But he nods, excited. “Asians cite love as necessary for a long, stable marriage. But research shows Europeans,” he indicates generally, “find sex, commitment and a supportive partner sufficient. I’m good at sex, I offered commitment and I think you’ll find I’d be supportive of whatever you want to do. You’ve worked for me for three years. Haven’t you always found me supportive?”
I nod dumbly as it’s true.
“Americans,” he continues, pointing to himself, “add religion into the mix. But I’m not much into God, so we’ll give that one a pass, unless it’s an issue for you?”
He moves to sit down and waves me to the adjacent sofa. I sit, not sure my legs will withstand any further illustrations of his prowess at sex. One part of my mind is still obsessing over his earlier comment about three orgasms.
“I’m pretty sure you understand the mechanics of sex. And I’ve had ample proof over the years of your support for me.” His eyes find mine again, oozing his sincerity, but this time I look away. “As I’ve already committed to this arrangement,” he says, “all that remained was for you to commit too.”
“Except I’ve already told you, I won’t marry someone I don’t love.”
“I understand,” he says.
Seizing the opportunity of a conciliatory Anders, I continue. “No more inappropriate gifts at work? I will not walk in to find another present on my desk? I really don’t want to become a target of office gossip.”
“Understood.” He nods twice as if to underscore his acceptance, but his eyes have veered away. I know what that means. His mind is elsewhere. I stand, smoothing my hands over my skirt.
“I’ll get back to work,” I say unnecessarily as I open his office door. He’s still on the sofa, his brain overclocking.
Time to get back to my desk – and maybe one teeny tiny chocolate treat. It’s purely medicinal. A necessity after dealing with Anders.
Work Life
At lunch, I make my way to the break room. Anders is a big believer in cross-fertilisation, which is why working from home is unusual and everyone comes to the office. He believes two people chatting over coffee can unlock long-sought solutions. So, despite the premium attached to office space in London, we have a break room. It’s a cosy space with half-height panelling in dark grey, with co-ordinating sofas and armchairs all softened by assorted greenery.
Ignoring the comfy seats, I take a chair at one of the tables closer to the kitchen. It’s an ingrained habit, probably from years of boarding school, but I need to sit up to eat.
It’s not long before I’m joined by Rob aka the Rat Boy (even though Peter, his pet rat, long ago went to the great rubbish dump in the sky). Ever since the day he first gave me advice on dealing with Effie, I’ve often sought his opinion. We’ve developed a relationship of mutual regard.
“How’s my little friend?” he asks as he puts a pot of instant ramen down and pulls out a chair. He has the most abysmal nutrition, but I have to remind myself it’s his choice.
His question refers to my daughter. Some people might find his interest creepy, but I think of him as Effie’s unseen guardian angel. They’ve never met and probably never will. But he has a vested interest in her from all the troubles I’ve shared. His motivation is easy to understand. He doesn’t want to see another child suffer the same misunderstandings that littered his own childhood.
“She’s found a reptile book.” For once, I let my inner shudder show as he sucks in a forkful of noodles. “She’s completely besotted.”
“Atta girl,” he says. He takes another mouthful, chews and swallows before he adds, “Snakes are cool. Did you know some snakes can reproduce asexually?”
“No, I did not.” A part of my mind slithers off to Friday’s conversation with Anders and his reproductive desires. Maybe that’s what Anders needs – the ability to clone.
Five minutes later, Rob is still talking about snakes. I let him rattle on while I concentrate on my chicken salad sandwich. He moves on to the lifespan of pythons (decades) as I peel my fruit, and I harden my resolve — we definitely won’t be getting one as a pet despite Effie’s pleading. She’ll be gone in fourteen years, and I’d be left with the repulsive thing.
Ginny drops into the chair beside me and Rob tails off mid-sentence. When she pulls her mane of auburn hair out of its tie and shakes it loose, he almost swallows his tongue. His eyes never leave her as she pulls her hair back and replaces the tie. Poor Rob is smitten. But even if Ginny wasn’t involved with her boss, Piotr, I’m not sure she’d ever look at him that way.
“Uh!” she groans as she gives her ponytail a couple of tugs and slings it over her shoulder. “I thought that meeting would neverend! Bloody Scarlett! Thinks she can do everybody else’s job better.” She rips open a chocolate roll. She eats her lunch items in a random order. I don’t understand it.
Rob snorts his agreement. I have some sympathy, although I’d never admit it. Scarlett is our partnership manager, responsible for building relationships with external partners. Supposedly she’s good at her job but while she may be fine at shmoozing deals, she’s less great at collaboration internally. She should be the bridge between marketing, where Ginny works, programming, which is Rob’s remit, and production. But two of those three can’t stand her.
Although after she negotiated great terms with one of our technology providers, Anders thinks the sun shines out of her arse. I’m surprised he didn’t askherto marry him. I’ve no doubt she’d have leapt at the chance. My mind pictures the baby the two of them might produce. It would probably grow up to be Darth Vader. I snort too.
Everyone looks at me. My timing is off. It’s a little too late to be a reaction to Ginny’s comment.
“Care to share?” Ginny hooks up one eyebrow.
Definitely not. Then I’d have to explain the proposal from Anders, and the fewer people here who know about that, the better. There would be assumptions, then looks, then whispers and my entire authority would be undermined.
I’m saved by the arrival of Nur, her assistant Chloe in tow. As they join us, Rob sucks down his chocolate bar and gathers his rubbish. “Ladies,” he nods at us in a charming, old-fashioned manner and escapes. A group of four is more than Rob can tolerate in a social situation, even with Ginny as one of them.
“He’s such an odd bod,” Chloe comments as she opens the Tupperware container of leftovers Nur passes her. She’s one of Anders’s foundlings. She’d spent a short time in care before she came to us because her mother has a degenerative disease.Now she looks after her younger brother even though she’s only a teenager herself. Her story aroused every motherly bone in Nur’s body and since then, she’s had an astonishing amount of leftovers every dinnertime, which she brings in for Chloe’s lunch.
