The Bonus Read online

  “Course it's not real.” Lacey often talked to herself. “Don't be such a stupid mare.”

  But what if it was real and she threw it away? How could she find out? Lacey hated going to the bank. As soon as they saw her account balance, they gave her a look which said: why are you bothering me, pauper? Or was that just her imagination? It was all right for them with their fantastic salaries, cheap mortgages and pensions. They should try having to survive on minimum wage. That would soon wipe the smile off their faces. Fortunately, she rarely had to go into the bank nowadays. She did most of her banking on her mobile phone. Banking? That made it sound much grander than it actually was. All she ever did was check her balance every morning to make sure she didn't go too far overdrawn.

  “Morning madam.” The pretty young woman with perfect teeth, hair and make-up, greeted Lacey. “How may I help?”

  “Hmmm.” Lacey hesitated. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. She was going to die of embarrassment when the woman said: of course it isn't real.

  “Can I help?” The young woman was still smiling, but her voice betrayed her impatience.

  “Can you tell me—?” Lacey took the bank note from her pocket. “Can you tell me if this is real?” Lacey could feel her cheeks redden as she slid the note across the counter.

  “Just a moment, please.” The young woman handled the bank note as though she wished she was wearing rubber gloves.

  Lacey smiled a nervous smile at the man standing behind her in the queue. He didn't return it. He was probably pissed off at having to wait for crazy woman to have her toy-town money checked.

  “Yes, madam. It's a genuine fifty pound note.”

  “Sorry for wasting your time—,” Lacey began to say, but then the woman's words slowly registered. “Genuine? You mean it's real?”

  “Yes, madam. Would you like to pay it into your account?”

  “It's worth fifty pounds?” Lacey said.

  “That's what a fifty pound note is usually worth,” the man behind her said. He sounded exasperated, and had clearly lost all patience with the imbecile standing in front of him.

  “No, thanks. I'll hang onto it.” Lacey took the bank note back. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  It was real. It was actually real. Fifty quid! She put the note into her purse. What kind of man gave someone a fifty pound tip? What did she care? The last time she'd had that much free cash was when she'd started at University. Back then, she'd thought she was rich when she received her student loan, but it hadn't taken her long to blow it all. She was much savvier now—much more sensible. But then, she remembered the blue top she'd seen the other day. No! That would just be reckless. She'd take her time, and give it careful consideration. That top was beautiful though.

  Chapter 3

  “Lacey, Are you feeling okay?” Tony said, as she arrived at work that evening.

  “Me? Yeah. Why?”

  “You're smiling. I've never seen you smile when you arrive for work.”

  “I do.”

  “No you don't. You're a right miserable cow most of the time.”

  “Thanks. I love you too.”

  “I hear you took over the deliveries last night.”

  “Yeah. How's your van by the way? I hear it got pranged.”

  “It's okay.” Tony grinned. “Apart from the chipmunk.”

  “What happened?

  “Its head fell off.” He laughed.

  “A headless chipmunk. Priceless. What did Carlos say?”

  “He gave me a bollocking. I don't know why. It wasn't my fault. Some old guy bashed into the back of me while I was at a red light.”

  “Where's the van now?”

  “Gone for repair.”

  “Who the hell repairs broken chipmunks?”

  “Chips-away?”

  They were both in near hysterics.

  “What's going on out here?” Carlos walked through from the kitchen.

  “I was telling Lacey about the chipmunk,” Tony barely managed to say through tears of laughter.

  “Oh yes. Very funny. It's going to cost me a bloody fortune.”

  “Sorry, Carlos.” Lacey tried, but failed to keep a straight face.

  Carlos went back into the kitchen—slamming the door shut behind him.

  “He's not happy,” Lacey said in a whisper.

  “He's okay. He's just got a chip—munk on his shoulder.”

  The two of them dissolved into laughter again.

  When they eventually regained their composure, Tony said, “Carlos told me about the big order from the Commodore.”

  “Yeah. Twenty bloody pizzas. It nearly killed me.”

  “They must have plenty money if they can afford to live there. Did you get a nice tip?”

  “Tip?” Lacey hesitated. “No. The stuck-up buggers didn't give me anything.”

  “The rich ones are always the same,” Tony said. “Tight bastards all of them.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tony's question had caught her off-guard. Why had she lied? She needed the money—that's why. If she told him about the tip, he'd have expected her to share it with him. Why should she? Tony was a good guy, but he didn't share his tips with her. It wasn't her fault his van had been pranged. It wasn't her fault she'd been sent on the delivery. She'd been the one who'd had to lug twenty pizzas up to the penthouse. She'd earned that tip. .

  “We've got another order from the Commodore.” Carlos made her jump. She'd been so busy guilt-tripping over the tip that she hadn't heard him come through from the kitchen.

  “Why are you telling me? Tony's in today.”

  “They asked for you.”

  “Who did?”

  “The customer. Who do you think?”

  “I'm not the delivery guy.”

  “You are today.”

  “How many have they ordered?”

  “Just one this time.”

