Page 22 of Unapologetic Love Story

‘I’m not that mysterious,’ she concluded. ‘It’s all there in the podcast. It wouldn’t make for interesting reading, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, why did you start the podcast?’

The question threw her. No one had asked her that before. Most people didn’t think twice about a millennial starting a podcast; it seemed as inevitable as joining a gym.

Of course, there was an answer to his question. An unspoken, salient thing that she knew, that her community knew. It was unnecessary to explain it to someone who was like her, but difficult to reveal to someone who was not.

‘I just wanted to.’

She met his gaze, daring him to call her on the lie by omission. He looked as if he were thinking about it, but something settled behind his eyes and he didn’t push the subject.

‘I know oversharing is the currency of today but . . .’ She shrugged and smiled widely. ‘I don’t feel like spilling. So, thanks but no thanks. I don’t want some guy following me around, pretending to be interested in me for a story. Appreciate you paying for the drink, though.’

She downed the last of said drink and looked out of the window.

‘The rain’s stopped.’ She swept up her coat. ‘Goodbye, Tom Branimir.’

She walked swiftly down Carnaby Street. She told herself to keep moving. He was after something, something she couldn’t quite predict, and that was always dangerous. That’s how you ended up alone at the party or humiliated at the dance or laughed out of the work meeting. She should keep walking and forget she ever met him.

‘Raina!’

But she paused at the sound of her name. And turned. And laughed.

He was carrying the butt vase, filled with the flowers she wouldn’t let him buy.

He jogged to catch up to her, holding out the vase like an offering.

‘Thanks.’

‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘Don’t reckon you’re a woman who gets her arse handed to her very often.’

‘Bravo.’ She shook her head and let out a small, bitter laugh. ‘Well, have a nice life.’

‘You said if I moved in the right circles, I would be able to find you.’

‘I did.’

‘I obviously don’t move in the right circles. Maybe you could show me them? For the piece?’

She took a step towards him. ‘Sorry?’

‘I’m not, uh . . .’ He was stammering a little as he stepped closer himself. ‘I’m not used to having to beg a potential subject. Or beg for anything, really. But I’d like to write about someone witty for once. Someone I have to keep up with.’

Raina shook her head, smiling despite it all. ‘Are you sure you weren’t stalking me earlier? You seem absolutely relentless. Any more pitches you want to throw out?’

‘Nah, I like this one,’ he said. ‘You can be the white rabbit to my Alice.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Raina said silkily. ‘I’m more of a Red Queen.’

This is bad, the voice of reason whispered. This is reckless. You know what insiders always end up thinking about outsiders. They never understand. And then they get everyone else to agree with them. One crack in that mask and it could be goodbye to everything you’ve built.

But Raina’s fascination in other people always won out. She wanted to see behind every eye-roll. Every sarcastic quip. There was a small steely piece of ice in Tom Branimir’s heart. She could see it, tucked into the corner of his mouth and in his eyes. She wanted to know what had put it there.

‘I’ll let you profile me, if you must. You can see my London. But if I find out you’re using me or my community . . .’

Be brave.

She took out a pink and silver business card, slipping it into his hand. He held onto her for a moment but she pulled free and set off down Carnaby Street, hugging her vase.