by Alam, Donna
‘Do you reckon she does that on purpose?’ Jay, one of the junior statisticians asks, his head almost twisting from his neck as he watches the pair disappear.
‘What, walks?’
‘It’s not that she walks but the way she walks. She’s like . . . sex on legs.’
I think that’s the kind of way a girl walks when she has an arse that looks like it’s been sculpted by the hands of God. Or months of squats. But she’s one of those girls who seems to possess an innate, unconscious kind of sexy. She probably thinks she doesn’t dress for attention and is confused that she gets it anyway because she wears her skirts to her knees, and from neck to arm, she’s almost always covered.
‘Redheads are supposed to be hottest in bed. Think it’s true?’
What I think is the only way he’ll find that out is second-hand, sort of qualitative data. I also think he needs a slap.
‘I have a thing for girls rockin’ a vintage vibe.’
True, Heather dresses a little retro, but she’s less Rosie the riveter and more va-va-voom. She has these deep grey eyes that seem older than the rest of her, and the kind of voice from another era that’s all smoky depths and husks. A cigarette and whisky voice, I think you’d call it. She’s not the kind of girl with provocative kinds of wiles, but she’s the kind who would get in your head all the same. If you’d let her.
And Jay has.
‘She’s just got the kind of air of mystery I really dig.’ He blows out a long, whistling breath.
‘You do know we’re in the year 2020 and not 1970, right? Sexual harassment is an actual thing.’
‘She can sexually harass me any day of the week.’
‘No, she can’t, and if you get caught saying this kind of shit, you’ll be toast, mate.’ If I had a crystal ball, I’d foresee a trip to HR for Jay in the not-too-distant future, possibly some kind of sensitivity training shortly following.
‘Me and her, Arch? We’d be all fights and make-up sex, I can tell.’
She’s certainly feisty. I thought it was just me she didn’t like. But at least she wouldn’t need a box to stand on if they’re going to argue face to face because the pair are roughly the same height.
‘So ask her out.’ Unfair, I know. Because he doesn’t stand a chance. It might even be why I’m suggesting it, safe in the knowledge that she’s not for the likes of him. I doubt she even knows his name. Come to think of it, I was shocked she knew my name last night, though she remembered well enough that she didn’t like me.
Which reminds me; I owe Jay a slap already. Another one on top of the one he just earned.
‘Ow! What was that for?’ he asks, rubbing the back of his head.
‘That’s for making me look like a complete plonker by calling her Holly.’ I make my way over to the other side of the table, pulling out the proposal we’re supposed to be running through.
‘You called Heather Holly? When?’
‘Last night. I saw her when I was out, and I couldn’t remember her name.’
‘How’s that my fault?’ he asks, his tone high and aggrieved.
‘Because since I’ve started working here, you’ve been calling her Hezza.’ What the fuck for, I’m not sure. ‘And then last night, my mind drew a blank.’ Holly was the only name I could think of beginning with an H.
‘Arch.’ Jay’s face suddenly lights up like a Christmas tree. ‘Did you hit that last night? Please say yes, then tell me all the details. I bet she was as hot as fuck, wasn’t she? Did she make you do kinky shit, tie you up and shit?’
‘Do your mum and dad know about your addiction to Fifty Shades? Is it just the books you like, or do you make the bald man cry while watching the movie, too?’
‘Fifty Shades isn’t my dad’s thing. Or mine,’ he adds quickly, and then, ‘Oh, I get it. The bald man.’ He points to his crotch. ‘I thought you were talking about my old man, but what you were really asking is if I do the old manual override.’
I didn’t need the visual aid of a him wanking an invisible air dick.
‘Jay, you know these walls are glass, right?’
‘Relax, no one’s looking. And stop winding me up. Last night, did you play hide the sausage? Did you penis her vagina?’
I groan like I’m in pain, my head dropping between my shoulder blades as Jay begins to bend his invisible girlfriend over the desk before beginning to bang her.
‘You arsehole.’ I drop into a chair but not before chucking a Sharpie at his head. He’s got some rabid fucking zeal.
