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And I’m so, so sick of it.
I remember all those pep talks about ‘not stooping to their level’, or not giving people like Tasha the satisfaction of knowing she’s got to me, but I so badly want to bite back at her, knock her off the pedestal she’s placed herself on.
She sneers at me, and whatever retort I might’ve come up with falters on my tongue.
And that’s not because I’m the bigger person.
It’s just because she makes me feel so small.
It’s Tuesday before I see Lloyd again. I get back from a meeting with Laurie and some of the Finance team, laptop and notebook tucked into the crook of my elbow, nodding along as Laurie asks me to write up some actions and then give an update (aka ‘send an email with some bad news’) to the project team for the Vane engine.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the sight of Lloyd, and I fight to keep my expression neutral, not to give anything away. For once, I hope he’s here with some work-related excuse to talk to me.
Next to me, Laurie says, ‘Ah, there he is! Heard I missed some incredible juggling skills at the party last week – you’ll have to give us a repeat performance sometime!’
Lloyd pauses his conversation with some of the rest of my team to reply, ‘Absolutely. Hey, how was Disneyland?’
As she tells him how ‘harrowing’ it was, a story I’ve already heard her tell, I have to bite my tongue again to refrain from saying how much I’d like to go, how fun it sounds. Somehow, I don’t think that will make me sound like the sort of competent grown-up who would be offered a permanent role here when summer ends.
Laurie returns to her desk in her usual spot opposite me. Lloyd, lounging against my desk with his hands braced against it and legs stretched in front of him, straightens up and moves out of the way when I approach to put my things down. He’s usually wilfully ignorant of my personal space; I can sense tension crackling in the air between us now. Like maybe he’s worried if he’s too close, he won’t be able to keep from touching me.
‘Alright?’ he says to me, and maybe I’m imagining it but his smile seems strained, not quite reaching his eyes.
‘Yeah,’ I say, clearing my throat when it comes out too breathy. ‘Great.’
‘Have you taken lunch yet?’ he asks me, which is a ridiculous question when it’s only just a few minutes past twelve.
‘No. But I have some stuff to write up from that meeting, before I forget any of it.’
He nods, but then, more loudly, he says, ‘Michaela, you can spare Annalise for half an hour, right? I just wanted to follow up on some questions about the Phoebus IV before I drop by the labs tomorrow.’
Weird. He’s going a little overboard to cover up us spending time together at the office. Lately, he just drags a chair over to my desk without asking my manager permission to interrupt my day.
‘Hmm?’ My manager looks up, Lloyd’s hundred-watt smile blinding her to the confused face I’m pulling right now. She smiles back, waving a hand. ‘Absolutely. That’s not a problem – is it, Anna?’
‘Sure,’ I say, not having much choice either way now. ‘No problem.’
‘Meet me downstairs at half past?’ Lloyd says to me. ‘We can go grab a coffee.’
‘Okay.’
A mix of nerves and excitement fizzes through me as he strolls off, leaving me to write up my notes. He’s invited me out for lunch. Is it like a date? A little privacy away from the office?
At half past, I find him waiting just outside the lifts on the ground floor. His smile seems a little too wide, too casual, and we swipe out of the barriers in silence.
We end up a couple of streets over, at a cafe far enough away that I don’t think anybody from the office is likely to stumble across us here. At least if they do, we can pretend it’s about work. Like we’re just two normal people on a normal lunch break. Not people who can’t seem to stay away from each other …
Lattes in hand, we pick a table in the corner by the window. I face the door so I can be on the lookout just in case anybody we know comes in. Namely the interns. Namely, Tasha.
Hands clasped around his caramel latte, his shoulders hunched, Lloyd seems tense. Nervousness traces its way around the frown that furrows his brow, and it catches me off guard. I assumed he was acting weird because he was compensating for trying to be so normal around me in front of everybody else, but …
But.
Why do I feel like I’m about to be dumped?
‘I’ve been thinking. About what you said the other morning. About how people can’t know.’ He lifts his eyes to mine. ‘I don’t want to feel like some dirty secret. That’s how I ended up feeling last summer, and it wasshit.’
Oh, my God. Iambeing dumped. He slept with me, and now he doesn’t want anything else to do with me, and –
