‘I’m not picky. I’m… discerning.’
‘That’s just a posh word for picky,’ Marcus countered.
Charlie looked at me. ‘Would you like a brother? I’ve got one going spare.’
I smiled. ‘No, thanks. I already have one. He’s more than enough.’
He returned the smile. Unfortunately, Amy took this as another cue.
‘So, what do you look for, in your discerning manner?’
‘Amy. Stop questioning the poor man!’ I said, laughing but really hoping she’d get the message. ‘I brought you all out to say thank you, not to start the Spanish Inquisition on Charlie.’
‘Well, he definitely has a type.’ Marcus clearly wasn’t about to let it go now either.
‘I don’t have a type.’
‘You totally have a type, mate.’
Charlie gave him the patient look that he’d given me a couple of times yesterday. I was sort of glad to see I wasn’t the only one that brought it out in him.
‘Do tell.’
‘Every single girlfriend you’ve ever had have all been in the same line of work as you, give or take. And they’ve definitely all been high-flyers jetting off around the world, closing deals worth millions before breakfast.’
I felt my stomach twist. Amy caught my eye, her look now wary. I smiled, indicating that I was fine. She smiled back but it didn’t reach her eyes and I knew that she knew I was completely faking it.
‘Carly’s an interior designer.’ Charlie raised one eyebrow, indicating to his brother that he’d found a flaw in his theory.
‘Yes, she is. She’s an interior designer with a first in Economics from LSE who used to be in hedge funds but decided to change careers. She’s still The Type.’
Charlie frowned briefly, and I wondered if he was only just beginning to see that he did indeed have a type. A type I most definitely didn’t fall into.
‘I think it’s more coincidence than an actual choosing of a specific type, as you put it. They’re generally just the sort of women that I meet. I spend a lot of time at work so naturally those are the types I spend the most time with and get to know. Besides, it’s always good to have things in common like that, purely for conversational purposes, if nothing else.’
Amy nodded and smiled as the waiter came over to enquire as to whether we would be wanting dessert. I pretended to be studying the options but my mind was elsewhere. All I knew was that I suddenly had an uncomfortable, churning sense of City Boy déjà vu.
When the subject had come up yesterday, I’d told Charlie I didn’t mind that I hadn’t fitted in too well in Corporate Land. I’d brushed it off as if it didn’t matter. And it didn’t. Not really. What had mattered was that I’d been told by someone who was supposed to care about me that I didn’t fit in. That I was too ‘left field’ for where the company was going. Whatever the hell that meant.
I hadn’t shared any of it on my blog, instead putting on the sunny disposition that people had now come to expect of me, saying I was in an ‘exciting place and ready for a new challenge’. Even Amy didn’t know the whole truth. She’d been in her own difficult place and I wasn’t about to ask her to deal with my upset too. To the outside world, I’d been fine about losing my job, my boyfriend and being told I wasn’t good enough to ascend to the heights the company was now heading for – all on the same day. The only people that really knew how deeply it had hurt were my family. They were the only ones I felt safe enough to open up to, knowing I wouldn’t be judged. I didn’t have a perfect life, and my Instagram feed, for the most part, reflected that, unlike some. But even I knew that it was a curated version of my real life. Deep down I knew I was harbouring a fear that the real me might not be good enough for the world to see.
Glancing under my lashes at the man opposite me, I realised that even having a passing thought of dating Charlie Richmond was like a lactose intolerant wanting cheesecake. Sometimes things just weren’t good together. At least not for very long. As delicious as it might initially be, I knew this particular dessert was off the menu.
* * *
I read the text from Amy one more time.
?? You’re going to be great!
I hoped so. I knew this meeting could lead to great things for the blog, so I really wanted it to go well. Only, I wasn’t used to meeting people on a more formal, businesslike basis and I was, quite frankly, terrified.
I’d caught an earlier train than I needed to. Much earlier, just in case. I sat in the carriage, staring out at the platform, not seeing anything of the Victorian architecture of the station. In my head, I was running over figures – subscriber numbers, amount of views, Facebook, Instagram and Twitter statistics, even though I already had them memorised. All of this was information that the cosmetics company would already have. If they hadn’t been happy with those, I knew I wouldn’t even be on this train worrying about it all, but I wanted to be prepared in case they asked me anything about them. I wanted to present myself as businesslike and competent, which I knew I was. But I was also wary of blowing it thanks to nerves. It almost didn’t feel like me sitting there. I was wearing a suit, for a start. I’d never worn a suit in my life. The offices I’d worked in had all had smart dress codes but never formal to this extent. Obviously the company I was going to see – Gorgeous & Glam– already knew what my everyday aesthetic was and clearly felt that it was something they could work with. But my day-to-day look of a Boho dress and loose-flowing hair didn’t seem right. Not for this.
So, I had turned to Amy, who knew about these things, and we went shopping. I’d had doubts as to whether we’d ever find something that didn’t feel as if I was entirely selling out but I should have trusted Amy – she had super styling skills when it came to the more formal side of things. I’d even jotted down some notes on doing a post about our trip because it had been far more fun than I’d thought. We’d found a gorgeous suit – all nipped-in waist and flippy skirt, my fears of boxy and rigid banished. My hair was tucked neatly into a chignon with some wispy bits at the front, for softness. All in all, I knew I looked the part and, although it was pretty different from my usual style, I might be able to get used to it for the odd occasion.
‘Libby?’ The deep voice broke into my thoughts, and I jumped.
Charlie’s hand automatically reached out to my shoulder. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
