The Casanova by T L Swan

ELLIOT

Early morning and my door opens. Jameson walks in. “You ready?”

“Yep.” I close down my computer and we make our way down to the lobby. We have a meeting this afternoon with the board before Jameson returns to New York in the morning.

We walk out of the lift and see a sexy ass in a skirt in front of us with a group of people. Long legs, sculpted calves, the perfect ass.

Our gazes immediately drop and he raises an eyebrow in a silent will you look at that?

I smirk and we keep walking and then the skirt turns as she talks to her friends. It’s Kathryn. I’m taken aback.

I nod. “Kathryn.”

She smiles politely. “Hello.” She smiles at Jay. “Hi.”

“Hello.” He smiles.

We stand still on the spot and watch her leave the building with her colleagues.

My eyes meet with my brother’s. “You should look into that,” he says.

I stare after her and then, finally, I snap out of my momentary trance. “Not my type.”

Jameson watches her through the front windows as she crosses the road and I feel my hackles rise. “She’s everyone’s type,” he mutters dryly.

Everyone’s type.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” I put my hands into my trouser pockets in annoyance. “Are we going or what?”

I send my last email and stretch my arms in the air. It’s been a long day. . . week. I get up and go to the bathroom and pick up my briefcase and put it on my desk to pack, and then I remember what day it is.

Thursday.

I glance at my watch: 6:40 p.m.

I wonder if she’s . . .

I sit back down at my computer and look around guiltily. This is nothing new. I seem to be always looking around guiltily lately; guilty of watching a certain snarky IT manager as she works.

I’ve got issues, I know, and I hate to admit it, but her deciding to openly hate me this week after our little episode in my office is a major fucking turn-on.

Hell, I’ve even been loitering in the sauna after work, hoping for a rematch.

So far, no luck.

I’m never going to do anything about this sick attraction that I seem to have for her, but for some reason I can’t stop. I tell myself that this is the last time I’ll look at her on the security camera, and sure enough, half an hour later, I find myself doing it again.

Like now, for instance.

I exhale heavily in frustration with myself, click through the security cameras and go to level ten, scroll through until I get to her office. . . it’s empty.

I slump in my seat.

Fuck it.

I stare at her office on the screen while I contemplate my next move.

I mean, I could ask her out, but we both know how that’s going to end.

I don’t even want to go out with her. She’s a raving bitch, remember?

What the fuck am I doing?

I go to close down my computer and I see a foot coming out of the bottom of the screen. Huh?

I lean closer to get a better look.

It is a foot, wearing a white sneaker. What’s she doing on the floor? Is she stretching or something?

I run my finger back and forth over my lips as I watch; she’s dead-still.

What’s she doing?

A feeling of uneasiness creeps over me.

“Move,” I whisper.

I click through the camera angles as I try to see her better.

Nothing.

I rest my chin on my hand as I watch for five minutes while she lies dead still.

Ten minutes. . . fifteen.

Fuck.

Something’s wrong. I march to the elevator and hit the button for level ten. I watch the dial move slowly as it travels down through the floors. “Hurry up,” I mutter. “Hurry the fuck up.”

The doors open and I stride out and down the corridor to her office, open the door in a rush to find her passed out on the floor. She’s in her red sports dress and sneakers, completely out of it.

“Kathryn.” I gasp as I drop to my knees and give her a shake. “Kate, wake up, are you alright?”

Silence.

I shake her again and grab her face in my hands and try and pry her eyes open.

Nothing . . .

“Shit.” I grab my phone and dial 999.

“Hello emergency.”

“Hi,” I stammer. “I need an ambulance to the Miles Media building, level ten immediately.”

“What’s happened, sir?”

“I’ve just found one of my employees unconscious on the floor. She’s out cold.”

“Is she breathing?”

“Hang on, I’ll check.”

“Put me on speaker, sir, and I can guide you.”

I put my phone on speaker and on the floor beside us and I hold her face. “Kate. Can you hear me?”

“Is she breathing?”

I put my ear down to her mouth.

“Check her chest. Is it rising and falling?”

Fuck.

Is she dead?

The room spins as I begin to panic. “Send two ambulances,” I bark. “I’m about to have a fucking heart attack myself.”

“Check her chest, sir.”

I put my hands on her chest and feel it rise and fall. “She’s breathing.” I sigh in relief.

“Can you feel her pulse?”

I close my eyes. How the hell do I do that again? My mind has gone completely blank; this is why I’m not a fucking doctor, I’m useless in an emergency.

“Put your fingertips on her neck just under her jaw,” the operator reminds me.

“Oh, right.” I put my fingers on her neck and feel a strong pump. “She’s got a pulse.”

“Has she fallen? Check her head for an injury.”

“What’s with the questions? Can you just send a fucking ambulance?” I cry. “She’s about to die any second.”

“I need to know what’s happened, sir, I can’t help you without all of the facts.”

I look around, and check for blood, but everything seems normal. Her work clothes are in a bag and then I notice something on her desk, a white box of prescription pills.

“There are pills,” I stammer as I dive for them. “Prescription.”

