‘You know there are people out there,’ she says, delicately pointing in the direction of the open plan office behind, ‘pretending not to watch you watching me eat this?’
‘They want to watch me eat your cupcake?’
‘That’snotwhat I said.’
‘Eat the damn cupcake, Heather, before it goes stale.’
‘No.’ She lowers it, opening the deep drawer under her desk and placing it inside. ‘I don’t think I will.’ Once it’s closed again, she locks it. ‘It’ll be something to look forward to after the meeting.’
‘I’d rather give you something else to look forward to.’
‘But not while we’re at work,’ she asserts with a very prim and professional glance my way. ‘Shall we go and make sure we get good seats?’
‘We’re not at the movies, babe.’
‘No, but somehow I always seem to get the chair with the wonky wheel. I think someone leaves it out for me on purpose. One of these days, the thing is going to collapse and I’ll end up falling and flashing my knickers to the world.’
‘I suppose we’d better go and get seats, then. It’ll be easier than murdering everyone.’
‘What? For giving me the wonky chair?’
‘No, I’d have to murder all those who copped a flash.’
‘Idiot,’ she says, laughing as she stands.
‘I don’t mind meetings with a purpose.’ I’m still bitching and complaining as we make our way through the brightly lit office space and into the glass bubble that is the meeting room.
‘They should supply food. It’d make things more bearable.’
‘You mean cakes.’
‘Have you worked at places that offer meeting cupcakes? And if so, how do I get a job at one of these unicorn spaces?’ We slow to a stop and I’m sure to those paying attention, it looks like we’re having a serious discussion. And I suppose we are. Heather is always serious about sugar.
‘Maybe pastries at best. If you’re lucky there might be a bean-to-cup coffee machine if you work somewhere really posh. C’mon. Let’s go see the aunties,’ I say, begin to walk again.
‘Aunties?’
‘I’m sure you’ve met them all in there before. Many, many times. Anti-collaboration, anti-team, anti-tech, and anti me.’
‘Ha. Give it up, boy wonder. Everyone likes a bit of Archer Powell.’
‘Ah, but no one gets any of this but you.’
‘And that’s the way I like it,’ she says, turning sassily on her heel as I push open the glass door for her to walk through. It’s not an entirely altruistic thing to do because I also get a sneaky flash of that pert little arse. Yep, that’s something I’d like from her too, but you can only work with what you have.
And I haven’t had that. Yet.
Tar-like coffees poured, we take our seats at the glossy boardroom table where Jay is already tinkering with the whiteboard.
‘Whotcha, Arch,’ he says, then, ‘how are you, Heather?’ The latter is said a touch bashfully. I’m aware I’ve pissed on his parade by dating the object of his affection, but I’ve been good enough not to murder him for those crass comments he made before.
All fights and makeup sex he’d said they’d be.
Though he had the right idea. I’ve never had as much fun as I have with Heather.
The pair continue to exchange pleasantries as people begin to file in, filling coffee cups and chatting, nodding as they pass. It’s a pretty regular Monday morning but the one thing I notice is how much more relaxed Heather seems. A few weeks ago, she’d have her eyes glued to the screen of her phone until the meeting began. It wasn’t hard to see that she didn’t want to get involved. She’d speak when spoken to, usually prompted by Haydn when he’d bat a question or a demand her way. I’m not going to say the change in her is all my doing even if I do feel a sense of pride watching her blossom.
‘What are you smirking at?’ she asks suddenly, pulling me from my happy musing.
