Free The Architect by C.A. Bell Page A

change the number, and who’s ever going to find out?

Chapter Ten
    Friday finally arrives and I’ve been up since six, pacing the kitchen and talking myself into, and out of, tonight. It’s like I have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, whispering in my ears. The me in red is saying, go for it, get drunk, have fun, fuck him in front of everyone and hang him out to dry. And the me in white is telling me not to degrade myself with such smut, you’re a lady, and ladies don’t do things like this, think of what people will think if they ever found out.
    As I drive to work, I’m stuck in the middle of an argument as the desperate horny woman on my right fights with the modest prim and proper woman on my left. I shake them both away as I pull into my usual parking space and walk into the surgery to go about my daily duties.
    As I chat to Liz about my date this evening she demands that I wear a red dress and put my hair up.
    I frown. “Why?”
    â€œJust trust me. Ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” She winks.
    â€œCome on, tell me why.”
    â€œI can’t tell you why, but you will thank me for it tomorrow.”
    Hmm. If she’s not going to tell me why, I’m sticking with my black number. God only knows why she would tell me to wear something specific. It’s probably a twist on the red hat no knickers saying, and red dress means no panties, and hey guys come and get me. Yes, I think I’ll stick with my choice. I know she’s more my friend than my colleague these days, but I wouldn’t put it past her to pull a prank like that just to see my face tomorrow morning.
    I say no more on the strange request and watch the minute hand slowly count away the hours to the end of my working day.
    In the car park, Liz reminds me again of the red dress, and tells me I’ll love it and to have fun.
    I nod to her suggestion of clothing and bid her a farewell until tomorrow.
    ***
    Making myself a light dinner so I don’t bloat and have to squeeze into my dress, I prepare a nice mixed salad with grilled chicken, and cover the whole lot in a nice helping of my favourite brand of creamy Italian dressing. After devouring the entire lot, I pour myself a glass of red and head to the en-suite to shower and prepare for the sexy yet terrifying night ahead.
    Now scrubbed from head to foot and blow-drying my hair, I see my phone flashing at me from the bed. It’s a message from Heath, expressing his excitement about tonight, and asking me how I am getting to the club. I remind him that I’m apprehensive about our date, and tell him I’ll be journeying by taxi before chucking my phone back on the bed and finishing the dehydration of my hair.
    After brushing the knots out once more, I apply some makeup. Smoothing on a good layer of ivory foundation, I pat it into place with a brand matching powder before starting on my eyes. Drawing on my black liquid eyeliner, I give myself a thicker line than usual and go over it a couple of times to ensure it will stay on throughout the night. Then I line my eyes with a black pencil, before carefully coating my lashes with a good amount of mascara. Checking my handiwork in the mirror, I notice that my bright blue eyes are even more noticeable against the noir cosmetics, and happy with the effect, proceed to get dressed.
    Pulling my dress on from the bottom, so as not to ruin my hair or makeup, I wriggle it into place, then check my appearance in the mirror again. I look a bit too tarty for my liking, so I grab a long-sleeved black shrug and put it on over the dress. Then, collecting my clutch, phone, and shoes, I read Heath’s latest text as I pad barefoot down the wooden stairs.
    Don’t be worried, darling, I’ll be there to hold your hand (amongst other things ;) ) and if at any time you want to leave, just say the word and we will. H x
    I pause at the bottom of the staircase, and my heart