If I ever did get lucky with Heather, which is highly unlikely, he’d be the last person I’d tell. I think it’s fair to say that to get anywhere near her knickers, I’d have to be the last man standing. Maybe after a zombie apocalypse because up until last night, the only time she’d really looked at me was when I’d asked her to pass me my coffee cup when she was standing in front of the sink. I’d caught her disdainful look, and I remember the way she’d held her breath when she’d passed it to me, as if my presence was offensive. She looked as though she’d have rather touched my prostate than engage in a conversation. But then last night, she’d given me a whole other vibe, almost as if she might be fun. The kind of combative fun. All fights and make-up sex.
Really? Could it be that—
‘How could Hezza be short for Holly?’ Jay asks as I push the thought away.
Last night, that wasn’t a come-on, was it?
‘Oi. Where’d you come up with Holly?’
The marker sails my way, and I catch it.
‘I froze, okay?’ Mainly because of who I was there with. Clara caught me off guard when she asked if I could spare her a little time to talk about the business on her last day. As it happened, I knew I’d be on the other side of the city. I didn’t think for one minute that daddy’s little princess would schlep all the way out there to talk about her career path. And I was right. In one sense, at least. We’d met, we’d had a drink, we talked for a while, and then she’d hit on me, which was good for my ego but pretty shit for hers. ‘Holly was the first name that came into my head.’
‘She has that effect on me, too.’
But it wasn’t that—I wasn’t dazzled by Heather. Surprised to see her, sure. A little shocked and a little wary. I nearly tripped over myself when she’d turned and smiled at me because the only time I’d ever seen her smile before was when there was a donut or a piece of cake about. But she’d smiled, engaged, and got a little sassy, and God knows I’m a bit of a sucker for a little sass. Not that our interaction is going anywhere. It was just a bit of out-of-office banter because no matter how pretty she is, I don’t date women I work with. Not anymore.
‘Where did you get Hezza from, anyway?’
‘Someone in the office had started it a while ago. Hezza, the lezza. Not to her face, obviously.’
I take a good look at Jay as he begins to mess about with the smart board. Pushed up onto the tips of his toes as he stretches to reach the top, I take a real good look at all five-feet-four of him as I wonder what could have stunted his growth. And I’m not talking about his height. Just last week, he told me his parents have begun looking for a nice Sikh girl from the old country for him to marry. He was so fucking morose, quite rightly, at the thought of being tied to a stranger for life. I felt genuinely sorry for him. Now I feel sorry for the girl.
‘Did it occur to you that it might be sour grapes, Jay? Or that you shouldn’t join in and take part in the mudslinging?’
‘What?’ He turns, tucking in his shirt where it’s pulled loose from the waist of his pants, confusion written all over his face.
‘It’s an easy out, right? A girl knocks back a bloke’s advances, but it can’t possibly be his fault. Because he’s great—one of the lads. If she’s not interested in his cock, she has to be a lesbian, right?’
‘Erm . . .’
‘But ask any lesbian what she’s got against cock and the only answer you’ll get is that cock is only ever a problem when it’s attached to a man.’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘But nothing, mate. It’s wrong, Jay. Fucking wrong.’
‘But, Arch, that’s not it. Her boss, Haydn, he calls her Hezza the—you know,’ he finishes uncomfortably.
‘You what?’
‘They had a big bust up in a meeting, and he was really pissed off about something. Next thing, he’s calling her names when she’s not around.’
‘That’s just fucking wrong.’
‘But Arch, I don’t think she’s a lesbian. I called her Hezza because that’s how Emika, her intern, says her name. She’s one of them weebs who thinks she’s Japanese and shit.’
‘She’s from Putney, not Tokyo.’
‘I know. It’s probably just a phase, innit? And she says her name with an accent. You know, Hezza.’ To add to the probably unflattering term, and the fucking awful imitation of a person of Japanese heritage, he presses his hands together and bows.
Is this What the Fuck Day? Did I miss it marked on the calendar?
