Lucky Scars

by Kerry Heavens

  Jonathan: No, Bea, it was fate. You can’t argue with it; it’s like the five min rule. It’s official. So, don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to find out what else we both like?

  Me: What kinds of things?

  Jonathan: Like Netflix, or candlelit dinners, or walks in the park.

  I laughed.

  Me: And world peace, don’t forget world peace.

  Jonathan: Right! I like that too. See, it’s fate. Let me at least buy you another coffee.

  Me: I’m watching my caffeine intake.

  I stared at my phone, and he didn’t type anything more, then my desk phone rang, and I jumped out of my skin. This had better not be you, Mr. Hot and Heavy, I shouted out to the universe in warning as I lifted the receiver cautiously. I breathed a sigh of relief when it was just my dad. After ten minutes, I figured Mr. H&H had given up, then as I was telling Dad for the fifteenth time that I would come and visit soon, I glanced down at my phone and saw I was wrong.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay, baby girl, see you soon.”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too.”

  I hung up and grabbed my mobile.

  Jonathan: You’ll crack eventually.

  A thrill went through me, which I quashed immediately. What was happening to me that made the idea of Jonathan not giving up seem even slightly appealing? It was not okay! It had to end now. Despite myself, I allowed one last word.

  Me: If you say so.

  I tossed my phone on my desk. That was it. I was done with whatever that was. I had work to do, and absolutely no room in my life for desirable strangers.

  I stretched in my chair. You know those Fridays when you feel like bunking off early and just chilling out? Well, it was Thursday morning, and I was there already. I felt like I’d had the longest week ever, and it was only the first one back after the Christmas break. I’d been through the wringer, though; I had an excuse. Ish. I decided maybe I should head out and grab a Frappuccino since I had deprived myself by subconsciously avoiding Starbucks. Then I could come back to my desk and deal with these emails and Melanie’s never-ending list.

  Yep. I was doing it.

  I slipped my coat off the hook. Not the too-light jacket I was forced to face the icy January wind in because it complemented my outfit for the meeting. My proper coat, which zipped up and kept me warm and was perfect for being invisible in trendy London. I grabbed my scarf too, and once I was bundled up, I shoved my wallet in my pocket and headed out.

  “I’m just going for Starbucks,” I called behind me to Mel as I passed her desk. It was a dick move, but I just wanted to get out for five minutes, not take an order for the whole office. Mel was in charge of the office; if she wanted coffee, she had minions she could send.

  I heard her grumble but didn’t listen to the words.

  I hit the button for the lift and pulled out my phone to see if there were any more messages. Nothing. Thank goodness.

  The lift dinged, and I looked up before I stepped in and met a pair of mismatched eyes.

  My stomach flipped with nervous excitement, and I smiled quite involuntarily.

  “Whoa there, not again!” he grinned, pulling the two Frappuccinos in his hands away from me. “I like this shirt.”

  “What are you doing here?” I stepped back, allowing Ziggy to exit the elevator.

  “I came to talk; do you have time?”

  “Sure.”

  Hope started multiplying rapidly, and it was only stopped from becoming an epidemic by the caramel Frappuccino he handed me.

  “Here, I brought you this.”

  I looked down at it like it was a puzzle.

  “If you don’t like it, that’s cool. I’ll have two.”

  I looked up at him. “Thank you.” He placed the drink in my dithering hand. “I do like it. I was just heading out to get one, in fact. I’m just wondering how you knew.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t; I got them for selfish reasons.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, number one, I like them; and number two, if you were going to throw it on me again, at least I wouldn’t get scalded this time.” His laugh made…P…no…R…Ricardo! Yes!!…look up from his call and frown.

  I laughed too. “Come on inside before you get me in trouble.” I turned and headed back towards my desk and trusted that he would follow. I glanced at Mel as we walked by, and she gave me her holy shit eyes. I returned my fuck, I know eyes and kept walking.

