‘It’s giving Joker fromThe Dark Knight,’ I tell him. ‘Only more unhinged.’
‘Here’s the male option,’ he says, pulling out a white thong with a fake stethoscope hanging from it.
‘You’re joking!’ I say.
‘You’re blushing,’ he replies.
‘I am not,’ I insist.
I definitely am though, I can feel it.
The pile grows – silk blindfolds, a suspiciously shaped, definitely oversized silicone something or other that I quickly drop back in the box, and finally, a box of glow-in-the-dark body paint.
‘Now this,’ Lockie says, shaking the paint, ‘is TV gold. Imagine the night-vision cameras.’
‘We’re supposed to be helping people fall in love, or even lust – not promoting comedy dildos and glow-in-the-dark body paint,’ I protest. ‘That’s not sexy, is it?’
‘Respectfully, I disagree, sexy can be funny,’ he replies.
‘Maybe the way you do it,’ I tease him.
‘I’m serious,’ he replies, laughing too. ‘It’s supposed to be fun. When you’re with someone and you’re so comfortable, and things go wrong, or really right, and it’s just… something to smile about, or laugh about. I find it really hot, when a woman laughs.’
I can’t help but smile at how much I like that – and flush at how much I secretly want it. God, I’ve missed that, having someone to be silly in bed with, and it’s not just a sex thing. You know those nights where you stay up late laughing and being goofy, talking about everything and nothing, and then suddenly realising it’s 3a.m. but not caring because you’ve never felt so much joy? It’s been a long time since joy was on my radar. Sex too. And now here I am with Lockie and a box of sex toys and suddenly the atmosphere feels less funny, and not at all worky… more charged with… something.
I shove the lid back on with more force than necessary. Yes, I am quite literally putting my feelings back in a box, banishing them there, with no intention of thinking of them again for as long as I can. Mostly because, as much as Lockie is irritating me professionally, I can’t deny that we had that spark when we first met, that I felt attracted to him – well, I wasn’t to know he was the reality TV Antichrist, was I?
‘I’m sure we don’t need to paw through this stuff,’ I say.
‘Shame,’ he says lightly, but there’s a glint in his eyes that I can’t quite figure out.
‘That box is a HR disaster waiting to happen,’ I tell him. ‘And a PR nightmare, if we give the lot to the contestants.’
‘Why are you so scared of a bit of drama?’ he asks. ‘Anything remotely entertaining – it’s like you’re allergic to it. Where has the girl from the speed-dating night gone? She was great.’
‘She was working,’ I point out.
‘You’re working now,’ he reminds me. ‘What if I were to order you to let your hair down? To put on the feather boa, to go out for a drink with me…’
I think for a moment. Does that really sound so bad? No, but it does sound risky.
‘Then I would remind you of what I just said, about HR,’ I reply. ‘Not everything has to be chaotic and dramatic and sexy.’
‘You think I’m all of those things?’ he checks cheekily.
‘I think you can’t function without all of those things,’ I correct him.
‘Chaotic and dramatic and sexy make great TV,’ he says simply. ‘And great TV gets great ratings. People don’t sit in the office talking about the reality TV contestant who has their head screwed on and makes decent decisions, they say: did you see the one who ate her breakfast in nothing but a feather boa while those two guys ended up wrestling in the ocean?’
‘You’re out of your mind,’ I point out.
‘Out of my mind and effective,’ he corrects me.
And the worst part? He’s right. Stuff like that really will get people talking – but is it sustainable? And is it the kind of show I want to work on? Will I be proud of it?
By the time we finish sorting through the rest of the boxes, my head is pounding. There’s still an entire stack of potential crap, but the office clock is crawling past 6p.m. and I’m starving.
Lockie stretches, arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough to flash skin. Of course he notices me noticing, because his grin widens. I swear, the more chill he seems, the more uptight I get. It’s like he absorbs good vibes from people, taking them for himself, leaving them hollow. Or perhaps that’s just me. Everyone else seems to enjoy him.
