Addicted to Mr Parks (The Parks Series #2)(7)

She scoffed, drawing her brows together uneasily. “What?”

I walked towards her and crossed my arms, edging into her personal space. “You see, before I came into the toilets, Carla, Parks had his head between my thighs. So if you kissed him afterwards, you would have tasted my come.”

She grimaced at my words, her mahogany bob swishing as she shook her head in disbelief.

“You’re lying.” She spat, her gaze dragging over my body like I was worthless.


“Believe me, what Parks did to me that night was only the beginning.”

“You bitch.” She darted at me and latched on to my hair. The files of paperwork, her laptop, and the telephone crashed off her desk as we struggled. The sounds must have caught the attention of my colleagues, and it was Clarke who was first to walk in on the scene.

“Evey.” He was flustered as he ran towards me and prised me from Carla’s grip. I was seething. Absolutely livid that she attacked me. But I didn’t fight back. I had already landed her a punch a few weeks ago and wasn’t ready to give her further ammunition to fire me. I would bide my time.

“Get that slut out of my office,” she bellowed.

Clarke held me until he was sure I was balanced on my feet, then pushed me behind him like he was protecting me and pointed at Carla’s face. He was so angry, his cheeks were burning a bright red.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but what I do know is that you do not, under any circumstance, strike an employee. You have just committed a criminal offense.”

Carla didn’t seem bothered; she was more concerned about patting her bob back into place. “I will not have that woman on my team a minute longer. She’s fired.”

“On what grounds?” Clarke asked firmly. Carla hesitated for a second, then came up with nothing. “That’s what I thought. Now you leave my assistant out of your shit, or you will have me to deal with.”

Carla was as shocked as I was to see this side to Clarke, but she knew he meant business. She did the right thing for her sake and kept her mouth shut.

I walked back to my desk looking down at the floor, but I felt all the prying eyes of my colleagues pinned on me. “What the hell are you all looking at?” I yelled.

One of the closeted Johns was first to comment, pointing at me with his pen. “I’m just watching the show. This office would make TV gold.”

“That is highly unnecessary, John.” Clarke shot him down first because he knew my reply wouldn’t have been so polite.

My backside hit my chair with a thud, as I planted my face in my hands.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Clarke hissed as he took his seat next to me.

“She’s had it in for me since day one,” I barked.

He rubbed his tired-looking eyes with his thumbs. “Just try and remember this, Evey—jealously from another is conquered by the smiling victim.”

I stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant, but something in my actions made Clarke suspicious.

“Evey, have you been drinking?”

Shit. He was like Sherlock Holmes. “I…” A lie was about to fall from my lips, but for some reason he glanced into my bag and saw the neck of the vodka bottle, making him sigh. It was a sigh that both said “shame on you” and “that poor girl.”

“No,” I snapped, kicking my bag farther under my desk to hide it, but he already knew my concentration levels had been at an all-time low that morning. My spelling mistakes were atrocious because the only thing I could think of was my next drink.

“Jesus, Evey.” He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose as he swivelled in his chair to face me. It was peculiar and it made me feel extremely uneasy. “I really, really don’t want to do this, but I have no choice but to suspend you until further notice.”

“What?” I whispered, my voice faltering. The last person I ever wanted to feel ashamed of me was Clarke. He couldn’t shun me too.

“Go home, lovely,” he said brokenly as he dipped his head, his sad eyes closing for me. Then he resumed his work, doing everything in his power to ignore my sudden puppy-dog eyes.

I scrambled from the chair to save myself from further embarrassment, quickly snatched my bag from under the table, and made my way the toilets. I slammed down the toilet lid and slumped on top of it as I opened up my handbag. I grabbed at the vodka inside and took it to my lips. The sigh of relief that drew from my chest after I’d taken an almighty swig told me only one thing. I was hooked. Again. I had fallen back to my addiction. How could I let myself get this way?

I didn’t. It wasn’t me. It was Parks. It was my parents. It was everything in my life that was making me this way.

Wasn’t it?

While behind the closed door, I heard women entering the toilets, talking amongst themselves. It quickly became apparent what the subject was. Me.

“She’s drunk. You can see it in her eyes.” That was the voice of Posh Patricia.

“She shouldn’t be working here,” said another.

“What qualifications did she have to begin with?” That was Margret.

“Well, apparently, I heard she had sex with Mr. Lowry to get the job in the first place.”


That was when my heart stopped. Completely. I heard a ringing in my ears and felt the colour drain from my face. How had that got out?