“What’s the name of them?”

I fumble with the box to try and read it out fast and drop it, and I scramble to the floor and under the desk to retrieve them. “Fuck it.”

“Calm down, sir.”

“Send a fucking ambulance,” I yell. “What is your name? I want your fucking name and rank.”

This bitch is going down.

Kathryn groans.

“Kate,” I whisper, and take her hand in mine. “Wake up.”

She frowns as she tries to come to.

“Are you there, sir? What is the name of the medication?”

“Um. . . Hydrocodone slash acetaminophen,”I reply.

Kate’s eyes flutter open and she looks up at me.

“Are you alright?” I whisper.

“What?” She frowns and tries to sit up and onto her elbow.

“Lie down,” I bark.

“How many tablets has she taken?” the operator asks.

“How many tablets have you taken?” I ask Kate.

She frowns. “Huh?” She then flops back to the floor; she appears drunk.

“She’s disoriented,” I reply.

“She’s taken a strong painkiller. Count the tablets, sir. I need to know how many she has had.”

“Send a fucking ambulance before I put my hand through this phone and strangle you,” I scream.

This bitch is hopeless. . . no wonder people die every day.

“Count. The. Tablets.”

My fury bubbles and I count through the blister pack. “There are thirty-eight tablets here.”

“How many came in the box?”

I speed-read the directions on the box as I look for the amount. “Pack of forty.”

“So, she’s had only two?”

I stare at the dazed woman in front of me. “I think she’s had more than that.”

“Can you look through her belongings and see?”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Listen here, you motherfucker. I want an ambulance to the Miles Media building right now. If this woman dies I’m having you charged with . . .” I pause as I try and think of an appropriate charge. “Something bad,” I splutter. “Murder.”

“Just check her bag.”

I begin to rattle through Kate’s bag, wallet, keys, makeup. . . tampons. I wince and throw them over my shoulder.

“Well?” the operator asks.

“I’m looking, alright? There’s a lot of fucking crap in here.” Oh, screw this, I tip the handbag upside down onto the carpet and stuff flies everywhere.

“What are you doing?” Kate whispers as she sleepily sits up. “Get out of my bag.”

My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. “Get out of your bag? Are you fucking serious right now?”

“What?” she whispers.

“What’s happening, sir?”

I grit my teeth. “The patient is about to get knocked back out. That’s what’s happening.”

“What is your name, dear?”

Kate frowns. “Kate Landon.”

“What’s happened?”

Kate frowns as she looks around. “I don’t know.”

“You took some medication?” the operator asks.

“No,” she whispers.

I hold the box up and widen my eyes. “Look familiar?”

“Oh.” She puts her hand over her forehead as she remembers. “Yes, I took some painkillers.”

“What were the painkillers for, dear?”

“Period pain.” Kate’s eyes flick to me.

I roll my eyes. Now I’ve fucking heard it all.

“How many did you take?” the operator asks.

“Only two.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Remind me never to do cocaine with you,” I mutter dryly.

“Can you sit up?” the operator asks.

Kate goes to sit up and struggles. I take her hand and pull her up into a seated position.

“I’m dizzy.”

“You’ve had an adverse reaction to the medication, you’re drowsy and disoriented. It happens with some people.”

“So, is she okay?” I snap.

“She needs to sleep it off.”

“I’m bringing her into the hospital, I want her checked out,” I reply.

“Sir, you might be waiting for hours in Emergency. If she has only had two tablets I can assure you she needs to sleep it off and nothing more.”

My eyes flick to Kate. “How many have you had, really?”

“Two.”

I glare at her. “I mean it.”

“I promise.”

“Fine,” I snap.

“Can someone pick you up, dear?”

“I’ll drive her home.”

Kate goes to stand up. “I’m fine.” She slips and stumbles back over.

“Congratulations, sir, you did a great job,” the operator says.

Patronizing cow.

“Yes, well, I wish I could say the same for you. It’s lucky she isn’t dead with your snail pace. There was no urgency whatsoever. Work faster next time. Goodbye.” I end the call with force.

Kate looks up at me and then her heavy eyelids close once more.

“Come on, I’ll see you home.” I sigh.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles with her eyes closed. “I’m just going to. . . sleep here tonight.”

I begin to pack up her things that are strewn all over the floor. “You need to clean out your handbag, this thing is full of shit.” I stuff things back in.

“Like you,” she whispers with her eyes still shut.

“Why is this bag so big?” I snap. “This isn’t a handbag, this is luggage.”

Kate frowns and throws her arm over her face. “Just. Shut. Up,” she whispers.

I put her handbag over my shoulder and grab her hand and pull her to her feet; she’s still disoriented and staggers to the side. I put my arm around her. “Come on, stand up. Focus.”

She looks up at me all sleepy, her hair wild and messed up, and an unwelcome smile crosses my face.

“What?” She frowns.

“Do you know how dopey you look right now, Landon?”

“And I’m. . . in my red netball. . . dress,” she slurs.

I smile as I lead her to the elevator. “What a pity.”