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Next to me Charlie splutters into his Chai latte. Caro huffs something inaudible and deliberately starts to talk to the redhead beside her. Her long hair falls down the side of her face like a golden curtain, but from the way the other girl keeps looking over, it's obvious that they're discussing me. It comes as a relief when Charlie opens his mouth.
“So what have they got you doing?” He turns and gives me a genuine smile. As much as I already dislike Caro, I sense I have an ally in Charlie. He reminds me of a richer, better-turned-out version of my older brother, Alex. He's cheeky, but friendly enough to carry it off.
“Not much,” I admit. “At the moment they've got me working as a PA in Technology Integration.”
He raises his eyebrows. “A PA?”
“It’s only for a couple of weeks. Then I'll be given a project.”
He wrinkles his nose. “That's good. I can't imagine your university professor being impressed if you spend nine months booking hotels and ordering coffee.”
“Me neither,” I reply glumly. At the end of my internship I have to present the results of my project to the faculty, and it counts for forty per cent of my degree. It's no exaggeration to say that unless I perform amazingly well here, I could end up with a mediocre degree and pretty depressing job prospects.
Charlie bumps me with his elbow. “It will be fine. First day blues, eh?”
Though I flash him a smile, it takes some effort. “Yeah. Things can only get better.”
“Who is that?” Caro's voice cuts across the table. “God, they know how to breed good looking men here.” She stares over my shoulder, a smile playing at her lips, and actually starts to flick her hair as if she's in a shampoo advert. Curiosity gets the better of me and I turn, arching my neck, following her line of sight.
My stomach drops when I realise who she's smiling at. My new boss is standing in the line for coffee, leaning casually against the wall as he chats easily with the man next to him. Like Callum, his friend looks in his early thirties, wearing a suit that's well tailored and sleek, though his hair is black compared to Callum's burnt umber.
The man says something and Callum laughs. It isn't a polite laugh, either. It's a full-blown, head-back, belly laugh that is loud enough to carry across the room, and I swear half the female population is sighing, audibly.
“Hot,” Caro says.
“Delicious,” the girl next to her agrees.
I hate to admit it, but they're right. There's something so earthy and masculine about his low, throaty chuckle.
Then Callum looks over at me. He's still laughing, but his chest calms, his lips uncurling at the same time his eyes narrow. I feel a response that's starting to become familiar; a shiver that snakes its way down my back. Tentatively I offer him a smile, lifting my hand and curling my fingers in a feeble attempt at a wave.
He doesn't even respond. The line in front of him moves forward, and he pushes himself off the wall, leaning across to give the barista his order. Picking up my carton, I take a final sip, feeling the tell-tale rush of air through the straw when the last of the milk has gone. While Caro and her sidekick continue to ooh and ahh over my boss and his friend, I look down at the half of cookie that remains on the plate, wondering exactly what I've done wrong.
If things don't improve it's going to be a miserable nine months.
* * *
Callum is in client meetings all afternoon, and I spend the hours working my way through a huge pile of receipts that he shoved at me before he left. He clearly hasn't done his expenses for months, and I try not to fume at the fact that he expects me to sort them out. If I'm being honest it's nice to have something to do rather than plodding my way through more online training courses, but I'm not going to let him know.
It's amazing what you can discover from a few printed pieces of paper. Callum stays at expensive hotels, but he rarely spends more than £20 on dinner. He prefers sushi to steak, and like me he has a sweet tooth, indulging in midnight snacks of cookies and cakes.
He has an old car—an MGB according to the expenses system—that guzzles gas, and he prefers driving to taking the train when he goes on UK trips. He seems to spend a lot of time in Scotland, and from a few more receipts I deduce it's mostly in Edinburgh. But he must have a house or a friend he stays with there, because none of his hotel receipts are for Edinburgh, only dinner and sundries.
By four, I've managed to reconcile his expenses and black Amex card, and send his receipts to accounts for processing. For the final hour and a half I turn my attention to the company intranet, looking at organisation charts and photographs, trying to work out who's who. I recognise Callum's friend from lunch straight away as Jonathan Cooper, Senior Partner in Financial Consulting.
I close my computer down at 5:29 p.m. Callum still hasn't come back, and I hesitate, unsure of the etiquette for leaving the office without asking the boss first. After our dodgy start, I don't want to make things any worse than they already are, but I have a yoga class in an hour’s time, and I really don’t want to miss it. I can already feel my back aching from sitting down all day. Unless I stretch it out, I know from experience I'll pay for it tomorrow.
Eventually I stop prevaricating and scribble a note for Callum, leaving it on his desk. It's 5:45 p.m. by the time I leave the building, and there's a huge crowd at the entrance to Canary Wharf underground station where everyone’s trying to clamber on to the escalators. I join the throng, letting it swallow me whole as the tide of people surges forward.
Half an hour later I run into the sports hall and head for the changing rooms at the back of the building. I quickly shed my office clothes and tug on my yoga pants and a crop top, feeling my back twinge again as I pull it over my head.
When I was fourteen I was diagnosed with scoliosis. My spine had a curve in it that made me lopsided and a little off-balance. Though it isn't always obvious when I'm dressed, if you look carefully you can see that one of my hips is curvier than the other, and my left shoulder droops down. I've come to terms with it now, but back when I was a teenager I was devastated, especially when I had to wear a plastic back brace for eighteen months. Looking back, I think I lost all my confidence then. Maybe that's part of the reason I’ve let Luke treat me like a doormat for so long.
?
??You made it!” My best friend, Ellie, grins up at me from her yoga mat. “I wasn't sure you would. How was your first day?”
I unroll my mat and place it beside hers. We've been coming to this class for the past six years. My specialist suggested yoga as a way to keep my back limber and fluid, and I've been doing it ever since.
