Page 53 of Little Miss Fortune

‘You know what I want to say, and I think you feel the same way, because otherwise you would have said that I have misread our interactions. That you don’t know what I could mean. You could’ve lied to me, Fuko, but you can’t lie to yourself. Not when I hear that you haven’t taken a single breath since I started talking.’

There is only so much torture prisoners of war can take before their psyche collapses. Psychological torture has been proven to be extremely effective at, causing people to admit to crimes they haven’t committed, getting information out of them, or making them do something against their will. This situation must have been a form of torture; why else did I pull on Toby’s sleeve? Why else did I lift my head and accept his lips on mine?

I must have lost my mind completely when I let him pull me in closer, his fingers gripping into my hips, as my arms slid round his neck.

There is nothing left of me to resist when his lips part mine with greed, as if unsatisfied by how separate we still are.

The door swings open, and I finally come to my senses. Three heads bob through the door frame. Fawzia, Leon, and Sashka.

Her horrified look could break glass, that’s how direct and pained it is. She runs out of the building. I rip myself from Toby’s arms and attempt to catch her. Leon’s face is a mixture of crossness and disappointment when I push past him.

Out on the pavement, the rain has turned more brutal than the infrastructure of London can handle. The puddles are not being sucked up by the drains on the roads.

‘Sashka, wait. Sashka!’ How is she so good at running in heels?

‘No, blyad, leave me the fuck alone.’

‘Sashka, please, it’s not what it looked like,’ I shout, hearing how ridiculous I sound.

What else could it have been? I literally planted my lips onto his. Sashka must share my sentiment, because she stops under a lamp post. The rain pours on her in full illumination. She is a spirit, a creature of the night, ready to rip my throat out.

‘How long?’ she asks.

‘How long what?’

‘How long have you liked him?’ Her shout is almost a whisper.

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, Sashka.’

‘It’s Sasha to you. Did you have feelings for him when you danced? When I came to your house and told you that I saw something between you two?’

‘Sashk— Sasha, please. He doesn’t matter. I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. Please. He means nothing,’ I beg, my dress and hair now drenched.

‘You can stop lying.’ Her eyes could summon the storm above our heads. ‘Do not talk to me. I do not want to hear from you.’

Leon runs after her with their bags. He gives me a stern look but sighs apologetically without saying a word.

Leon isn’t the only one unimpressed with my display. When I come back, Fawzia, who seems angrier with Toby than with me, hands us our bags and orders me to go home after I change. Toby still has to take the payments from the drunken guests.

His shirt is wet from the rain. He refuses to look at me. He has heard everything.

I suddenly recall that French FM man. It is not my job to fix your pathetic lives. You need to take some responsibility for your actions. His words repeat again and again as I watch Toby leave the premises.

Good. This is for the best. If he hates me, then there is no chance of ever making a mistake like this again.

I’ve just proven that my theories are correct. Sashka has the worst luck—how else could one explain me being such a shitty friend?

CHAPTER 19

Toby can’t raise an eyebrow without major tears

‘...And last but very much not least, a huge thank you to the events and PR team that held an exceptional event that went smoothly, without a single nook or cranny,’ says Adzo and encourages a round of applause.

The AD stands tall in front of the working desks, smiling bright as she delivers the monthly update. Her yellow patterned dress seems too cheerful for how glum I feel. I do not know whether without a nook or cranny is a phrase that works in this context, nor do I care. Toby and I sit at the opposite ends of the room, neither of us in our usual space. He doesn’t know that I throw glances at him. I don’t even realise I’m doing it, not until Seana goes, ‘It was quite uneventful this time around. There is usually some sort of row, but it was so peaceful. I haven’t had so much fun in months.’

She is very sweet when she says that, so I just nod. Fawzia waves me and Toby down. ‘I need to speak to both of you.’

Her middle finger is tense and points down when she whispers, as if trying to drill her words into us with her nail, ‘I haven’t said anything to HR yet. But I will have to. An intern and a supervisor is haram and potentially workplace harassment. The company needs to take it seriously.’ She is definitely angrier with Toby than me. Perhaps I should intervene.