Alice.
She made me laugh. Proper laugh.
People I meet, especially women, remain serious around me. Mirroring me. The Alice I met on Saturday was carefree. I feltlightthose hours I spent with her.
She filled me up and then took it with her, leaving this cavernous space I didn’t have before.
I want to hear her laugh. Thinking of us stumbling around in the ridiculous zorb ball makes me chuckle. I never had that much fun with Aiden’s zany activities before.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I’m jolted back to the office. It’s her.
Having a blast of a Monday morning so far?
I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s not half bad
Thinking of how to see you again
Wonder where she is during the day.
Let me know if there’s another costume party. I want to continue being Alice for a bit
Instead of returning to the board review, as I should, I let my intense want of seeing her again take over and call Aiden. He can tell me whether she’s going to Mesmeric Mystique, the sensory experience coming up.
He answers after the second ring. His familiar face fills the screen. The sweat beading on his forehead and trees in the background tell me I’ve interrupted his morning run.
“Mark, what’s up? Everything okay?”
“Hey, yes, sorry, I just need a favour. Sort of.”
I tell him about Alice. The short version, anyway. I’ve not unpacked it myself yet.
“Wow, I never thought I’d see the day. You’re calling me to ask for ideas so you canmeet someone?”
His grin is too much.
“No, take it easy, will you?”
WhatdoI want?
He wiggles his eyebrows at me, waiting for me to continue.
“Yes,” I admit, causing his face to split into that arrogant grin again. “I want to meet her again, but anonymously. Maybe at Mesmeric Mystique, so we can talk more.”
“Okay, let me get this straight,” he starts, and I know where this is going. “You, Mark Becker—workaholic, one of London’s top four under forty billionaires, who never cared about dating—are spending your valuable work time asking me how totalkto your anonymousfriendagain?”
Every word he utters pokes this bubble I’d put myself in since Saturday, and, by the end of his monologue, he’s successfully burst it.
“Fuck, you’re right. This is ridiculous. Never mind, forget I asked.”
“No, no. Hold on. This is fantastic!”
“No, it’s illogical and out of character. I need to get back to work. I’ve lost enough time already.”
I hang up and throw my phone onto the blue tweed couch.
“Fuck!”
“Mr Becker,” my assistant’s voice sounds from the other side of the door.
