Is Alistair Up To No Good?

Today, Mr Haemorrhoid popped his head into my office. He was all hot and flustered. What was it now? Not Curly Mackaw again, surely?

“I really need to talk to you,” he said.

Well, that was a good start. Maybe I’d been too hasty in writing him off. Maybe he was just incredibly backward about coming forward.

As I jumped up and walked round to the front of my desk, I noticed that he was looking particularly delectable today, in a charcoal suit and pale pink shirt. His mauve tie made the intense blue of his eyes pop. The colour of forget-me-nots, I thought dreamily, as he cocked his head to one side and said, “Have you ever had a problem with people eating your product?”

What?

What the hell kind of chat up line was that?

I kept my smile glued to my face. I wasn’t beaten yet. According to Tanya, any conversation could be turned into a flirting opportunity, as long as you made sure you were displaying your body in the most seductive way possible. And since my legs were bare and I was wearing a short white skirt, what could be simpler than giving another of Tanya’s top tips, the Sharon Stone, a whirl?

So, giving him my sexiest look, I swung myself up onto the desk and started crossing and uncrossing my newly fake tanned legs, à la Basic Instinct. But I needn’t have bothered. Maybe I didn’t look enough like Sharon Stone, or maybe it was simply the fact that I was wearing panties. In any case, he seemed far more interested in the drooping spider plant behind me.

“Well, have you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes of course. They use Flowerette in old people’s homes all the time. And, as you can imagine, some of the old ‘uns are a bit gaga and mistake them for bread rolls.” I laughed. Uncrossed my legs. His glance hovered over my bare knees. I thought I detected his eyes flickering with lust, but it may just have been the strip lighting, which had been playing up lately. “Flowerette responded a few years ago by changing the formula of their products. Now they’re completely non-toxic. So, who’s been eating Villorex?”

“Only some moron who got stomach ulcers because of it, and is threatening to sue. I mean, how hard can it be to follow the instructions on the packet? They clearly state, ‘apply only to the affected area.’ I mean, Jesus, have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?”

He started to pace the room, clearly preoccupied with the nutter who’d eaten haemorrhoid cream. Fine, I thought, feeling just a tad pissed off. If he wasn’t in the mood for flirting, I’d allow myself a little fun at his expense instead.

“Well, there was that case in the US where a woman kept spreading contraceptive jelly on her toast.”

“What happened?” He stopped pacing and took a step towards me. “Did she fall ill?”

“No, she fell pregnant.”

“Oh God.” Connor’s face had suddenly turned pale beige. “Don’t tell me, she got millions in compensation?”

I waited a moment, allowing the full satisfaction of the situation to sink in.

“Of course she didn’t. It’s an urban myth. Because even in the US, you can’t sue because you’re simply too dumb to understand the instructions.”

He looked hopeful. “But even if it doesn’t get to court, what if this guy goes to the papers?”

“Send him a case of cream as a sweetener to get him not to blab. But make sure you put big stickers on each tube saying ‘Only for use on the bottom.’ No, that’s too obscure, he’ll smear it on the soles of his feet. Put, ‘Only to be used on the haemorrhoid.’ There you go, case closed. You owe me one, buster.”

And then, I almost tumbled off my desk in shock, because he was right up near me, smelling of citrusy aftershave and leaning in towards me.

Finally. Finally he had read the signals. He was going to kiss me and make love to me on my desk. He’d take me roughly, thoroughly, like no man ever had before.

Or maybe he’d just kiss me on the cheek and make me whimper with disappointment.

“Sorry, are you in pain?” he said, giving a slight smile.

Suddenly I knew. I knew he knew I was gagging for him. And that smile showed that he knew I knew he knew.

“What?” I said, looking at his mouth, which had now stretched out into a smug bastard smile.

“Only you started to moan,” he said, pretending to be perplexed.

“Right. No. I mean yes. Yes.” I nodded. “I have toothache.”

“You should get that seen to.”

“I certainly will.”

And then, whatever erotic charge had hummed between us for a moment was broken, as he took a step back. “Thanks for your advice. You always manage to put things in perspective.”

As he started to walk away, a voice screamed, “Don’t go!” inside my head, while he slipped away, out the door, leaving me wildly turned on and slumped on my desk.

There was no doubt about it. Mr Haemorrhoid was going to be a very tough nut to crack.