“True humor transcends words; you’d understand that if you didn’t coast on...” I scoff, waving a hand to indicate his general demeanor: “... this.”
I follow him to the elevator at a quick pace as he steps into the lift and presses the button. Bancroft releases a breathy laugh, looks at the ground and then up to me. In this light, his eyes reflect the flickering golden lamps scattered across the walls, all warmth and possibility. We wait side by side at the elevator door, both listening to the metallic hum as it zips downward. After a brief air of silence, he gives me a look. I sigh and turn to face him.
“I got the package.”
His eyebrows rise and maybe it’s the recessed lights from the lift but his eyes twinkle with something I haven’t seen before. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Just a penny?” I cross my arms. “Based on the price of that painting, I know you can afford at least a quid or two.”
He doesn’t respond but the corner of his lips curl upward. I decide to make him suffer a little while longer.
“I haven’t decided what I think about it,” I say with a sighing breath, flicking a lock of curly hair over my shoulder as the silver doors slide open again.
21
Six Months Ago
Despite his best efforts in the monthly marketing-report meeting, I avoided Eric’s gaze as much as I could, including blaming the air-conditioning unit for me moving to the opposite side of the table when he tried to sit next to me. For the past seventeen days since the Christmas party he’d been trying to knock over each brick of my avoidance wall as I’d placed it. Thankfully, there was a brief hiatus for Christmas but as soon as we all trundled back into the office with our new socks and brandy hangovers he started up again. Unread messages asking what I’m doing for lunch, a coffee dropped off at my desk while I was in a meeting, even showing up the night I usually stayed late. I only knew this because Hannah had texted me while I was at the pub’s self-described nineties night with Yemi, shouting cathartic Spice Girl lyrics at each other in between two-for-one jugs of Woo Woo.
Eric seemed flustered during his reporting, not like his usual cool, calm, collected self in these meetings. He was more fidgety than usual, straightening his stationery andcleaning and recleaning his glasses every five minutes. Maybe he was feeling a fraction of what I was feeling. When I looked at him, the cocktail of sadness and regret and longing and anger gurgled in my stomach ready to be vomited up onto the conference-room table. I just did not understand how he could say those things about me and then look at me with such dejection.
That kind of desperation isn’t hot, it’s just pathetic.
Avoiding his gaze was easy, because every time I looked at him the words rang in my ears. I’d spent the two weeks since trying to convince myself it wasn’t him; it was his soap opera evil twin, he was under a spell, his body was inhabited by an alien. That he was anyone but the person I’d started to fall for. But then I steeled my resolve, reminding myself that this wasn’t the first time a man I’d trusted had betrayed me like this.
“All right, I have a call in five. Thanks, folks,” Mr. Catcher eventually announced, already typing away on his phone as he walked out of the door.
For once, I was grateful for Susie not giving me a second to absorb the past hour’s worth of information and jumping straight on me.
“We need to add more ROI stats on the special events summary for next month’s meeting. Make it clear the strategy is as strong as it was before the acquisition.”
It’s a fairly simple command to remember but I relish the opportunity to keep my eyes homed in on my notebook, scribbling down the most detailed notes I’ve ever written in my life as I follow Susie toward the exit.
“Grace?” Eric waited for the briefest of pauses to interrupt our chatter.
Everyone left in the room turned to look at him as my whole body erupted in goose bumps.
“Could you hang back for a minute?” He held up a sheet of paper. “I need to compare something with your campaign results.”
My eyes briefly flicked to Susie and Dharmash: Could I say no? It would probably look too unprofessional to tell him to fuck off right in front of our bosses. He plastered on a polite smile for them, but I could see some other emotion was trying to claw its way to the surface.
I gritted my teeth. “Sure.”
We stood in silence until they slowly stepped out of the room, leaving the door cracked open. My eyes remained locked on a small black ink stain on the gray carpet tiles. His unshined shoes entered my field of vision as Eric stepped forward, his hands held high as if he was entering a hostage negotiation.
“I know you’re trying to ignore me, but weneedto talk about this.” He glanced through the glass wall of the meeting room to the streams of people walking out to lunch. “Outside of work.”
I crossed my arms, one hand flopping my phone out and flicking open the Mail app. “I’m very busy. I don’t have time right now.”
He shifted awkwardly, jaw twitching. “When will you have time?”
I sucked in my cheeks, trying to school my face intoindifference. “I don’t know, probably never.”Just make a run for it. It’s been working so far. Eventually, he’ll just give up.
Turning away, I clasped the door handle but his hand reached over my shoulder and gently pushed the door closed. I tensed as it clicked shut, my eyes practically drilling a hole in his signet ring. It was duller than usual but I could see his warped golden reflection as his body heat radiated against my back.
I expected his hand to move when I reluctantly turned around to face him, but it stayed pressed against the door above my shoulder. My lungs heaved; my body didn’t know whether to press itself so hard against the door it broke through it or lean into him as it had when we danced at the Christmas party.
“Just... talk to me, please.” A knife slowly sank into my chest as his eyes flashed desperate and searching for answers.
