I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling, the faint hum of the aircon filling the silence.
My reflection stares back at me in the darkened glass of my monitor — red dress, messy curls, lipstick smudged just enough to give me away.
“Perfect,” I whisper to myself.
Still, I can’t help the small smile that creeps across my lips as I draft a new email, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Subject:Re: New position in our team
Hey Nat,
Let’s grab lunch Monday. I’d love to hear more about it.
— M
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
Maybe it’s reckless. Maybe it’s impulsive. Maybe it’s the firstsensible thing I’ve done all week.
Either way, I know one thing for sure — whether it’s career moves, or kisses in supply cupboards, I’m officially inwayover my head.
Twenty One
Henry
Isomehow managed to avoid Matilda for the rest of the day on Friday. Not because I regretted what had happened in the supply cupboard — far from it — but because I didn’t trust myself not to do it again if we were left alone for more than thirty seconds.
She’d been the one to pull away, the one with enough sense left to say it couldn’t happen again. I didn’t argue, mostly because if I opened my mouth, I would’ve kissed her again instead of agreeing.
So I went home. Had averylong shower. Then called Jas. If anyone could help me make sense of my scrambled head, it was her.
Which leds me to this morning, I’m sitting in a north London café, ordering two americanos and a brownie for Jas — because I knew she’d complain otherwise.
Fifteen minutes pass before she storms in like she’s late for a revolution.
“What time do you call this?” I ask, deadpan.
“Sorry, I got held up.”
She looks flustered, hair loose, sunglasses shoved on top of her head like she’s been running.
“You okay?” I ask, frowning.
“Yeah, fine. Just had a weird morning.” She must see the alarm flicker in my eyes, because she adds quickly, “Nothing serious. My brother’s got a new flatmate. He’s… hard work.”
“Lukas got a flatmate?” I raise a brow. “He doesn’t need the money. Plus, who could live with him for more than a day without losing their mind? The man’s unnaturally cheerful.”
“It’s one of his old army buddies,” she says, waving it off. “The guy’s going through a divorce. Needed somewhere to crash.”
“Damn.”
“Exactly,” she mutters. “Anyway—” she waves a manicured hand, “—you didn’t drag me halfway across London to discuss Lukas’s charity work. What’s going on?”
I hesitate, lowering my voice. “It’s… Matilda.”
Her brows lift. “What, she finally filed that HR complaint?”
