‘I don’t know what to say, Allison, except that he didn’t seem to grasp that cupcakes are brought into the office on your birthday, not brought inforyou. Not that I didn’t appreciate his generosity.’
‘Are you saying he brought you a cupcake for your birthday today?’ She turns to face me, pressing her palm to the worktop, her expression almost incredulous.
‘My birthday was yesterday.’
‘And he bought you a cake?’
It looks like someone’s suffering from a little green-eyed envy. And maybe that someone wants more than a birthday cupcake from him. She’d better get in line—but not the line I’m in. The line with emoji eggplant dreams over him.
‘Hmm. It was a really tasty one. Lavender and lemon.’ With a tiny sigh, I bring the spoon to my mouth as though in blissful memory of eating the thing and succeed in burning my tongue, not that I’d let her know.
‘Huh.’ As I take a sip of my scalding tea, her eyes flick over me as though I’m being re-evaluated somehow. ‘I thought you had a boyfriend.’
After almost choking on my next sip, I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod over the rim.
‘We’re all looking forward to meeting him.’ She folds her arms again, adding a little jut of her chin this time. ‘It’s just a shame you’re not going to be able to introduce him to Archie. He’s not going,’ she adds with a flick of her hair and the suggestion of one who knows the movements of one Archer Powell, esq. ‘Weddings aren’t really his scene.’
Probably in the same way that the devil isn’t allowed into churches, I suppose.
‘For someone with a boyfriend, you seemed to be very pally with him in your office earlier on.’
My office is a sore point for a number of people who work here. While not quite on par with Google HQ, E11even is the kind of modern office that has designated thinking spaces, meeting pods that are basically glass-blocked igloos, and a games space with ping-pong tables and 80s-style arcade games. The company ethos includes words like ‘collaboration’ and ‘community’ and ‘work as a fun and social experience’, which are all basically ways of saying only the chosen few get an office. And along with the bigwigs on the executive floor, I am by virtue inheriting my old boss’s job, one of those chosen few. And this seems to upset a number of people. Allison included.
‘I’m not sure getting pally is an accurate description of what we were doing.’ I raise my gaze and give her the Heather version of:bitch, you crazy!
‘A word to the wise,’ she murmurs, straightening the placket of her shirt over her amply augmented chest. ‘The attentions of Archie Powell, though hard to resist, are a fickle thing. I wouldn’t like you to read too much into it him throwing a little flirtation your way. Between you and me, I think he’s got his sights set a little higher.’ She points at the kitchen ceiling.
He’s probably got his sights on being God. It figures.
‘I saw him getting all flirty with Clara. You know, old Lambeth’s daughter. She was here doing her placement from uni?’
Interesting. It looks like he might’ve been busted by more than me.
‘Oh, yes. I know who you’re talking about. But you know, I think she’d be far too astute to be interested in him. From what I hear, she’s incredibly focussed. She might be the boss someday, mightn’t she?’ It’s almost handy that he fed me that line earlier. Handy for him, maybe. I suppose in a way I’m helping perpetuate his story.
Oh, there’s a thought. ..
‘The thing is, Archer is so open and friendly, some women think he’s hitting on them when he’s just being nice.’ And you know that from experience, Allison, do you? ‘A lesser man would probably let the attention go to his head.’
Oh, I think the attention still goes to his head. His little head. The one that most likely does all his thinking.
‘That’s so nice of you to worry about others like that, Allison.’ I almost choke on my insincerity, and I don’t even have an expense form in my hand! ‘And while I can’t speak for Clara, I can tell you it takes more than a pretty face to dazzle me.’ Even one who’s personality makes my blood pressure spike. ‘But it was good to catch up.’
As good as catching up with Ebola.
And with that, I leave the kitchen and take my cuppa back to my desk where I know I have a Kit Kat stashed. Or three.
Archer Powell has worked for E11even for months, and our paths have barely crossed. We’ve sat in on some of the same meetings, but we’ve barely spoken. Yet since last night, it’s like he’s taken over. We’ve argued and sniped, I’ve been warned off falling for him, and then I’ve had a rather intimate dream featuring him. A dream that wasn’t hazy and indistinct, as my dreams usually are, but very real. At least as real as the racing heart it left me with along with the unsettling sense that I’m somehow unfulfilled.
Why would I dream about him? I break my Kit Kat in half, and as I begin to nibble the chocolate from the tip, I wiggle my mouse to bring my laptop to life before I type:
What makes us dream about having sex with—
Delete!
Then:
Why do we dream
