“You’re not going to blow up your career because you’re tired. You know the house rule...” She raises an eyebrow at me and points toward the wall at a portrait of a gremlin dressed as a Tudor king we bought from Etsy.
Sinking my face into the sofa, I let the cushions envelop me whole. “Don’t send emails after ten p.m.,” I mumble through layers of cotton, polyester and padding.
It’s a rule we both set so we don’t go absolutely insane or lose our jobs.
Yemi’s head tilts. “I know you think she’s the be-all and end-all of your career, but you need to look for opportunities to get out from under Susie. Don’t do anything rash like sending late-night ultimatum emails for a few more months, and I guarantee you something good will come your way.”
Over the years I’ve pitched ideas for expanding the Fate brand; Susie would feign interest at first, but her interest in long-term projects waned as more quick, flashy projects with a celebrity sponsorship came up. The one concept that’s nearest to my heart is one I’m too scared to pitch again. Ever After—an in-app feature that helps Fate couples retain the magic through online relationship therapy and daily love prompts. I’ve been working on it during any spare time for a while now and, with massive help from Yemi, developed a bare-bones beta version. But the idea of it being shot down again gives me stress hives.
“What if nothing good ever comes my way again though?”
Yemi holds up her hands in a meditative gesture. “Let’s just take all this negative, anxious energy and put it toward something truly loathsome.”
Before I can respond, she jumps up and skips off toher bedroom. Our flat is a hotchpotch of charity-shop lamps, discounted-on-eBay decor and repurposed furniture; I like the feeling of being surrounded by things with past lives. From the worn and frayed rugs found in a house clearance to the piles of second-hand art books used as a side table to the contrasting decorative restaurant plates stuck to cover cracks in the kitchen wall, this flat is totally unique and totally ours. The perfect combination of Yemi’s bold and bright taste, Alice’s Scandi cool-girl vibe and my more traditional tendencies. It’s cramped but I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Yemi reappears, and reveals the latest issue ofSocieteur Magazine. There’s a party-coverage article featuring a picture of Bancroft with his arm around a stunning woman, a model by the looks of her impossibly sharp cheekbones and perfectly coiffed chestnut bob.
Sexy, social and seriously available,Societeur’s Bachelor of the Year stays true to his moniker, spotted leaving trendy nightclub Weston’s with three different women in a week! Son of architectural magnate and notorious party boy, Malon Bancroft, it seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the multi-million-pound tree...
“They still do these articles?” I laugh, staring at the devil horns Yemi has already drawn on Bancroft’s head in black Sharpie. “Why do you even have this?”
“The first rule of war: know thy enemy.” She taps thepage with a lilac fingernail. “I also thought we could find you a dartboard and make a collage of his face, so you can de-stress after monthly report meetings.”
She shoots me a megawatt smile, which never fails to cheer me up.
“Maybe we can add Susie’s headshot to it too?” I laugh.
Yemi nods in agreement, rubbing my arm in silent support.
Alice pads frantically into the living room, sporting a green clay face mask.
“Babe, can I borrow this dress for my date tomorrow?” She’s spinning around in a sequin dress that stops in the middle of her thighs and fits her perfectly.
I cock my head to the side, taking in the familiar glimmering garment, recalling throwing it into the large trash bag of clothing I took to the Cats Protection League charity shop over a month ago.
“Yes, OK, you threw it out, but”—Alice guiltily picks at her fingers—“when the bags were in the hallway I saw it sticking out and may have rescued it because I absolutely adore it and I saw this girl on Instagram wearing something similar recently and—”
I interrupt her one-breath monologue with a forgiving laugh. “Keep it—it looks amazing on you!”
“Really?” she squeals, running her hands down the sequins. “Thank you so much, babe. My date is very, very cool and I feel like a literal potato standing next to her.”
Yemi and I scoff at the idea that Alice—an absolute goddess; a you’d-be-shocked-that-she-isn’t-Swedish, tanned, tall, blonde bombshell—could ever look like a potato.
I smile at Alice. “You look like a beautiful disco ball and frankly whoever she is, she would be lucky to get within five yards of you, let alone in your pants.”
Yemi slaps my arm. “Robert and I say the same thing to you, all the time, and you never believe us.”
Yemi met her boyfriend, Robert, while working at a coding class that encouraged young women and girls to get into coding and STEM. It was love at first variable. Alice has never been without a date. My eyebrows jump to my forehead in self-defence.
“That’s because, unlike both of you, I am practically undatable. I work ridiculous hours and have absolutely no social life outside of this flat!”
“You work for one of the biggest dating apps in the country, for Christ’s sake. If you can’t find someone, is there any hope for the rest of us?”
Alice has a point.
Catch Group has its fingers in many tech-based pies, including health and fitness apps, content-management systems and online-booking software. I had noticed good-looking guys working on the other floors of the office. Maybe I should start making more of an effort to get to know the people in my building.
Alice gasps. “I have the best idea. Let’s update your Fate profile!”
