Heller by J.D. Nixon Page B

produced.”
    “Daniel,”
Heller admonished gently, not without some tiny hint of laughter.
It was obvious that there was a great deal of affection between the
two men.
    “Okay, okay.
I’ll stop,” he promised. “We have to go anyway. Tilly’s making us
dinner tonight.”
    Heller
frowned. “Make sure you go to bed at a sensible time,” he said to
me, his good humour evaporated. “You will have a busy day tomorrow
with the stylists.” His wintry blue eyes raked over me, taking in
the unattractive and unflattering old clothes that I’d thrown on
earlier. “Not a moment too soon either,” he said unkindly and
walked away. I tried to cover the hurt that his mean comment caused
with a gigawatt smile as the three of us went back to my place.
    We had had a
very pleasant dinner and evening together. I was very relaxed with
them, enjoyed their company and we all laughed easily. They were
both gentle sweet boys and I felt myself easily bonding with them.
I learned that Niq ostensibly lived with Heller, but in fact
flitted nomadically between Heller, Daniel and the twins as the
mood struck him. I had the distinct impression that he was
preparing to bunk down on my lounge after dinner, but Daniel moved
him on, pointing out that perhaps I might be allowed to spend one
night alone in my new abode. Niq reluctantly agreed.
    I obeyed
orders and was tucked up in bed by ten. I had expected to toss and
turn in a new bed, but instead slept for a solid and blissful eight
hours, not missing the incessant thumping dance music from the rave
club and the smell of cooking meat from the kebab shop.
    I slid out of
bed in the morning and changed into some exercise gear, thinking
that I’d better start shifting my flab before Heller made any more
rude comments. I crept down to the gym on the floor below, hoping
nobody else would be around. Luckily for me they weren’t, so I
spent thirty minutes on the treadmill and then did some light
weights. Better start easy, I thought as I left, eyeing the
intimidating huge bar weights waiting for someone stronger than me
to use.
    I returned to
my flat, showered and ate breakfast. I didn’t have a wide choice of
business apparel, the loss of my pale rose suit fairly well
depleting it, so I slipped on runners, a pair of jeans and a
t-shirt. I left my hair loose that morning. A light application of
makeup finished my preparations, but couldn’t hide the bruising
that had fully developed across the bridge of my nose, or the
scratches from the exploding glass. I looked like I’d been
scrapping on the street downtown on a drunken Friday night.
    I walked down
to the office and sat at my workstation. No one else had turned up
for work yet. Not surprising perhaps, because it was only
seven-thirty. Maybe I was a little too eager this morning. I
spent ten minutes rummaging around in the three drawers to the
right of my desk. There was a very nice supply of good quality
stationery provided, including some Heller’s letterhead
paper and pens with the stylish black and gold H logo, matching the sign on the office wall.
    I turned on my
computer and while it was loading made myself a coffee at the
machine in the kitchenette. I’d done some casual barista work
before so was able to make myself a credible cappuccino, only
burning my arm once on the steam. Back at my desk I brought up my
favourite news site on the computer. I was reading about yet
another terrible natural disaster when Heller walked in. He looked
good, wearing tight-cut black suit pants, a dark green monogrammed
shirt, opened at the neck, and elegant black crocodile shoes. He
casually carried his suit jacket in his hand. I threw him a
dazzling smile. He raised his eyebrows and glanced down at his
watch. Then frowned as he took in my casual appearance and bruised
face.
    “You don’t
have another business suit?”
    I shook my
head, instantly shamed at my impoverishment.
    “Come to me in
about ten minutes and we’ll discuss the next few days,” he