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“Oh… shit.”
“Hmm… it was an interesting conversation. Impossible not to overhear, too. They were saying how they’d had a really great time last weekend, with someone called Cole. That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but… but it’s not what it seems.”
“Oh? You know, I wondered about that. It struck me as a little odd, because they said that the Cole they knew was going away this weekend, and I thought it couldn’t be you, because you’re not going anywhere as far as I know… other than out to dinner with me on Saturday night.”
“Exactly. It must be a different guy.” He’s trying to sound lighthearted, but he just comes across as fake… which is exactly what he is.
“A different guy who sounds exactly like you?”
“Sounds exactly…?”
“I heard them call you, Cole. I heard everything you said, including how much you ache for them – or certain parts of them – and your arrangement to go to their place tonight at seven.” My words are greeted with silence, although I can still hear him breathing, so he hasn’t hung up. “The thing is, I’m intrigued,” I say eventually. “I can’t help wondering what your plans were for our evening together.”
“To have dinner, of course.”
“And you expected that to take all weekend, did you? You told your friends you were going away, for the sake of a dinner? Or were you assuming that dinner would lead to sex, and that sex would turn into spending the night together… presumably either in your bed, or mine?”
“A guy can dream, can’t he?”
“Yes… and in your case, you’ll have to keep right on dreaming. At least as far as I’m concerned.”
“Hey… come on. It’s not like we’re actually seeing each other yet.”
“I know. You’re a free agent, Cole. You can do whatever you like, with whoever you like. Only you won’t be doing anything with me… including having dinner.”
“I don’t get it. You just admitted I’m a free agent, so what does it matter who I fuck between now and tomorrow night?”
“It doesn’t. I couldn’t care less what you do. I’m just so damn grateful I found out what you’re really like before I had to sit through dinner with you. Goodbye, Cole.”
I end the call, putting down my phone, my hand shaking even as I take deep breaths and try to calm myself. It’s a struggle and I notice the time on my computer, realizing I can leave, thank God. Lucian still hasn’t come out, but that doesn’t matter. I put my phone back in my purse and power down my computer, shrugging on my jacket as I get to my feet, my eyes wandering over my desk.
No matter how I look at it, I definitely don’t belong here… not any more.
I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, the covers scattered and the pillows behind my back propping me up. I’ve got a coffee in one hand and I’m staring at my laptop screen.
“I know nothing about advertising,” I mutter to myself, reading through the job description for a third time. Should that stop me from applying, though? I knew nothing about robotics when I applied to work for Lucian, and to be honest, I still don’t. I don’t need to. “Oh, to hell with it.”
I click on the button that says ‘apply’, and between sips of coffee, fill in the online form, attaching my resume when prompted. At the end, after just a second’s hesitation, I press ‘submit’, and let out a long sigh. It’s late on Sunday night and I’ve spent almost the entire weekend scouring the Internet, looking for a job, and while there are plenty of secretarial vacancies, this is the only one that’s offering the same rate of pay that I’m getting now. It’s a little depressing that, having decided to leave my job, I’m struggling to find something new, but I console myself that it’s only the first weekend. If nothing comes of this application, there will be others, and in the meantime, I’ll keep my head down, do my job, and hope I never have to see Cole Shepherd ever again.
I turn off my laptop, put my coffee cup on the floor beside my phone and settle into bed, pulling the covers over me. I’ve tried not to think about Cole all weekend, and I refuse to start now, even if he is the reason I’m looking for a new job. Obviously, Lucian’s attitude to my plea for his assistance over the photographs didn’t help, but the thought of having to face Cole was the final nail in the coffin. Hopefully, whoever these advertising people are, they’ll treat their employees with more respect…
I wake to the sound of my phone ringing and sit up with a start. Have I overslept? What’s happening? I grab my phone from the floor, knocking over the empty coffee cup I left there last night, and try to focus on the time, which says seven-thirty-two. It’s not my mom, but who else would call me at this time of the morning?
I press the green button and turn the phone to speaker.
“Hello?”
“Good morning. Is that Miss Hopkins?”
“Yes.”
“Hi there. This is Miles Hampton, from TBA.”
TBA? Who the hell are they? And who on earth does Miles Hampton think he is, calling at seven-thirty in the morning?
“Oh?”