  “Why didn't you tell him I'm not the regular delivery guy? You should have told him it's none of his business who makes the delivery.”

  “I can see you've been honing your customer service skills again,” Carlos said.

  “But what difference does it make who makes the delivery?”

  “Just do it. I'll cover the front while you're gone.”

  “Fine!” Lacey stomped out of the shop.

  “Shit! My life is shit! Shitty shit shit!” Lacey said to herself as she climbed into the van. There could be only one reason why he'd asked specifically for her to make the delivery. He must have realised he'd handed her a fifty pound note by mistake. He'd probably intended to tip her five pounds, and now he was going to ask for it back. Great—there goes that blue top.

  The same cheery guard was manning the barrier to the car park.

  “You again?” he said.

  “Well spotted. I can see how you got the job.”

  “Here.” He handed her the pass card for the lift.

  “Don't you want to check first?” she said.

  “No need. I was informed there would be another delivery.”

  The barrier opened.

  The car park was much fuller than the previous night, so she had to park some considerable distance from the lift. At least this time she didn't have to struggle with twenty boxes.

  Unlike the previous night, the penthouse appeared deserted.

  “Hello?” Lacey called, as she stepped out of the lift. There was no reply, and she could hear no sounds. “Hello?”

  She took a few tentative steps into the room.

  “Shit!” The ping of the lift doors closing behind her made her jump.

  “Hold on!” A man's voice came from the open door to her right. “I won't be a minute.”

  “Okay.” Lacey walked further into the room. The table looked even larger without people sitting around it. To her left was a fully stocked bar. Huge paintings hung on every wall. She knew nothing about art, but they didn't look like the kind of thing you'd buy from IKEA. Her shoes squeaked on the wooden floor.

&
nbsp; “You got here quicker than I expected,” the man shouted from the other room.

  “I can leave the box on the table if you like?” Lacey called back.

  “No. Hang on there please. There's something I'd like to talk to you about.”

  Shit! He wanted his fifty pounds back. Thank goodness she hadn't mentioned the tip to Tony.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, as he walked into the room.

  The previous day he'd been dressed in a designer suit. Today he was wearing jeans and a polo shirt. His feet were bare, and his hair was still wet from the shower. Their eyes locked, and Lacey's mouth was suddenly dry. When was the last time a man had had that effect on her?

  “You were remarkably quick today,” he said.

  “Sorry.”

  Why was she apologising? Why did she feel so flustered?

  He walked over to the table, and flipped open the lid of the box. “It looks delicious.”

  “It is.”

  “Have you tried it?”

  “I haven't touched it,” she protested.

  He laughed. “I didn't mean this particular pizza. I meant do you like Chipmunk pizza?”

  “She blushed. What was wrong with her? Of course he didn't mean—. “Yeah. I love it. I have one most days. Staff discount.”

  “Which is your favourite?” he asked.

  Why didn't he just come straight out with it? If he wanted his money back, why didn't he say so instead of making small talk about pizza toppings?

  “Chicken and bacon probably.”

  “You're a vegetarian then?”

  “Vegetarian?” She noticed his grin. “Very funny. Look, I have to get back.”

  “Wait a minute.” He spun the box around so she could see inside.

  “Your favourite, I believe.”

  She hadn't checked the order. She'd just picked up the box and jumped into the van. How had he known it was her favourite? He couldn't have. It had to be a coincidence.

  “I have to get back.” She turned and started towards the door. “Enjoy your pizza.”

  “Aren't you hungry?” he called after her.

  She was ravenous. “No,” she lied. “Look, I really do have to get back.”

  “No you don't. I've cleared it with your boss.”

  Before she could ask what on earth he was talking about, the lift doors opened, and a waiter, pushing a silver trolley came into the room.

  “Where would you like this, sir?”

  “Over there please.”

  Lacey watched as the waiter set a place at the table.

  “Thank you. That'll be all.” The man dropped a tip into the waiter's hand.

  When the waiter had left, the man took his seat at the table, and began to tuck into the steak dinner.

  “Why did you order a pizza?” Lacey said.

  “It's for you. You did say it was your favourite.”

  This was getting decidedly creepy

  “I have to get back to the shop.”

  “Please stay for just a few minutes. I promise you won't be in trouble with your boss. I want to talk to you about the tip I gave you yesterday.”

  Here we go. She should have known better than to think she could get away with it.

  “It's okay,” Lacey said. “I haven't spent—”

  “Please sit down. Eat the pizza.”

  He wasn't going to let it go, so she might as well have an early supper. Lacey took the seat opposite his. The pizza was delicious as usual. She had to hand it to Carlos—he made a wicked pizza.

  “I haven't spent any of the money you gave me,” she said. “But I don't have it with me. I didn't know you were going to ask for it back. I can bring it tomorrow.”

  “I don't want it back. I intended you to have it.”

  “Fifty pounds? No one tips fifty pounds.” She took another bite of pizza.

  “You deserved it. Delivering twenty pizzas to the penthouse all by yourself? I was impressed.”

  “That's bollocks.” The words were out before her brain had engaged.

  He looked stunned for a moment, but then laughed.

