Isobel ducked into the empty kitchen, thankful for the opportunity to escape. She'd been invited to parliament to take part in a focus group for a new education policy and she already couldn't wait to give her fellow group members a good talking to. It was infuriating, she thought, just how dense some people could be. She sighed frustratedly and hoped that perhaps a coffee would be the solution to her problems. It wouldn't make the people disappear, but hey, maybe she could 'accidentally' spill it over someone's lap for a spot of lighthearted relief.
A loud crash echoed through the corridor outside, followed by a spurt of gruff Scottish shouting. Isobel smiled to herself. Glasgow, she noticed. Typical.The yelling came steadily closer, preceding the man himself. Malcolm burst into the room, swearing like a trooper and almost knocking Isobel into the decorative houseplant that stood in the corner.
"Who the fuck do I have to talk to to get a decent fucking coffee around here!" He shouted to nobody in particular. "Everyone's just fannying about doing absolutely piss all and now I have to make one for my fucking self!"
He stopped dead when he saw her, any further expletives dying in his throat as he frowned.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Is it really any of your business?" Isobel quipped, pouring her coffee and pointedly not looking at him.
"Of course it's my fucking business. Nothing gets past me." He told her, his dramatic eyebrows seemingly doing the talking for him.
"I'm part of a focus group, if you must know. Isobel Pickwell. Who are you?"
"Too important for you to even comprehend." He frowned. Isobel fought back with a smirk, her dark lips quirking up playfully. His frown deepened.
"I would assume, if you were that important, I would have seen you on the news, and yet..." she tutted, picking up her steaming mug of coffee and resting against the counter as if she owned it. Malcolm simply let his eyebrows do the talking and pushed past her roughly. He slammed an empty coffee mug on the counter so hard it almost shattered in his grip.
"Bad day?" Isobel enquired with mock sympathy and pouted at him. She loved any chance to rattle people and since an angry Scottish politician had been handed to her on a plate, she wasn't going to miss the opportunity.
"You have no fucking idea."
Isobel tutted condescendingly, putting on her best teacher face. "Language."
"Kiss my arse you patronising cunt."
Isobel's lips parted in a perfect 'o' as she feigned horror at his words. Malcolm found himself staring, however much he didn't want to.
"Touchy subject, okay." Isobel smirked. "So, what's gotten you so rattled?"
"Oh, where do I fucking start? You think it's difficult being a teacher love, try being a politician for a day and you'll be on your knees begging to go back."
She was the one frowning then. Her eyes glistened and took on a new, threatening quality. "Look. I don't care who you are or how much of a bad day you're having. Call me 'love' one more time and I'll rip out your vocal chords."
Now it was Malcolm's turn to offer a smirk. "Looks like you're a bit 'rattled' yourself." He said, rolling his 'r's exaggeratedly just as she had.
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Everyone in the focus group is an idiot."
"I know." Malcom interjected, taking a sip of his coffee. "That's why they're in the focus group."
Isobel's bollocking face was enough to make him hold up his hands in apology.
"You never told me your name." She said, still hostile.
"Enchanted." She said sarcastically. "Can you get me out of this?"
"The kitchen? Of course. The door's right behind you." He deadpanned.
"Not remotely amusing. You know I meant the focus group."
"You can come and sit in my office if you want. I could do with someone to shout at when things aren't going my way."
Isobel considered her options. She had to admit, Malcolm was intriguing. Under all those layers of swearing and political jargon, there was something yet to be unearthed. Being stuck in a room with him would be better than stuck in a room of six clones of Alfie Wickers, she realised.
"Fine." She said, stepping into the corridor. "Lead on."
Oli scuttled out of Malcolm's office, head between his legs. He'd just been throughly bollocked over another one night stand with a member of the opposition.
"Twat." Malcolm muttered as he slammed the door. "I'm surprised the poor bloke even knows what a cunt looks like."
"And you do?" Isobel raised an eyebrow pointedly. The pair seemed to be slowly developing a bond, mostly due to the fact that they hated the same things.
"More than you could know darlin'." Malcom quipped with a smirk. Isobel was at his throat in seconds.
"I told you. No endearments or I'll feed you to my owl."
"You said no 'love', you never mentioned 'darling'." He objected. "Wait a fucking minute. You have an owl?"
"Romsfeld." She said, smiling wistfully.
"You're one odd fucker aren't you?" Malcom said. "Anyway, as I was saying, I've been quite well acquainted with a pussy or two in my time."
"Only two?" She pulled out her mock sympathetic pout again.
"We could make it three." He ventured, wiggling his dramatic eyebrows at her.
Before he could take another breath, strong hands were pinning him to the wall of his office. Isobel's face was inches from his, her deep red lips slightly parted. He could still smell the coffee on her breath. He shivered.
"You haven't the first idea of who you're dealing with." She warned, breaking out into a smile that could only be described as manic.
"Oh darlin', I think I do." He drawled in his his heavy Scottish accent, emphasising the endearment.
Isobel's lips were attacking his before he could blink. She was pressed up against every inch of him, and though he found it slightly disconcerting, he didn't exactly object either. Wanting to regain some control, he pushed her away.
"You should be getting back to the focus group."
"Fuck the focus group." She said to his lips. He felt her breath hot on his face. "I'm going to fuck you."
"You? Fucking me?" Malcolm spluttered. "I think you'll find it's the other way around."
"I'm always on top." Isobel growled. Malcom couldn't hold back another shiver and she felt him tremble.
Malcolm looked as if he was about to object, but before he could open his mouth, it was claimed by Isobel's lips once more. She roughly dragged him across the room, sweeping away the papers on his desk before slamming him into the smooth oak surface.
"Oh, and I forgot to mention." Isobel began, the slightly unnerving mania returning to her red smile once more. "There's going to be biting. Lots of biting."
She gnashed her teeth at him. Malcolm gulped.