My heart rate is elevated.
I feel my palms sweaty, my nerves rarely control me, so I know they won't get the better of me, but I mentally question once again what I'm doing here this evening as my finger reaches and loosens the dark red neck tie that feels as though it strangles my throat.
"Room Seven," he reconfirms for me, pointing a chubby finger coated in grease, from the unattractive looking Doner Kebab sat in an open polystyrene box that sits on the reception desk between him and I.
I nod my understanding, my throat dry, to the extent that I find it difficult to swallow.
Turning on my heels I walk away from the reception desk, casting my eye around the reception area that looks in desperate need of a refurbishment, just like the dated facade to the outside of the Highview Bed and Breakfast. I could hardly imagine the state of the Bed, although I was about to discover, let alone what would constitute a Breakfast at such an establishment.
The first step on to the threadbare carpeted staircase causes a heavy creaks under my foot, a sound replicated as I press on, ascending the creaking staircase to the first floor landing. Looking left and then right I find my bearings and head along a dim narrow corridor featuring odd room numbers only. Two doors along I reach room number seven, indicated by the brass number screwed onto a grubby looking door yellowing with age that was last painted white a very long time ago.
Pausing I take a deep breath, rubbing sweaty palms across my dark grey suit trousers. Extending my right hand I take another dry swallow, the sudden urge to turn to walk away overwhelms me, momentarily.
My knuckle gently wrap the hotel room door.
Over the sound of my own nervous breath I hear footsteps the opposite side of the door, unseen heels that strike the floor with purpose. Portraying an intent I'm not sure I match.
The door to room seven slips open. Looking back along the corridor checking I'm not observed as much as I am eying the quickest route to step away from this situation.
I step forward though, my intrigue outweighs my doubt and in that moment I commit. I cross the physical and metaphoric threshold on my doubt with one confident step.
Looking to my left as she stands there behind the door, her eyes cast over me just as mine cast over her.
Her dusky toned features are not overly made up, but she smiles from behind lips the colour of black cherries, her face framed by shoulder length dark black hair with lighter dark blonde steaks, her profile picture does do her justice is my first thought.
As she closes the door behind us I take a step back in order to take her in fully.
Belted at the waist a short black silk gown sits over a dark red, lace effect bra. The gown, tied with a matching black silk belt, barely falls below her waist to reveal the tops of light denier hold stockings which sit under black leather thigh high boots.
"John I presume," she offers on a soft accent.
I don't recognise the name at first, given the false pretence I'd used in my own profile for the agency I had recently joined.
"Uh... Yeah..." I offer as my right hand immediately slips into the inside pocket of my jacket to retrieve the manila envelope of cash containing six twenty-pound notes, withdrawn from a cash machine barely fifteen minutes earlier. "...Ayesha, right?
"Yes," she smiles sweetly there's a sterile falseness to our conversation already, both of us acutely aware why we stand before one another in the shabby confines of room seven of the Highview.
"Thank you," she offers further as she takes the envelope from me with slender fingers, the nails of which are painted gloss black. Turning she steps away and checking the contents places the envelope in a travel bag sat next to a dressing table.
"So we've an hour... would you like to sit and chat a little... or?" she offers with a sweet smile as she steps back towards me, her head turning towards the double bed my eye-line follows hers, a twist of guilt in my stomach considering the sordid nature of the adultery I'm about to commit.
*********
A single tear traces down her left cheek.
Dark eyeliner scratching a jagged line in the wake of the tear drop across her pretty face.
"I... I don't understand" she offers on a shaky tone.
Reaching for the box of tissues sat upon my desk, I take a breath and pull two quilted tissues from the box and offer them to her. Marie Hoxton.
Marie had joined my team exactly six months ago to the day, starting a new job at the turn of a new year. She had been pleasant, polite, punctual and shown great endeavour and willing over the last six months. Unfortunately, in comparison to the two colleague who'd started at the same time as her Marie had shown absolutely no talent for closing and winning business, the core function of her job as Business Development Manager.
"C'mon Marie we've talked about this during for monthly performance reviews Charlie and Danielle have managed to close five deals between them since their induction.... You've..." my eyes glance to the CRM Pipeline on my screen, "...well there's only even one opportunity with over seventy five percent confidence of completion."
"Yeah but..." Marie stifles an encroaching sob as she pads her left eye with the tissues, "The Waterhouse deal is worth ten times as much as those five accounts combined."
"That's as maybe Marie but you've concentrated on something that every other broker we know of has targeted and quoted for... there's no assurance... we survive on sales revenue not promises."
"I've... I've built good relationships," Marie feebly justifies.
The conversation was not an easy one to have. Time and effort had been invested in the young graduate her potential had been apparent, sadly that potential showed no signs of being fulfilled. The decision was out of my hands, she'd failed the set criteria of her probationary terms and was being let go. There was nothing she could do, and equally very little I could do, to alter the policy ensconced with the terms she had signed up to on commencing employment.
I'd been there myself, not so long ago, made redundant on a whim with no prior warning. I felt no pride in bringing her world crashing down around her first thing on a Monday morning.