  “Sorry. I didn't mean—”

  “That's okay. I admire people who speak their mind.”

  “You didn't have to give me fifty pounds. A ten pound tip would have been more than I earn in an hour.”

  He shrugged. “How long have you been a chipmunk?”

  “I'm not a bloody chipmunk.”

  He gestured at the badge on her breast pocket.

  “It's a stupid name. I bloody hate it. Have you seen the ridiculous vans we have to drive around in? It's so embarrassing. Who names a pizza chain, chipmunk?”

  “That would be me.”

  It took a few seconds longer than it should have for Lacey to process his words.

  “You're—?”

  He nodded.

  “You own—?”

  He nodded again.

  “Oh shit. Sorry. I didn't know.”

  “That's okay. I've already told you—I like people who speak their mind.”

  Lacey was relieved to see the smile on his face.

  “I guess the name's not all that stupid.” She was trying, but failing to dig herself out of a hole.

  “Oh it is. Completely stupid. But that's the whole point.”

  “You wanted a stupid name?”

  “I wanted a memorable name. Do you know how much we spend on advertising?”

  She figured it was a rhetorical question.

  “Very little compared to the big boys. But I'll guarantee if you ask ten people at random to name three take-away pizza brands, they'll include ours. After all, who could forget our vans?”

  “Not me. That's for sure.” She sighed.

  Lacey finished the last of the pizza. She hadn't realised how hungry she was. When she looked up, she found him staring at her.

  “What?”

  “You really were hungry.”

  “Guess so. I'd better get back.”

  “Not yet.”

  She remained seated. If this guy was who he said he was then Carlos could hardly complain if she was a few minutes late.

  “I should probably introduce myself.” The man offered his hand. “My name is Rory Westgrove. Everyone calls me Raw.”

  “Roar?” Lacey had to stifle a laugh. “Like a lion roars?”

  “No.” It was his turn to laugh now. “Raw—as in raw steak.”

  “If you don't mind me saying, that's a bit naff. I think I'll stick with Mr Westgrove.”

  “Mr Westgrove makes me sound like my late father. If you can't bring yourself to call me Raw, then at least call me Rory. Tell me Lacey—do you like your job?”

  “It's fantastic. I love every second of it.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really. What do you think? I serve pizzas all night to abusive customers—half of whom are pissed. And I get paid peanuts. What's this all about? Is it like some kind of undercover operation where the boss tries to find out what it's like on the shop floor? If it is, you're going about it all wrong. Come back to the shop with me. You can do a stint behind the counter if you want to know what it's really like.”

  “That isn't what I'm doing. Although you're right. That would be a good idea. It wouldn't work now though because I've blown my cover.”

  “You can do my shift for me. I won't let on who you are.”

  “That's very kind, but it's not what I had in mind. I wanted to offer you a job.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “I need a personal assistant.”

  “A PA?” Lacey laughed.

  “What's funny?”

  “You are. You don't know me. Why would you offer me a job as a PA? Or any job come to that? Is this your idea of a wind-up?”

  “It's not a wind-up. I need a personal assistant who can start immediately.”

  “Do you think this is funny?”

  “What? I'm trying to offer you a job—that's all.”

  “It's not funny. It's path
etic. Your rich boy games don't impress me.”

  “Wow! Are you always such hard work? I'm deadly serious. I'm offering you a great new job. Good pay, company car—”

  “Hold on. Just rewind that. Did you say company car?”

  Rory nodded.

  “What's the salary?”

  “I don't know. Say fifty thousand.”

  Lacey laughed. “This is a piss take right? Is this how you get your rocks off? Let's all laugh at the stupid girl when she says she'll take the job. You're pathetic! Well fuck you and your chipmunk!”

  Lacey started towards the door, but Rory was out of his chair and quickly blocked her path.

  “Get out of my way!”

  “Not until you listen to what I have to say.”

  “Where are all your friends? Are they in the other room? Have they got their ears to the door? Are they listening while you try to make a fool out of me?”

  “There isn't anyone else here. It's just you and me.”

  “I don't believe you.” She turned around and marched over to the door from which he'd emerged earlier. The bathroom was empty. So were the bedrooms. So was every other room she checked.

  “Satisfied?” he asked.

  “Are there cameras in here?” Lacey looked around the room.

  “Are you always this paranoid?”

  She shrugged.

  “How about I pour us both a drink and we discuss this sensibly?”

  “I'm driving.”

  “Do you mind if I have one?”

  “Do what you like.” Lacey resumed her seat at the table.

  “Seems we got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “Can we start again?”

  “I guess so, but only if I get to ask the questions.”

  “Deal.” He took a sip of Whisky.

  “This is how it's going to work,” Lacey said. “I ask a question. You give an honest answer. Any bullshit and I'm out of here. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Why did you tip me fifty quid yesterday?”

  “I thought you deserved it for hauling so many pizzas up here.”

  “Would you have given Tony the same tip?”

  “Who's Tony?”

  “He's the regular delivery driver. I was standing in for him.”

  “Probably not.”

  She waited for more.