I guess she’s not wrong, not that I’d know. Archer Powell and I are on nodding terms only.
‘He’s only been with E11even for three or four months, but one of the receptionists in the office was told by someone at his last firm that he had to leave after sleeping with one oftheirreceptionists.’
‘The receptionist tom-toms have been a-hammering, eh?’ Vee mimes banging a drum. ‘They probably had a no fraternisation policy.’
‘I don’t think that was it. I think it was more to do with the fact that she went full-on bunny-boiler mode once she realised he wasn’t interested in settling on a name for their future firstborn. She had to be admitted to a clinic after breaking into his house and chopping his wardrobe to bits.’ Or so the story goes.
‘That’s a strange thing to settle on,’ Daisy says. ‘I wonder what she had against his wardrobe? In the movies, the scorned woman usually attacks the car.’ As we both turn to look at her, she shrugs. ‘I’d imagine it’s easier to smash the headlights of a car than break into a house and hack up a wardrobe.’ With her hands, she mimes a large rectangle in the air.
‘His clothes, Dais. Not what he stores them in.’
‘Oh. Well, that makes more sense.’
‘At least she didn’t chop his bits to bits.’ Vee nods her head in Archer’s direction as the woman sitting next to him reaches across the table to stroke the back of his hand. ‘Presumably, his bits are still attached, or she wouldn’t be so invested.’
‘So he got this marching orders for trifling with her affections? It seems a little archaic.’
‘Based on office gossip only. But it’s hardly very complimentary, is it? Being given the sack in favour of the receptionist. I can only imagine he must’ve really done a number on her.’ If it seems odd, I don’t dwell on it for long, especially as he seems to be a big hit with the workforce. The women. The men. The management team. And the women again. Okay, so everyone. ‘He’s a long way from the office tonight,’ I muse.
‘So are you. So am I. So is Daisy, for that matter.’
‘Even if I don’t work in an office,’ Daisy adds. ‘Maybe this place is between their offices, same as us.’
‘Maybe,’ I answer, even if he and I both know this isn’t true because the girl currently fluttering her lashes at him works in the same office, too. Or at least, she did until today when she finished her work experience placement, ready to return to university next month. And I’m beginning to wonder if Archer also has plans of moving on, too. Particularly as the woman in question—Clara—also happens to be the daughter of Frankie Lambeth, our big boss and the owner of E11even.
Archer Powell, you are so busted.
‘Oh, her hopes are definitely high,’ Daisy adds with a titter. ‘And he looks like he has plans to deliver.’
‘All. Night. Long!’ Vee hoots, leaning across me to high-five Daisy.
Though I smile, something stops me from mentioning the nature of their acquaintance. Not my monkeys, not my circus, I suppose. Frankly, I’m surprised, despite the rumours. He didn’t strike me as the reckless type, not that I know him beyond a vague nod of acknowledgement as we pass in those goldfish bowl glass walled hallways. I think I might have also once passed him his coffee cup in the communal kitchen. Okay, so I know I did because it stupidly still makes me blush when I remember how blue his eyes are close up, and how delicious his aftershave smelled on him.
‘You should so hit that.’ Daisy wraps her lips around her straws, curtailing her smile.
‘Yeah, because I have a massive thing for man sluts.’ Ugh. I am so not interested in Archer Powell.
‘Alleged man slut,’ Vee corrects primly. ‘Office tittle-tattle rarely comes from a reliable source, and more often than not can be traced back to envious desk dwelling trolls.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Also,’ Vee continues, ‘while I’m surprised you’re invoking the slut shame, I, for one, know man sluts and massive things are a very good combination.’
More hoots and giggles ensue, along with the pair high-fiving again.
‘Do you get along at work?’ Daisy asks oh, so innocently.
‘Don’t even think about it. I’m as likely to date that man as I am to become the head of the Catholic church. I’ve barely spoken to him. Besides, he’s not likely to risk repeating the experience, is he?’ I’m sure he’d eventually run out of places to work. Be forced to move to Uzbekistan. Or Newcastle, even.
‘She’s right.’ Vee’s words are directed towards Daisy. ‘Our girl isn’t the type to entertain the old ejaculate and evacuate kind. She’s not interested in a casual thing, especially not a sexual casual thing.’
‘And he’s all about that thing.’ Although, as I hear it, despite the best efforts of some of E11even’s female staff, he leaves team pub nights alone. He’s made it clear he’s not interested in hooking up in-house. Lesson learned, I suppose. But he’s suspiciously quick off the mark at home time, and word is, he’s up to his ears in Tinder dates.
‘What a shame.’ Daisy sighs, pressing her elbow against the table to rest her chin on her hand. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you date him, just that he might be the answer to your wedding woes because someone is responsible for teaching that man beautiful manners.’
My gaze follows hers to the secluded table.
‘And he looks like he belongs in a Louis Vuitton commercial. A masculine room, a monogrammed overnight bag slung nonchalantly over his shoulder. He steps out into the cobblestoned Parisian street with a look that’s both pensive and penetrating. The kind of look that says; look at me. I’m off to diddle a supermodel.
