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I pushed him gently off me with a tinkling laugh. ‘We can’t do that here.’
‘Sorry. Couldn’t help myself,’ he said, letting his hands fall away and grinning at me maniacally.
At that precise moment, Paul from Accounts walked into the kitchen. Of all people. I had history with Paul from Accounts (if you could call a drunken kiss at a Christmas party history) and if I could count on one person in the office to be indiscreet, it would be him. He’d continuously asked me out for lunch after our festive liaison and was very put out when I said no. Dan had only just left and I was a mess and I’d assumed I’d be able to get off with Paul when we were both off our faces on cheap Prosecco and then never mention it again with no repercussions; no awkward conversations. It had been a lesson learned.
‘Oh, hello,’ said Paul, doing a mock double-take. He looked from me to Tyler and back again, cocking his head as though trying to work something out.
‘All right?’ I said, swivelling back to my mug, stirring my drink.
‘Can anyone tell me where to get a decent coffee around here?’ drawled Tyler.
‘Um, sure. Here,’ I said, flinging open a cupboard and passing him a jar of Nescafé. ‘Unless you want to try the vending machine outside, which I wouldn’t recommend.’
He looked at the label with disgust.
‘There’s a Costa over the road, mate,’ said Paul. ‘I’d steer clear of that cheap crap if I were you.’
Tyler handed the jar back to me. ‘I think your friend here is right,’ he said to me.
He waved over his shoulder at us as he disappeared out of the room.
‘Who’s he?’ asked Paul, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.
I picked up my mug, enjoying the heat of it on my hands. ‘Tyler Martin, from the New York office.’
I saw him swallow. ‘That’s him?’
‘Yep.’
‘I called him mate,’ he said, wincing.
‘A touch too familiar, in hindsight?’
‘He should have introduced himself, shouldn’t he?’
I went to leave and Paul moved to the side, flattening himself against the fridge.
‘Oh, and Becs?’ he called after me.
I stopped, turning to face him with one hand on my hip. ‘Yep?’
‘If you ever, you know, feel like a chat. Or a drink or something. Well, you know where I am.’
I sighed because I didn’t know what else to do and then power-walked back to my desk. Was he ever going to get the message that I categorically was not interested?
