‘Dinner?’ he asks casually.
‘What?’ I blurt.
‘Dinner. You, me. Food. I’m thinking pizza. I’ll wear the feather boa, if you like, I’m quite fond of it,’ he jokes.
I hesitate. For a second or two I actually imagine what it would be like, to go for dinner with Lockie – the two of us at some little Italian place. Pizza, glasses of wine, a lit candle flickering between us. It doesn’t sound awful.
But no. Absolutely not. Because he’s the enemy, professionally, and I don’t know how to navigate that. I have to put my job first and here at work we do not get on. How could we possibly get on outside of work at the same time?
‘We’d better not,’ I say, hoping that will be the end of it.
‘Why?’ he replies.
‘Because I have the sense not to mix work with… whatever this is.’
‘Low-key flirting?’ he offers with a smile.
‘It’s more like bickering,’ I correct him.
My face feels hot. Are we bickering or flirting or both? Sometimes it’s a fine line.
‘Like an old married couple,’ he jokes. ‘I just thought speed-dating Cleo might enjoy it, rather than office Cleo…’
‘That’s okay,’ I reply. ‘We’re the same person, so…’
‘Pizza for one it is,’ he says, smiling to let me know it’s okay. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’
‘Yeah, see you tomorrow,’ I reply as I head for the door.
Why does he keep asking if I want to hang out? Why do I keep saying no? Was it the right thing to do? It probably was. It has to be.
Back in the ‘adults only’ box with the lot of it. And I’ll do everything I can to avoid opening the lid again.
6
The office looks so different at night. Not just when it’s dark, because it’s always dark before the end of the day when it’s winter, but when it’s late enough for almost everyone to be long gone. I don’t know anyone else that’s still here apart from me and Lockie.
It’s quieter, darker, more honest somehow – and yet kind of eerie too. It’s always so frantic during the day that at night it feels abandoned, like the zombie apocalypse came while I wasn’t paying attention – if anyone would have to work through an apocalypse, you just know it would be me. Desks abandoned, swivel chairs sitting empty, everything casting long shadows under the few lights that are on. Even the cleaning team have been and gone and now it’s just me and Lockie, takeaway pizza, and the entire internet to sift through.
Lockie drums his fingers on his laptop in rhythm with the buzzing fluorescent bulb above us. It’s kind of maddening. He catches me glaring at him.
‘Sorry,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘I was trying to drown out the noise from the light. I’ll turn it off.’
He pops up from his seat and flicks off the overhead light. The remaining light comes from a weak desk lamp and the glow from our screens.
‘This place is depressing at night,’ I say with a sigh.
‘Depressing?’ He looks around like I’ve just insulted his home interior. ‘It’s romantic, if anything. Eating dinner, a gentle glow – typing slurs and usernames into social media to see if any of our contestants need giving the last-minute boot.’
‘Oh, yes, so romantic,’ I say sarcastically.
He grins, as pleased with himself as always.
We’ve been at this for hours – one last-minute round of contestant vetting before Simon signs everything off tomorrow. It’s mindless work: combing through social feeds, googling names, making sure no one has a secret OnlyFans or used any unsavoury language in an online spat back in their school days. One of the blessings, when it comes to casting people who have already been on TV, is that usually these things come to light the first time around. I would be surprised if we found anything, but best to make sure, we need this series to go without a hitch.
Lockie sits back next to me, the glow of his laptop uplighting his face like we’re telling ghost stories. He looks irritatingly awake, while I’m propped up on one elbow, scrolling through Instagram profiles that all blur into one parade of fake tans, Turkey teeth and gym selfies.
‘This guy,’ I say, gesturing at my screen. ‘He seems like he’s going to be trouble.’