  “Why would you be in trouble? You own the company,” he said keeping up with me.

  I stopped at my desk and put the drink down. Slipping my coat back off and hanging it up.

  “You do still own the company right?” he asked hesitantly. Suddenly looking troubled.

  “I do.” I smiled.

  “Oh thank fuck!” he heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Relax,” I laughed. “They haven’t even made an offer yet. They need to look at projections and all kinds of nonsense first.”

  “But when they do, you’ll tell them to poke it, won’t you?”

  “I hope so,” I replied seriously.

  He stared at me with concern.

  “Do you want me to take your coat?” I asked, which made him come back into himself.

  “Sure,” he smiled and put his drink beside mine. It did not escape my notice that we liked the same coffee. The irony. Jonathan was making this huge deal of the destiny involved in our meeting owing to our matching tastes in coffee. And here was a person I had been actively seeking out who I met by chance thanks to my fake favourite coffee, and he brings me my actual favourite coffee! Could it be the fate I had only just debunked to Jonathan?

  Lifting his messenger bag over his head and putting it on the chair which sat opposite mine, Ziggy took off his coat and handed it to me.

  When I turned back from hanging it on the hook, I noticed that we had quite an audience. Not that they weren’t trying to hide it, but most of the office was trying to get a little closer to find out what was going on.

  Fucking Melanie.

  I told her we needed to keep this between us, but, apparently, “us” was everyone on the payroll.

  If Adam falling over himself to find a book on the seldom-used bookshelves was anything to go by, I’d say word was out that we had a Starman in our midst.

  Awesome.

  “Hey, shall we take these upstairs? The game zone must be pretty empty judging by the fact that everyone seems to be down here.” I said loudly so that people would get the message.

  “Lead the way,” he said, picking up the two drinks.

  I climbed the stairs in front of him and paused at the top, letting him pass. Then I looked down over the studio at the gawping team below and glared. They all scurried back to work at once.

  “So, I’ve been thinking about your offer,” he said, walking casually over to a sofa as if he’d been here before.

  “I hoped you would.” I tried not to look like the future of the whole company rested on his next words. Of course, that was dramatic, but it sure would look brighter for me with him involved. With a brand like his, we would be worth a lot more. We could float the company, get some investors, which would put us in another league without selling out…okay, I was getting carried away.

  He flopped down comfortably. “I know I said I couldn’t do the nine-to-five thing.”

  “Seven to nine, I already told you. Not a minute less,” I interrupted with a smile.

  He laughed silently, looking around him and glancing at the game controllers on the table and the TV screen. “What if I went under a different name?” he suggested absently, leaning forward and snatching up a Wii controller.

  “No.” I folded my arms adamantly. “I want the world to know I got you, and I’m keeping you.”

  “Possessive, huh?”

  “And greedy. I want them to wonder what the hell I offered you that they couldn’t. I want them to cry.”

  “Possessive, greedy and sadisti
c. I like it,” he smirked.

  “That’s right,” I nodded. “Seriously though, I don’t want you under a different name. I’ll be completely upfront—I need Starman. I need what that name brings to the table as much as I want to create with you as a person. And yeah, I want the whole industry to know this is where you chose to settle.”

  “And what if I can’t?”

  “Can’t what?”

  “Settle.” He thumbed the controls to keep his fingers busy. “What if I get itchy?”

  “What if, let’s just imagine, there was a real challenge here, something that made you get out of bed in the morning and race to work because it excited you so much. How long do you think you could get excited about that?”

  He shrugged, “I don’t know, a year?”

  “Ever worked on a project that long?”

  “Yes, but never when that was all I was working on, and never in an office I was expected to attend every day.”

  “So, what I’m hearing here is you’ve never had a job that required you to actually get dressed in the morning?”

  “Unless you count working at the local cinema in my late teens, technically, no.”