Because something’s wrong when you have to explain to a Sikh man why it’s not okay to parody an English girl impersonating a Japanese girl in the workplace.
‘I just thought it was cute.’ He shrugs, all affable again. ‘If you want to have a go at someone, have a go at her boss. He was telling everyone he thinks she’s lying about having a boyfriend because she likes girls. It almost broke my heart to hear it, but then I had a think about it and—’
‘Stop. I don’t need to know.’ If lesbians have no interest in straight men, then straight men have no such compunction.
‘I was gonna say he’s a real nasty piece of work. And that I don’t believe it.’
‘It’s fucking nuts.’ She was with girls last night, but they looked like mates, not conquests. ‘You know, this is the worst place I’ve ever known for gossip and intrigues. People must have far too much time on their hands.’
‘I reckon he fancies her.’
‘Seems the obvious answer.’ And he seems like the type.
‘Hey, is the Fact Controller gonna be down for this meeting this afternoon?’
‘Who?’
‘The big boss. Lambeth. ’Cause he looks like the fat geezer off Thomas the Tank Engine, right?’
‘Why?’ I ask, ignoring the rest.
‘’Cause he’ll go straight to Hez, I mean, Heather’s office.’
‘Why?’
‘They both have like, a major sweet tooth. I reckon she’s got a stash of chocolate or in there or something.’
Shit. If Lambeth is going to her office that could mean . . .
I push back my chair as I stand, yanking open the meeting room door.
‘Where are you off to?’ Jay yells after me.
‘I’m off to make someone diabetically comatose to save my own fucking skin.’
5
Heather
I manage to get to work on time, thanks to Dad dropping me to the tube station, but my mood is less than stellar, despite picking up a cronut to go with my coffee from the American-style bakery a few streets away from the office. To add to my ill humour, Haydn has already reached his Friday quota of annoyance, and it’s not even half past ten. Apparently, my input to our last team meeting was “conceptually criminal” and that “my word smithery requires deep work”, whatever that means.
He also had the cheek to suggest I make some of the staff feel uncomfortable because I don’t enter into the spirit of dress down Friday, despite my currently wearing a Breton sweater and a cute skirt.
‘Fatty tit head is right,’ I grumble, scrolling through the webpage I’m studying. I’m standing at my desk—that is, I’m standing at my high standing desk—when I become aware of a change in the light in the room. As I begin to look up, expecting Haydn to have returned with an addendum to his what-the-fuckery when my attention is tweaked when the prettiest cupcake appears next to my mouse. Lilac and creamy, buttercream icing swirls to a peak where a tiny pearl lies.
A flight of butterflies disconcertingly takes flight in my stomach, but whether from the arrival of the artisan cupcake or the scent of Archer Powell’s aftershave or the fact that I woke this morning to a porn-y dream of him, I can’t be sure. But if I was a betting woman, I’d stick a twenty on that last one. Whatever the reason, I keep my gaze on the webpage, almost afraid to look up.
‘Is this a bribe?’ It takes every ounce of concentration to keep my voice even and not to look up into those startling blue eyes.
‘Heather,’ Archer admonishes playfully. ‘Clearly, this is a birthday cupcake.’ He leans his forearm across the high back of my desk, and I can’t help but glance up at him . . . and be irrationally annoyed by his smile and his demeanour and his taunting, relaxed brand of confidence. He doesn’t look like he woke up in the wrong bed this morning. But I’m not going to think about what bed he woke up in because it wasn’t mine.
Wait—what I mean to say is so long as it wasn’t mine.
Then, because I’ve clearly been dazzled—I mean annoyed—by his presence, I realise the webpage I have open is one I could do without him seeing because, holy mother of pearl, talk about disastrous. You see, I decided this morning on the way into work, a decision about how I was going to sort out this wedding problem without crashing the car I don’t own and faking my death. I close my laptop lid with a snap. If Archer notices my haste, he doesn’t remark on it.
‘Look, it even has hundreds and thousands.’ He points to the light scattering of iridescent sprinkles, the very posh sort of hundreds and thousands. ‘Definitely a birthday cake, a birthday cake that’s lilac and lemon flavour. The woman in the shop said it’s her bestseller.’
