‘Whoa, slow down,’ I say as I watch the usually-so-cynical Devi and Kimi nod in agreement. ‘I get it, I jumped to conclusions. But we don’t even know ifhewants to see where this goes.’
‘Yes, we do, you moron! He basically screamed it with his sadness!’ Devi huffs. ‘And you will find that out when you sit down and have anhonest conversationwith him.’
‘Exactly!’ Kimi says. ‘You will go in tomorrow and you will tell him how you feel, in the lowest-cut top and shortest skirt you can get away with in the office.’
But it doesn’t feel that easy, even after the pep talk from the girls. No action feels big enough. When we argued in that bedroom, I watched his face drop in front of me and every shred of trust we’d worked up shatter into a million pieces.
I lie back on my bed the second they leave and scroll through the months of text messages between me and Aiden. There are hundreds of them, thousands maybe, dating back to the first day I sent him that video from Paint That Mate. What started as the occasional bit of proof quickly grew into day-to-day conversation, little anecdotes and inside jokes. I flick through bored selfies from Meeting Room H, scribbled drawings of event concepts, the stupid pictures of us posing in the aisles of the supply warehouse, and even the Polaroid strip from thewater park that he insisted on keeping. At some point, without realising, Aiden Edwards and I became friends. Quite soon after that, we were openly flirting with each other. And I threw it all away on some stale history and an angry assumption.
I barely sleep Sunday night, too anxious for the morning and the sheer amount of making up that I must do. On Monday, I keep my outfit simple but intentional, pairing a smart top with the bell-bottom jeans he noticed months ago. I take no risks ruining my light make-up, or the forty minutes spent on my hair, and leave early enough to make it to the office stress-free. My stomach quivers every minute until 9.45, as I await his arrival and my imminent plea for forgiveness. But I embrace the queasiness. It’s a sign that I’m able to feel something for him. That he is worth the stress.
The shrill, piercing ring of my desk phone makes me practically jump from my seat, but my heart recovers just as quickly. It’s time. I hold it firmly to my ear.
‘Package for you.’ The receptionist quickly hangs up.
My stomach drops, but it’s fine. He’s simply not hereyet. He still has fifteen minutes. He’ll get here, he always does. In the meantime, I have more than enough work to distract myself with, including whatever is at Reception.
Pippa asks what it is the second I come back upstairs, whining like a child until I agree to open it at my desk. I gasp immediately as I unravel the last of the tissue paper. There, in my hands, sits the first Abbingtorn x Evie exclusive passport cover.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ I whisper as I stare down at it.
The leather is soft in my hand, boasting the beautiful artwork.
Pippa cheers as she peeks over my shoulder. ‘Design really came through!’
‘This one was all me and Aiden,’ I say.
A few months ago, in the midst of all our event madness, Aiden and I got sick of the back-and-forth with the design team.They wouldn’t respect me enough to go forward with my ideas, insisting they weren’t possible or that they just knew better. I have a sneaky suspicion that it had something to do with Pippa’s work husband heading up the team.
Sensing my frustration, Aiden suggested we design a concept for ourselves, putting it forward with the others for Evie’s selection. We worked late nights and early mornings, doing it in our own time and ensuring that it didn’t hinder our actual Summer Splash tasks. He would draw as I threw fragmented ideas at the wall, weaving them into exactly what I had in my head. Our final design was a masterpiece that we were both proud to call ours, and it won Evie’s heart by a landslide. Now here it is, a product of the two of us and our hard work, resting between my palms.
‘I can’t wait to show him,’ I say, clutching it to my chest.
‘Oooh, can I join the call too?’ Pippa asks. ‘I’d love to see his face when he sees it.’
‘Why would I call him? He’ll be here any minute now.’
Her smile grows exponentially. ‘Wait, you don’t know?’
I stare back at her blankly, the corners of her mouth shooting further up her cheeks the longer I stare. It’s too smug, too gleeful to be good news. My stomach starts to churn.
‘Max and Olly got an email from Evie last night. It said that you two are at a point where he can stay in Evie’s office for the final stages of this,’ she says. ‘I was very surprised, I thought you were joined at the hip. And I’m really shocked he didn’t tell you himself.’
She tries to fake apathy, but she can’t stop the smile glued to her face. It stings just as sharply as her last sentence.
I’mreally shocked he didn’t tell you himself.
I lie. ‘Yeah, sorry, he did. It totally slipped my mind.’
Then I put on a pair of earphones and turn my music up loud, reverting my eyes back to my open spreadsheet before she can question me further.
I can’t focus on the spreadsheet, or the music, or anything else; all I can think about is how he’s not here and won’t be here again. He can’t stand to see me and he couldn’t even tell me himself. This can’t be it. I still have so much to say.
I open up a blank email, close it and reach for my phone, keying in a few numbers before dropping that too. It’s not good enough– nothing is. He doesn’t care any more, because I panicked and pulled away from something that really could have been worth caring about. And for what? An old rivalry and some stupid remarks from people whose names I barely remember? I should have let him talk, but I was too proud. Too afraid of what he might have said.
It’s all too much. My head’s spinning like it was in that boardroom and my heart’s beating so loud I can hear it in my ears. My breaths are coming too quickly, lungs shaking as they try to keep up with the demand. My vision closes in and my fingers tingle as I feel fear overcome me.
But I can’t today.
