Page 42 of Unapologetic Love Story

Raina took a deep, steadying breath and then let the elation fill her up.

‘Best New Host and Best Entertainment Podcast!’

‘Fucking yes!’ roared Pepper, and the two of them shrieked together in jubilant mayhem, knocking things over as they bounced and jostled.

‘A disability show, nominated for a mainstream award,’ Raina finally said, full of disbelief and delayed shock. ‘I feel faint.’

‘All those idiot trolls on Twitter, I hope you remember their accounts,’ Pepper said, hauling her friend from the small office to the lower floor of the house. She searched frantically in the fridge for something cold to celebrate with, but was only able to locate some rose lemonade.

‘To you, babe,’ Pepper said. ‘They said you shouldn’t do it. Hell, they said you couldn’t do it. And here you are.’

‘Here I am.’

‘Screw this, we need champagne. Grab your clutch, let’s go to the Sloaney Pony.’ She meant the White Horse.

‘Oh, let’s not.’

‘Why not?’ Pepper looked surprised by the objection. It was one of the only places they both liked.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Raina feigned dismissive uninterest. ‘We go there lots.’

‘We haven’t been in ages, not the two of us. Come on! I’m calling the cab.’

Raina watched her tornado of a friend head to the porch, mind made up, while she stood in the kitchen with her lemonade bottle. She could easily disclose her real reason for wanting to stay away. It was Tom’s local. He could stride in at any moment. He wouldn’t be expecting to see her, and he would be wearing a pair of old blue jeans and a T-shirt, one that made his arms look great. His hair would have a little gel in it, not as much as he would use for a professional meeting.

Raina didn’t want to acknowledge how she knew this. How she was able to deduce all of this after a handful of meetings. The dangerous part was the sizzle of hope inside of her, the part that wanted Tom Branimir to walk into the pub and see them there.

The evening of the marathon had ended with Raina sitting on her living-room floor, eating Chinese food, and trying to draft an email to Tom Branimir. An email saying that she couldn’t stop him writing about her should he wish to, but she could no longer be a part of his research. The email was frank and cordial, thanking him for approaching her while firmly stating that she would no longer be discussing her life or the podcast with him in a professional capacity. No need to reply.

She hit send and ate her prawn crackers, baffled at the strange feeling of loss she felt.

It had been a week or so and she’d distracted herself by busying the upload schedule and mentally trying to manifest a Monday nomination into existence. She was also trying to pretend she was fine about him not responding. That’s what she’d asked of him, after all.

Still.

Now she had two award nominations and Pepper was dragging them to Parsons Green to celebrate.

He won’t be there, she thought to herself. He would be working on some new project, or fully invested in digging up dirt on her. Far too busy for a packed pub on a Monday evening.

She slipped into the taxi next to Pepper, telling herself just that, over and over again, as they headed north of the river. She told herself he wouldn’t be there as they swanned through the front doors of the bustling gastro-pub, heading for a table in the corner. She scanned the room with as much insouciance as possible.

He wasn’t there.

Relief. She felt relief. Of course it was relief. It wasn’t stinging disappointment.

Definitely not.

She joined Pepper in the darkened corner, after waving to the bartender. She waved back, a beautiful Latvian woman called Anita. Raina slid into her seat and put all thoughts of Tom Branimir and his gorgeous smile to one side.

‘We need champagne and chilled glasses,’ Pepper called to Anita, who rolled her eyes at the tone Raina’s friend used. Raina smiled apologetically. She remembered only too well what working here could be like, when the entitled regulars and obnoxious elites of London treated (what felt like) your house with complete disrespect.

‘Be nice to the staff,’ she told Pepper tersely. ‘They work harder than both of us.’

‘I don’t work,’ Pepper pointed out happily. ‘But all right.’

Anita brought the champagne, and Raina squeezed her wrist quickly in apology.

‘Can we set up a tab?’ Pepper asked, her tone marginally improved. ‘We’re celebrating.’