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‘I really am sorry about making you uncomfortable,’ he’d said as we walked out of the office. ‘To be honest, I don’t really know many of the people here, but you’ve always looked friendly so I guess that’s why I’ve gravitated to you. I’ll make sure I sit somewhere else next time.’
‘It’s fine, really. It just struck me as odd, that’s all. I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re quite within your rights to sit wherever you want.’
He was as good as his word, though, and the next time he came to the office, he deliberately chose a desk pretty much as far away from where I was sitting as possible, which of course made me feel terribly guilty, so I’d invited him to get a coffee to try to offer a bit of an olive branch.
After that, we kind of got into the habit of wandering down to the coffee shop together every time he came into the office, and a tentative friendship started to develop. I began to believe that he wasn’t quite the arsehole I’d initially thought he was, although I was right about some of it because he’s definitely got a ruthless streak. I asked him about it once, after he’d left the estate agent practically in tears when we were negotiating over the flat, and he’d unapologetically told me he wouldn’t be able to do his job if he didn’t have a killer instinct. Anyway, the coffees turned into the occasional after-work drink and then, one summer evening about six months after I’d started at Orchestra, Lee kissed me for the first time.
It was a typical evening at the bar; by this time, we were very comfortable with each other and, despite my best efforts, I’d realised that I was very attracted to him. Although there had never been anything between us beyond friendship, we always went to a bar on the other side of the city from the office, to minimise the chance of anyone seeing us and drawing any unwanted conclusions. On this particular evening, we’d come out after our usual couple of drinks to find that it was absolutely pouring with rain. Not the miserable, freeze-you-to-death rain that we’re so used to in England, but a totally unexpected warm summer thunderstorm that was doing its best to cut through the humidity of the day. Lee had tried to shield me with his jacket as he escorted me to the bus stop, but it was no good and we were both soaked through and laughing hysterically by the time we got there. He’d waited with me until the bus arrived and, just as it sploshed to a halt, he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulled me into him, and kissed me deeply.
‘I’m sorry, Ella, but you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. If you slap me and tell me you never want to see me again, it will still have been totally worth it,’ he’d sighed when we broke apart. For a moment, I was too surprised to say or do anything, but his kiss definitely awoke something in me. Instead of slapping him, which I probably should have done, I’d held his gaze and leant back in. I missed the bus, but that was the start of our relationship. We moved in together three years ago, being careful to explain to HR that we were just flatmates when we gave them the same address and, to date, we’ve got away with it. Sometimes I wish we could be open with everyone, but neither of us wants the hassle, so we keep it a secret. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it is becoming increasingly difficult. I know Ruth feels slightly put out that I’ve never invited her round, and our social media accounts are strictly curated. We have the privacy settings on our Facebook accounts set to the highest levels to make sure nobody at work can stumble across anything they shouldn’t, and everything work-related goes on LinkedIn, where we don’t share any relationship information.
I take my time in the shower, shaving my legs, washing my hair and generally having a bit of a tidy up. Once I’ve dried it in a towel, I blow dry and brush it carefully until it falls onto my shoulders in soft, blonde waves. To look at, Lee and I couldn’t be more different. Where he is dark and brooding, I’m fair with large, blue eyes. A lot of people assume that I colour my hair, but it’s entirely natural, a fact that Lee delights in pointing out with various coarse remarks about how my collar and cuffs match. I limit my make-up to a touch of lipstick and a little bit of eyeliner, before spraying the lightest mist of perfume at the base of my neck and putting on some of the lingerie that I know Lee likes under my jeans and T-shirt. He’s going to want sex tonight. He always does before a pitch; he says it helps him to relax and focus. The one time I wasn’t able to oblige, due to a highly inconvenient case of cystitis, the pitch hadn’t gone well and the deal had gone to the competition. Even though Lee had been quick to reassure me that the two things were completely unrelated when I’d mentioned it, I still felt vaguely responsible and, thankfully, it hasn’t happened again.
‘All yours,’ I tell him as I walk back out into our open-plan kitchen/dining/sitting room. When we decided to live together, we spent ages looking for the perfect place and, despite the cost, Lee persuaded me that this was where we wanted to be as soon as he saw it. It’s a penthouse apartment with two bedrooms (useful if HR decide to check) and panoramic views over the city.
‘Great,’ he replies, turning off the TV and running his hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘Do you want me to have a quick glance at your presentation before I start dinner, just in case there are any spelling mistakes or things you’ve missed?’
‘No, don’t worry. I’ve run the spell checker and if I’ve missed anything important, it’s too late to change it now. Do you know what I’d like?’ he asks, raising his eyes and looking at me appreciatively.
‘I have no idea,’ I smile.
‘Does this give you a clue?’ he murmurs as he wraps his arms around me, letting them fall onto my bum and pulling me against him.
Called it.
3
A month has passed since the NHS trust pitch and, despite things in the office seeming normal on the surface, there’s definitely an undercurrent of nervous tension. Rumour has it that the trust will announce their decision either today or on Monday. The only person who seems totally unaffected is Lee, which is odd, because he’s normally like a caged tiger by this point. I’m not entirely sure what his commission would be on a sale of this size, but I reckon it’ll be enough for him to treat himself to a new car, and I might be able to con a holiday out of him as well. If it’s particularly good, we might even go somewhere long-haul; I’ve always fancied a trip to the Caribbean.
At half past three, my phone pings, and my heart leaps into my mouth when I see it’s a message from Lee. He must have heard the decision and decided to let me know before it’s announced officially. I shove my phone into my handbag and make for the loos. I don’t want anyone to look over my shoulder and see that I’m getting special treatment.
My hands are shaking a bit as I push the cubicle door shut, slide the lock across and sit down on the seat. The last thing I need is to drop my phone into the loo, so I carefully keep it to one side as I unlock it and read the message. My heart sinks.
Don’t forget we’re going to my parents this weekend. Are you OK to leave at 5?
I want to kill him. Of course I haven’t forgotten about the bloody trip to his parents, but he must know that isn’t what I thought the message was about. Keeping my phone well away from the loo, I type back.
I’m already packed. Thought you were texting about the deal, you bastard. Any news?
I can see he’s typing and I’m aware that I’m chewing my lip, which I always do when I’m nervous.
Nothing yet.
Swallowing my disappointment, I shove my phone back into my bag and exit the cubicle, taking care to flush first so as not to arouse suspicion. After washing my hands, I head back to my desk.
‘Are you all right, Ella?’ Ruth asks quietly as I pass her desk.
‘Yes, fine. Why?’
‘That’s the second time you’ve been to the loo in the last half hour,’ she tells me in a whisper. ‘Don’t worry, I know what it’s like. Nerves go straight to my bladder too.’
At four o’clock, I file into one of the meeting rooms for a project retrospective with Jonathan. These are normally fairly feisty meetings where the project manager (me in this case) and the consultants desperately try to convince him that any delays or problems on the project we’ve just finished are nothing to do with us. The way it works is pretty simple; if you’re not in the room, you’re copping the blame. The project we’re looking back on today was a fairly simple implementation, and we (broadly) stayed on time and within budget, so it’s thankfully not too difficult. All eyes are surreptitiously on the clock, and I notice Jonathan is particularly eager to make sure we wrap up quickly so we can get back to our desks.
It seems to take forever for five o’clock to come around but, when it does and there’s still no news, the atmosphere in the office changes completely. It’s now obvious that we won’t hear today, and I’m not the only one making a quick getaway.
‘I’ve got to dash tonight,’ I say to Ruth as we head for the door.
