I bury my face in my hands and do my best to tune them out.
Since Monday, I’ve steered clear of Rosemary entirely. She confused the hell out of me when I stood there, looking down at her. Her brown eyes, long dark hair, and delicate face. Why must she have similar features to what I imagine Alice has? I need to separate work and private life, and Alice has to be firmly in the latter. She even sounds like her and smells like her… Or what I think I remember she smelled like.
The voices from the creative corner sound again and I look up towards the source of the noise. I need to see her smile. Does she have dimples? It can’t be her, though. I’m just stressed and have Alice on my mind so much I get confused. It’s a coincidence that they might have similar features. Yes. I’m seeing things. Sabotaging it before I’ve even given it a proper chance.
My phone buzzes on the desk, and I react on instinct as I have at every message notification in the last three weeks.
Alice.
Hi Robin, someone reminded me earlier this week that it’s important to fight for what brings us joy, and I wanted to make sure it’s clear to you: you bring me joy.
I’d like to meet you. Face to face. In the light. Maybe at a chilled-out market where we can wander and enjoy some food together.
What do you think?
I read them again and again. The idea of it elates me. I’vebeen fooling myself thinking this is nice as it is, but I’ve also spent every night on the phone with her, listening to her falling asleep.
I’ve been completely obsessed, which must be why I see her in other people.
Countless times have I dreamed of her and woken up in the night, certain she’s right next to me, only to find the massive bed empty and cold. This has not been a problem before. I love my space. My big bed. But now it feels lifeless. It feels like she should be there.
Fuck, am I invested in this? Am I doing this? If I decide to meet her, I have to be.
I run a hand down my face.
What am I more scared of? Not seeing her and giving it all up? Or seeing her, and it actually works? It’ll require a change in my lifestyle. My priorities.
Or will it? Could I fit her in just the way I’ve been fitting her in over the phone?
If there’s a will, there’s a way, isn’t that what they say? But a billionaire’s way is unusual. I don’t just have a job; this is my whole life. I’m constantly on. And when I’m not working, I’m exercising, or I’m dealing with my real estate investments. You don’t become and stay a billionaire by sitting around.
Or by lying in bed all day tangled up with a naked, delightful woman.
But that’s all I want to do. That should count for something.
There’s a careful knock on the door. Another intrusion of my day.
“Come in,” I bark. I regret the harshness of the tone, but I don’t like being interrupted.
“So sorry to disturb you,” a young man says, entering my office. I recognise him as the development lead of pod four I had a go at a while back.
“I wantedto tell you there’s some kind of mutiny taking place here,” he says, waving his tablet.
“What are you on about?”
“Here, look at this.”
He walks over and opens a picture on the tablet of a layered landscape I don’t recognise.
“What is this?”
“What Rey and Horace are working on behind your back. Right behind that wall.”
I grit my teeth, assuming Rey is Rosemary. Fucking hell. Again?
“Thank you,” I say.
“You might not know it,” he adds. “But I’ve worked here for five years, and I respect the rules, unlike others.”
