know she flashed at me when she dragged herself out of the car earlier on,’ I say, lowering my voice in case the speaker is still active.
‘Oh purlease. That’s way too much information,’ he says, holding his hand up.
‘So, how’s your love life?’ I ask, changing the subject, wishing I could tell him about my drink with James.
‘Oh don’t. Smith deserted me … for somebody else. Story of my life,’ Eddie says, sticking his bottom lip out.
‘Oh, Ed, I’m so sorry. I’d give you a hug if I could but …’ I nod towards the folders.
‘And get this, only said we could still see each other. I ask you … flaming cheek,’ he sniffs, haughtily.
‘Damn right. Hope you told him to sod off.’
‘Weell, let’s just say I’m working on it.’ Eddie purses his lips, and I roll my eyes at him.
‘You’re such a manwhore.’
‘I know. Isn’t it fabulous,’ he sniggers. The lift rumbles into action again. I glance at the digital display.
‘Ed, you do know this lift is going up, don’t you?’ I tell him, and wonder if James will be in yet.
‘Well there you go, proof I’m officially mentally impaired from sleep deprivation,’ he sighs, waving jazz hands in the air. Then he pushes the button for the next floor.
‘I’m going to knuckle-drag my weary body out here and take the customer lift down. And you know what, I don’t give a fuck if I’m caught and disciplined, they can kiss my big queen arse,’ he says with a flourish.
‘Well try to get some sleep in the next few days,’ I call after him as he staggers out theatrically. He gives me a withering smile as he slides the cage door shut behind him.
The lift is just getting ready to move when a hand flies in between a gap in the metal. Instinctively, I lean over to press the ‘lift hold’ button, and momentarily forget about the folders. They crash to the floor as the cage door is slid open.
‘I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.’ It’s Tom. I scrabble around trying to retrieve the folders, the contents of which have cascaded everywhere. Frantically, I try and cram the papers into their rightful folders. Tom is crouched down next to me, and his face is just a few centimetres from mine. I tug at the collar of my jacket. The heat in the confined space is suffocating. He hands me a heap of papers and then suddenly loses his balance and accidentally bumps into me. He quickly springs back up.
‘I’m so sorry. You’re not hurt are you?’ he asks, sounding concerned. I look up at him. He’s so delicious that for a moment I’m not sure I can move my legs. They feel like jelly. He offers a large hand down towards me. I shove the folders under my arm and manage to haul myself up, attempting the move as daintily as I can, conscious of his eyes scanning me.
‘Think that makes us quits now. You took a tumble and now I have too,’ he says, grinning, and I notice that his eyes are seeking out mine. He’s irresistible, but I still don’t trust him after what he said in the club and then practically ignoring me in favour of his phone. I quickly turn away and bend down to retrieve the rest of the folders.
‘Indeed, and err thanks for, well …’ My voice trails off. He hands me a few more folders.
‘How come you have these?’ he asks, scrutinising the last one from the floor.
‘Oh, they’re not mine. I bumped into Maxine on her way into work with them. I’m just taking them up for her.’
‘I see. So why isn’t she taking them herself?’ he asks, looking puzzled.
‘Well, I did offer,’ I say, feebly, thinking what a creep he probably thinks I am. But secretly praying that if I’m ever going to get stuck in a lift again for any length of time, then, please please please God … could it actually be right now.
‘But she shouldn’t be taking them home. I’d better let her know.’ He flashes a look of disappointment as he shakes his head. This is strange – I’m surprised he thinks he’s in a position to contemplate pulling her up about it. It seems far too assured. They must be on really good terms, as I can’t imagine he’d get away with it otherwise. The thought makes me feel uneasy. ‘Err, on second thoughts, probably best not to,’ he says, awkwardly, as though he suddenly realises he’s said something he shouldn’t have.
The lift arrives on the canteen floor, and after Tom leaves, I carry on mulling things over until I reach the top floor.
I finally make it to Maxine’s office and dump the folders down on her desk.
‘Thought you said you were fit.’ She shoos me away with an imperious hand, not even bothering to say thank you. I walk away, wanting to smack her beautiful face.
‘Oh Gina, something’s cropped up so we’ll have to have our meeting at ten thirty instead.’ For a second, I don’t respond, I’m too busy feeling cheated at having hauled myself out of bed at six o’clock this morning for what now appears to be no apparent reason. ‘Did you hear me? I said—’
‘Yes, I heard you. See you at ten thirty,’ I reply, wondering what would happen if I killed her. Throttled the life out of her Restylane-riddled body, right here in her office. In a sudden melodramatic moment, I toy with the mental image of myself in an orange jumpsuit, shuffling around like an American prisoner on death row, but then quickly shove the thought from my mind. Orange really isn’t a flattering colour – it’s so difficult to pull off, and she’s soo not worth it.
Eradicating the thoughts of a prison stretch, I manage to restrain myself, and make my way back to the lift. As I’m walking, I mentally write out a really scathing resignation letter in my head, to console myself with instead.
I’m waiting for the lift when my mobile buzzes in my pocket. It’s Sam.
‘Can you talk?’ she says, clandestinely, sounding like a phoney secret agent.
‘Yes,’ I reply, glancing around. Her manner makes me feel paranoid all of a sudden.
‘Next Thursday at six p.m. Are you free?’
‘Why are you whispering?’ I ask. I can barely hear her.
‘You said to be discreet.’ I ponder on her bizarre logic before realising what she’s talking about. ‘Sorry it’s taken so long.’ Silence follows. ‘Oh hang on a sec.’ I hear the oven timer ping. ‘Sorry about that, just had to rescue a batch of chocolate muffins. I’ve got you an interview.’
It takes a few seconds to sink in. I lean against the wall, clutching the phone to my ear. The feeling of relief, that I might actually escape Maxine’s clutches after all, is overwhelming.
16
‘Tell me again what happened.’ Maxine’s voice sounds amused, but her body language contradicts her. She’s draped over the corner of her desk and I’m in the low chair again, forced to look up at her.
‘I dropped them in
