stifled a groan and turned back to watch this particular incarnation of hell unfold. He really thought he was in with a chance. Go back to banker school, moron.
‘I mean…as a profession?’
So boring. So very, very boring. Tabby tapped the side of her vodka tonic with her nail and wondered why she’d even come out. Sure, when Chandra got chatted up, it was usually fun, something to joke about. But Tabby found a strange lump in her throat, and she didn’t know if it was loneliness or jealousy, or just how maidenly she felt sitting on a stool, swinging her legs back and forth. This was not her place.
‘What do you think I do?’ Chandra asked. This was always the kicker, and Tabby found herself focusing on The Suit, more out of habit than anything else.
‘I…Are you a model? Or a dancer? You’re beautiful.’
Chandra turned back to Tabby and rolled her eyes. ‘Original,’ she mouthed.
It took a few minutes more for The Suit to realise he wasn’t going to get anywhere, suddenly confused as to why the pretty girl who’d let him do his spiel wasn’t really interested.
‘You know, if a guy once guessed what I do for a living correctly, I might have to marry him.’ Chandra grinned.
‘And what do you do?’ a very familiar voice asked from behind them.
Tabby screwed up her eyes and didn’t turn around. ‘Hi Harry.’
When she did turn around, of course, she wasn’t lucky enough to be hallucinating, he was actually there. His white shirt glowing in the bar lighting, a little bit more stubble than during the week, there was no doubt he was painfully good-looking. Even Chandra looked a little shocked.
‘Of course, this is your scene.’ Tabby sighed, looking down. She noticed his expensive shirt and jeans ensemble had changed slightly, the addition of what looked like pink Converse. For some reason, she felt a sudden rush of affection towards those trainers.
‘So…?’ Harry raised an eyebrow.
‘She’s an actuary,’ Tabby replied, unsure if that was where he was going. Harry surveyed Chandra for a moment before nodding.
‘I can see why no one’s guessed correctly.’ He said it in such an easy, straightforward manner that it didn’t appear inappropriate. Chandra surveyed him, settling on a response that was half-hatred, half-approval. Please don’t flirt, please don’t flirt.
‘And you are?’ Chandra asked, though she knew perfectly well.
‘Harry Shulman, Tabby’s editor.’ He put an arm around Tabby and squeezed briefly. The natural ‘old maid’ feeling that came from sitting on a minimalist Perspex bar stool in a hip bar was not improved by this contact. Tabby held back a glare.
‘Oh, you mean the editor who’s been making Tabby’s life a misery and has managed to convince her she’s a talentless airhead who should stick to beauty columns and pointless rants, you mean?’ Chandra asked innocently, sipping her drink.
Harry’s eyes widened and he ran a hand through his hair in what looked like embarrassment.
‘I suppose you calculated the risk of a comment like that.’
‘What do you think?’ She arched an eyebrow.
Harry gave Tabby an exasperated look, as if to ask, ‘Is your friend for real?’, to which Tabby only replied with a raised eyebrow of her own. Harry huffed, and grabbed the edge of her seat to spin her around so she was facing him. He had that determined look. While only really having four face-to-face experiences with Harry, she felt that she could suddenly categorise at least ten different looks. And any one of them could be deadly when focused directly on you. Harry’s attention was a spotlight and while most people seemed to bloom and come alive under his gaze, all Tabby seemed able to do was freeze like a rabbit in headlights.
‘You didn’t reply to my email,’ he said simply.
‘I haven’t checked my computer since – ’
‘Since you sent me that article at stupid o’clock on Friday?’ His mouth twitched. ‘You know it was brilliant, that’s why you’re putting me through this. You knew I’d love it and so you’re getting back at me for criticising you. But you took exactly what I said! I knew we’d be an excellent team!’
Enthusiasm seemed to shine from him, and he suddenly looked so boyish and excited that Tabby wanted to hug him.
‘David loved it, the whole department loved it. It was being forwarded throughout the office! I’m so glad you listened to what I was saying. I know I was hard on you – ’
Here Chandra snorted, and Tabby widened her eyes at her.
‘ – but really, it was because I knew what you were capable of.’ Harry smiled, suddenly so affectionate that Tabby really couldn’t bear it. She also couldn’t bear to tell him she was terrible at taking criticism and her only creative motivation was pissing him off.
‘So I’m not fired then?’
‘Fired? Fired!’ He settled into a gentle grin and leaned in. ‘You are far too excellent to be fired. Plus, we have a twelve-week contract. I can’t fire you. Whether you write shit or gold, you’re here. With me.’
Tabby sat for a moment, considering Harry, his wide grin, his eagerness. He’d said she was excellent. She sat up a little straighter in her chair and tried not to smile like an idiot.
‘So, no problem with the “praise” part of the job then, just the criticism.’ Of course, he noticed her slightest movements, the twitch of her lips as she considered that, yes, maybe she was a bit excellent. Just a bit. And he liked it, really liked it. And when she stopped thinking about these things and focused on just how close Harry was, invading her personal space once again, his hands resting either side of her, she realised she needed to be at her wittiest. But nothing happened.
‘OK, so I’m not so great at the criticism. But it’s not like you stuck to being constructive, is it? Some of it was pretty mean!’
‘Oh shut up, you love it,’ Harry said, back to his jokey, cocky self, but he at least let go of her barstool, so she felt a little more in control. Tabby just folded her arms and tipped her head to the side, questioning him.
‘I thought that’s what we were doing, the whole banter-insulting thing?’ he said, slightly unsure. ‘I thought that’s what you got off on.’
‘Excuse me?’
He smirked briefly. ‘Work-wise, mind-in-the-gutter. I thought you needed someone to argue with to get your best work. You’ve been writing great articles so far, but no one’s pushed you to be better. That’s my job.’
Tabby considered this. He had his bloody earnest look on again, so if she cut him down he’d look like a beaten puppy. Bastard.
‘Well, I do like arguing with you,’ she conceded.
‘I like arguing with you too,’ he said. ‘I am honestly sorry if I upset you. But I’m probably going to do it a few more times.’
‘Oh,