‘You went to a shop to buy me a cupcake?’ I aim for suspicion because it’s preferable to sounding confused.
‘What I know about baking would leave space on a postage stamp. I tried to get something heather-coloured, but lilac was the nearest she had.’
I roll my bottom lip inwards, fighting a smile. Though I wish I could appear less affected, I’m oddly touched that he’d go to the trouble of buying me a cupcake for any reason, without considering a theme.
But the question remains, exactly why has he?
Because of my spoiled orgasm? Lol, jokes.
‘And I just wanted to say that I’m sure your cupcakes were delicious.’
An apology, then? Though that hardly seems likely.
‘You mean, even though they looked worse than a dog’s dinner?’
‘I said they looked worse than my dog’s dinner, but to be fair, my dog will only eat gourmet.’
‘Gourmet that comes out of a tin?’ The second time I glance at him, something flickers deep inside me like an echo of my dream. My God, those eyes. They’re the kind of blue that’s as tempting as the Mediterranean Sea on a hot summer day.
‘Seriously, you should smell the stuff. It’s like something you’d spread on posh crackers.’ He shrugs affably, and I wish I could say it doesn’t work for him, especially as he tries another of those charming half-smiles. Sadly, I’d be lying, but at least that realisation also irks me. ‘Anyway, yours must’ve been good because all that was left this morning was crumbs.’
He’d have been hard pushed to find one because I dumped the few that were left as soon as I got in this morning. Not that there were many because it seems not everyone judges a cupcake by its icing.
‘This still looks like bribery.’ Despite wanting to inhale it, even after my cronut, I glance contemptuously at the cupcake because I’m waiting for the punchline, the bit where he reminds that he’s not the pleasant easy-going soul he’s pretending to be but a man slut who’s using his pretty face and his silky charm to get what he wants.
Namely my silence.
‘I think it’s more an I’m sorry I was an arse offering.’
‘It definitely seems more like a please keep quiet request.’
‘I wouldn’t presume to bribe you. I would, however, appreciate it if you could not mention to anyone in this place that you s
aw me last night.’
And there we have it—an admission!
‘Keep quiet about seeing you, or specifically that I saw you with the director’s daughter?’ My words are sugary sweet. With just a trace of arsenic.
‘Heather.’ He draws out my name affably this time, no doubt hoping to reinforce that he knows it now, unlike last night. ‘There really was nothing untoward going on. You have to believe me.’
‘Why? Why do I have to believe you?’ I fold my arms, my hip slightly cocked, though my high desk probably spoils the effect.
‘I wouldn’t want to lose your good opinion of me.’
I find myself laughing, the noise in the room almost startling.
‘What’s so funny?’ He tries not to smile himself, his gaze unabashedly holding mine.
‘Maybe the high opinion you have of yourself seems to be blinding you to the opinion of others.’
‘Blame it on my genes,’ he says with a sigh. ‘I was a very beautiful baby who grew into a very handsome boy. And that handsome boy eventually became the stunner you see before you now.’
‘Yet still, I find I don’t really have much of an opinion of you at all.’ Though dream Archer is pretty yummy.
‘Ouch. You really know how to dent a man’s ego.’ There’s a hint of pearly white canine teeth with this lie because his ego is probably titanium plated. ‘I think I’d prefer you to have a poor opinion over no opinion.’
‘Hmph,’ I mutter, adjusting the position of my mouse. ‘I’m sure that wouldn’t take much to rectify.’
This is surreal. Maybe I’ve gone to sleep at my desk. Maybe someone spiked my champagne last night, and this is a hallucination. Up until yesterday, I’d barely spoken to the office hottie, avoiding him at all costs. And now what? I’ve had a weirdly porn-y dream about him. I’m expected to think he finds me interesting? Or is it that he wants me to find him interesting for nefarious means? Either way, we both know there’s a reason he’s playing this game.
‘Because the only thing wrong about last night was when I realised the wrong girl was sitting at my table.’