  I laughed. “So that’s what I’m up against here? I have to make this appealing enough for you to put some pants on every day?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I looked across the space and out of the vast arched windows at the grey London sky and knew that I could still lose, but it was feeling like less of a battle. “Okay, how about this? You commit to us exclusively for one year under the terms I set out in my emails. The money was a serious offer. I want one new app up and running in that time. You have free reign, everyone and everything at your disposal, but I want something groundbreaking, something which has your style mixed with ours. Full credit will be given to you and this studio as a collaboration, so it won’t be time wasted for you. This will be the biggest project you have in your portfolio. You do all of that and not take any other jobs for one year, and if you can’t take anymore, you can call it a day, no questions asked.” I watched him digesting my offer.

  “You say that like you think you can convince me to stay longer.”

  “I think I can,” I tilted my chin up in challenge, glancing at my watch to confirm today’s date. “It’s the 12th of January. We’ve only been back for four days. You give me until we finish for Christmas, and if I can’t change your mind, you can walk away.”

  “And if I don’t? What then?” Ziggy sat forward a little, intrigued.

  “If you want to stay?”

  “Hey, I’m not saying I will, but if I did?”

  “If you stay on into next year, you become full-time creative director and receive company shares and a fitting salary for the role in exchange for your ongoing commitment.”

  He sucked in a breath and sat back in his seat, looking down at the controller in his hand. “A year, huh?”

  “It will fly by,” I assured him.

  “It will suck balls, I’m sure, but…”

  “But you’ll think about it?”

  “No.”

  My heart sank. He looked up and met my eyes, there was no regret there, and I felt stupid for the hope I had pinned on him. Then just as I was about to thank him for his time and go upstairs and find a bottle of gin, his face broke into a huge grin.

  “I’ll play you for it.” He raised the controller and quirked a brow.

  I stared for a moment and then a slow smile crept across my face. Poor bastard had no clue what he’d just done. But I wasn’t going to tell him; I’d just school him instead. “You’re on!”

  Chapter Six

  “Where do you want these?”

  I looked up to find Ziggy’s arms wrapped around my vase of flowers from Jonathan. It was so big, I couldn’t see the rest of him, and it made me laugh. “Here, let me…” I offered, taking it from him and looking around for a spot to put it. There really wasn’t anywhere suitable for it other than in our reception area, so I walked it out and rested it on the counter, wondering when the fucking things were going to die.

  I smiled and walked back into the studio, dusting my hands off against each other at a job well done. They were bugging me a little, to be honest. Even though I felt like I’d dealt with Jonathan and he wouldn’t bother me again, they were a reminder. His promise that I would crack eventually and the feeling of exhilaration that gave me was still fresh in my mind and I wanted to forget. The flowers however, kept reminding me.

  Ziggy needed them out of the way because today he was moving in.

  I offered him flexible hours. I told him he could work from home as much as he needed to at first, and we could meet to go over things a couple of times a week—anything to help him adjust—but he turned me down. After our first meeting on Wednesday and our Wii battle on Thursday, which of course I won, he came in on Friday too. He seemed to like hanging out here, and he cautiously decided that he would give the whole day-job thing a go.

  Sundays were always quiet around here. I know the weekend is not typical office hours, but we don’t have a typical office. The office never really closes. I’m always here. People sometimes drift in and out, working extra hours on things they are really stuck into, but often I’m here alone. So, it seemed a good time to get Ziggy settled in.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked, hands on hips, staring at the leather sofas in front of my office area. “I could take that desk at the back.”

  “No, I’m sure. I want you up here with me where I can see you.”

  He smirked in a way that had become his habit with me the past few days. Or maybe it was his habit from always, I didn’t know. It was like he saw innuendo in everything. The smirk pointed it out, but there was no push there. He flirted, but it wasn’t flirtatious. He wasn’t after anything. He was just funny. So, I’d started to do it back, even though I never flirted. I never wanted to invite anything I couldn’t reciprocate. But it was fun with Ziggy; it was just a joke. There was no hidden danger with him. He was safe. And we were already becoming really great friends.

