Nicole is a collection of contradictions: clever and lazy, chaotic and dazzling, erotic and infuriating. She's also temporarily resident in Matt's spare room, and all because of a post-squash game conversation.
"My daughter's landlord has decided to repossess the flat she's sharing with friends," his boss confides in the changing rooms. "Worse, the silly girl didn't tell me until the last moment. She has finals in three weeks, so I'm desperate to find her a short-term place to live." Matt has, in retrospect perhaps unwisely, just been extolling the virtues of his new two-bedroom apartment, bought courtesy of a bequest from an aunt.
"I thought your kids were still at school?"
"The younger two, my stepdaughter, Nicole, is at university here".
Matt immediately knows what's required of him.
"She could stay at mine," he ventures tentatively. The expression of relief on his MD's face shows this was a wise career move. Matt, already doing well at the software firm, has earned maximum brownie points.
"That's wonderful Matt, thank you so much," says his boss, adding in the same breath, "Oh, and Nicole's got a job interview the week after exams finish, perhaps we could make it a month? I'll ensure you're generously reimbursed." Well, Matt's hardly likely to refuse. In theory, it's a mutually beneficial idea - if only the reality was so easy.
Just as well I haven't a girlfriend at present, thinks Matt two weeks later, discovering a pile of dishes in the kitchen. What does Nicole do all day; it certainly isn't the washing up.
"Please put them in the dishwasher."
"
Is complicated
," She frowns, her mother is French and despite being bilingual Nicole lapses into Gallic insouciance whenever practical arrangements are discussed. Matt, always tidy and organised, barely stifles a flash of annoyance.
When in the flat Nicole almost invariably wears T-shirts and footless leggings, the latter showcasing a shapely rear, and colourfully varnished toenails. Her habitual repainting of them while seated on his new sofa isn't endearing and his requests to desist are blithely ignored. Unsurprisingly, Nicole's dirty clothes don't make it into the washing machine and remain piled in the corner of her bedroom.
Despite always behaving like a perfect gentleman, Matt is very much an aficionado of the female bottom and, confronted daily by Nicole's beguiling little bum, subjected to constant temptation. Domestic frustrations apart, she's a good company, amusing and enigmatic. There's not that much difference in their ages; Nicole is only three years his junior.
"Christ I could spank you," he says in exasperation, when on returning from work he discovers her busy texting and oblivious to the surrounding domestic chaos.
"Maybe you should," she replies with a shrug, unbothered by the suggestion. "Have I shocked you, Matt? Remember I'm half French; we Europeans are broadminded." Following this sanguine observation Nicole departs, deliberately wriggling her delightful derriere in what seems to Matt a flirtatious provocation.
The following morning, confronted with the wearisome reality of living in a rubbish tip, Matt finally snaps. Tight-lipped he advances purposefully towards the lithe mademoiselle lounging on the sofa and drags her across his knee. Ignoring her suspiciously perfunctory protests, Matt fulfils the long-nurtured ambition of tugging down those figure-hugging leggings to reveal a perfect peach of a bottom. Pinning Nicole's hands behind her back and restraining her kicking feet with his leg, he sets to work releasing 10 days of pent-up anger.
Nicole's tiny thong (almost) protects her modesty but does nothing to save her pert posterior from Matt's punishing palm. Only when his hand starts smarting does he halt. The object of his wrath meanwhile lies whimpering over his lap, every centimetre of her buttocks red and burning. No more than I deserve, Nicole reflects ruefully, she's been a brat and received an amply earned smacked bottom, that's also ignited a smouldering erotic arousal.
Unfortunately for her Matt is in no mood to offer comfort, let alone a sexual dalliance and stomps out of the house, leaving the gamine girl flushed of face and blinking back tears of frustration. When he returns an hour later the flat is tidy and Nicole is in her room, assiduously working on revision papers.
Both avoid mentioning the incident, which hangs heavily in the air until a few days later her exams are completed.
"How was the last paper?"
"Good, your, er, intervention assisted my academic application," admits Nicole, "just the interview to go."
"When's that?"
"Monday. If I show you what I intend to wear will you tell me if it's suitable?"
"Sure," agrees Matt, intrigued.
Nicole disappears for a glacially slow half hour, finally emerging with a transformational flourish.
"Voila."
"Wow!"
"Monsieur approves?
"You look amazing," says Matt truthfully, and she does, elegant and understatedly chic in the manner European women manage effortlessly and their British counterparts rarely. A demure blouse suggests the wearer should be taken seriously; a deal-clincher short, but not too short, skirt reveals very good legs. Heels and a scarf complete the package.
"Bye, bye scruffy student, hello business professional; I think you're certain to be employed," says Matt,
"Good, that was the look I was going for, and since your unusual method of concentrating my mind worked so well before, I need a good luck spanking."
