey's eyes burnt into his back as he disappeared out of the bedroom.

  “What do you reckon?” Suzy grinned.

  “What about?”

  “Daggers?”

  “Not much.”

  “He's a great fuck.”

  “I don't want to know.”

  “He's got a stud in his tongue, and he knows just how to use it.”

  “Too much detail.” Lacey clamped her hands over her ears.

  “Okay,” Suzy mouthed.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Where's my brown jumper?”

  “I borrowed it last Wednesday.”

  “You promised. No more borrowing unless you ask first.”

  “I know.”

  “So why didn't you?”

  “What?”

  “Ask first!” Lacey shouted.

  “You two all right in there?” Daggers called from the kitchen.

  �
��Yeah. We're okay, babes,” Suzy replied.

  “Why didn't you ask me if you could borrow the jumper?”

  “You'd have said no.”

  “That's kind of the point of asking. Where is it? Have you washed it?”

  “Not quite.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Suzy shuffled to the edge of the bed, leaned over, and fished around underneath it. Unlike Lacey, who was tidy bordering on OCD, Suzy didn't seem to notice her bedroom resembled the day after Armageddon.

  “Sorry.” Suzy held out the crumpled jumper.

  “You're a real cow sometimes.” Lacey snatched it from her.

  “Don't you guys have any marmalade?” Daggers stood in the doorway.

  Lacey pushed past him and stormed back to her own bedroom.

  When they'd first moved in together, Lacey had found Suzy's happy-go-lucky outlook refreshing. Now it drove her insane. Lacey had little spare cash for clothes—when she did buy something, it was usually from Primark or a charity shop. The brown jumper had been a birthday present from her mum, and was the only half decent one she possessed.

  She had to find a way to make more money. She'd already asked Carlos if she could have more hours, but there was nothing doing. Ideally, she'd find a better job, but it wasn't easy. There were a million applicants for every vacancy. So far, she hadn't even got as far as an interview. She could probably find another part-time job in the day time, but then she'd have no life at all. She was well and truly screwed, and felt like crying, but what good would a pity-party do?

  Lacey tossed the jumper into the laundry basket. As she did, she remembered the fifty pound note. It was still in the pocket of her uniform. She held it up to the light, and stared at it, as though she had a clue how to check if it was real—she didn't. Why did they bother to print fifty pound notes anyway? No one ever used them, and most shops had signs to say they didn't accept them. As far as she could remember, she'd never actually seen one before—forged or real. She might as well tear it up and throw it into the bin. But what if it was real?