  “Of course you do, so you can admire me more closely,” he teased. “Right, come on then, let’s do this, and then I might let you spank me at Mario Kart later.”

  We each took an end and started to lug the heavy sofa out of the studio.

  Once the little seating area had been reassembled in the corner of our reception, we turned our attention to setting up Ziggy’s desk. I wasn’t kidding. I really did want him where I could see him, not so that I could stare into his dreamy eyes as he would jokingly like to think, but because the man is a genius and I wanted to feed off him. Plus, I wasn’t going to lie—he was like a trophy. I wanted my trophy where I could see it to remind me that we were doing amazing things on our own, and we didn’t need to merge with the big boys. I had landed the most coveted artist in the industry. No one even knew what he looked like, and I’d have him sitting across from me, on the payroll. Exclusive. I had something no one else had been able to get, and I wanted to enjoy that.

  He was worried about leaks, but I assured him that his presence and identity fell under the NDA that everyone who worked here had to sign. It was standard procedure in the industry; we never wanted any leaks about what we were working on, or in his case, who we were working on it with. No one would know he was here. Starman would simply go off grid for a while, and then once we have the new product to show off, our collaboration would become public news for our mutual benefit. Then he could go free, if that was what he wanted.

  For now, though, he was mine.

  “You know you’re looking at me like I’m a piece of meat or something,” he joked, pulling me from my victorious musings.

  Normally, I’d be mortified, but I’d found myself all kinds of relaxed around him. So instead of clamming up and excusing myself as I would tend to do, I simply grinned. “Not a piece of meat. A trophy.”

  “Oh, I see. I’m just an object to you?”

  “Oh no, you’re far more than
that. You’re an Oscar.”

  “And that’s why you want to keep me locked up in here,” he waved his arm across the empty studio.

  “Yes. How do you feel about glass cases?”

  “Hey! That’s cheating!” I yelled, sitting forward to claim back my advantage in the race.

  “All’s fair in love and Mario Kart, Sparkles. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the—” He shut up suddenly when I dropped a banana skin on his arse.

  “Yeah baby!” I squealed in delight as I flew past him and over the finish line, tossing the white plastic steering wheel aside and punching the air. “In. Your. Face!”

  “Ugh,” he groaned in defeat. “You are a horrible winner.”

  “I’m a horrible loser too,” I grinned. “Lucky for you, you won’t have to see that side of me too often.”

  “Jesus,” he just shook his head in disbelief as I continued to do a happy little wiggle in my seat. “Cut it out and pass me a slice, would you?” He pointed at the pizza box on the table.

  Without ceremony, I lifted the lid of the box and pulled out a slice of the extra-large pepperoni we had ordered once the big move was complete. I handed it to him, not making any apologies for touching his food. I took one for myself and sat back with a contented sigh as I sank my teeth into the gooey cheese.

  “This is good pizza,” he mumbled around a mouthful.

  “I’m glad you think so. We get it. A. LOT.”

  Ziggy laughed and stuffed another bite into his mouth.

  “Well, I’m okay with it.” He folded the rest of his slice in half to get it in his mouth faster, and his lack of shame made me smile.

  “It’s one of the perks of living and working right in the thick of things. I can’t think of any national cuisine you can’t get with just a few minutes’ walk.”

  “Awesome, I’ll be eating here, then. It beats toast at home.”

  “You don’t cook?”

  Ziggy looked sheepish. “I can cook; I just don’t really. Cooking for one isn’t that much fun.”

  “Hey, I cook for one.”

  “Yeah, but my flatmate is a selfish pig and eats anything he doesn’t have to make or buy. So, I can’t leave ingredients in the kitchen, or leftovers. I refuse to supply the lazy git with tasty things so that he never has to leave the flat, which means if I want to cook, I have to go get everything I’ll need and make just enough to eat each time, or…I eat toast, takeaways and ready meals.”