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The next day, I arrive at work in a daze. I still can’t believe Nick called me last night to offer his services for free. Things couldn’t have worked out better, and I thank all that’s holy for this second chance I’ve been given.
I spend the whole morning replaying our conversation over and over again, analysing every word, every detail, wondering if they betray hidden meanings. Does Nick genuinely want me for a case study, or is his offer a thinly veiled excuse to see me again?
God, I hope so.
“You’re certainly looking very pleased with yourself.” Mark grins, placing two coffees in a corrugated cup holder on my desk. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Mmm … no.”
“Let me guess. You’ve won the lottery?”
“No.”
“You’re getting married?”
“Not likely.”
“You’ve got through to Boot Camp on theX-Factor?”
“Not even close!”
Mark scratches his head. “Right, you’ve got me. Can’t you just put me out of my misery and tell me why you’ve been grinning like the Cheshire Cat all morning?”
“I can’t, it’s a secret,” I giggle.
“Come on, Carly, I just bought you a caramel latte. Doesn’t that at least win me some Brownie points?”
“Hmm … maybe.”
He eases his cup from the holder and takes an overzealous swig. “Now that’s what I call a latte.”
I smother a laugh; the coffee’s left a huge, white moustache above his mouth.
“Mark, you’ve got some foam on your …”
“Oh!” Pursing his lips, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, what’s got you so excited? I’m guessing it’s a bloke?”
I smile noncommittally. Much as I like Mark, I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about Nick quite yet. Then again, Mark has always seemed trustworthy, and itmightbe nice to get a male perspective on things … Perhaps I can give him the basic scenario without being too specific.
As I open my mouth, the doorbell rings and I race to the intercom. “Hello, Midas Media.”
A voice mutters something and, satisfied it’s not a prank, I press the release button.
The doors open and a sour-faced man with a briefcase steps in reception. He makes an instant beeline for me. “I’m here to see Leon Phillips. We’ve got a two o’clock appointment.”
“Of course,” I beam. “Leon’s based on the third floor. If you’ll please just sign in the register, I can issue you a temporary pass.”
“Make it quick, will you? I don’t want to be late. This is a very important meeting.”
With a strained smile, I hand the man a pen and the well-thumbed signing-in book. As he stoops over the desk to scribble his signature, I try to keep a straight face. Mark is sticking two fingers up behind his back and mouthing the word “Wanker! Wanker!” over and over.
After Hitler’s finished signing in, I slide a visitor card into a plastic sheaf, hand it to him and give directions to Leon’s office on the third floor. When he’s gone, Mark and I burst out laughing.
“You are so bad!” I scold.
“Yeah, but you love it.” Mark pauses. “So look, are you going to tell me about this bloke of yours or what?”
I stop laughing and resume my poker face. “There’s not much to tell. Basically, I met a guy I really like, but I’m not sure how he feels about me. I think he might be giving me signals, but I could be reading it wrong. Men are so slippery.”
