It’s All Sun and Games

Chapter 1

1

‘I’m talking you, me, marriage, kids, the big house, the family car – everything you’ve ever wanted. We’ll get a dog – and a cat, and hope they get along – and every day will be an adventure. So, what do you say, Robin?’

He waits for my reply with bated breath – but really it is me who is having trouble breathing right now. Breathing, like anything you do on autopilot, is one of those things where, as soon as you realise you’re doing it, you overthink it.

I need to suck it up and say something. I can’t just leave him standing there, his words hanging in the air, while I try to remember how to breathe again.

Honestly, though, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear James say anything even close to this to me, and now that he’s saying it, I’m forgetting all of my basic bodily functions – although I suppose there could be worse ones to forget right here, right now. Still, there’s nothing quite like hearing something that makes you feel alive to inadvertently remind you about, well, death. Maybe this is just a me thing, something that comes with being a naturally pessimistic person. I’m not a ‘glass half full’ person, but I’m not a ‘glass half empty’ kind of girl either. I’m more of a ‘oh my God, this glass is so fragile, what will I do if I drop it’ kind of chick but, ahh, I don’t know, I guess I’m just used to things not going my way.

‘Robin?’ James prompts me. ‘What do you say?’

I open my mouth to speak – something else I don’t usually have a problem with – but nothing comes out.

James laughs, only softly, as he awaits my answer. I love the way his icy blue eyes sparkle when he finds something funny, the way they – ironically – melt my heart and make my legs feel weak. He’s just so cool, with his tousled dirty blond hair. And his smile, wow, I love the way it curls up at the sides as though he’s always on the verge of saying something naughty. He has this eternally flirtatious vibe, one that I can’t get enough of, but hearing him say what he’s saying today – something serious – is what I’ve really been fantasising about ever since we started working together a couple of years ago.

‘Robin?’

You would think the third time would be a charm but, still, I’ve got nothing. In my defence, though, this is a pretty weird situation.

‘Nah, I’m not buying it,’ a voice interrupts us, snapping me from my thoughts.

Ugh, it’s Liz. Of course it is.

I know this is going to sound childish coming from a thirty-one-year-old woman but Liz Martin is sort of my rival. It’s not that I want to be constantly competing with her, not at all, but unfortunately I’m not getting much say in it. Liz and I are the same age, in the same job, at the same place, and we both so obviously fancy James, which means everything is a competition between us. If I’m not fighting her for James’s attention then I’m fighting her for our boss’s approval – which would be fine, except Liz plays dirty any chance she gets – and somehow, right now, she’s doing both.

‘What’s the problem?’ James asks her, moving his attention in her direction.

‘You mean besides you and Robin clearly not seeming like a believable match?’ she dares to joke. Well, she makes it sound like a joke, but I’m certain she believes it.

Liz and I may be the same age, in the same job, wanting the same things, but the similarities between us start and stop right there. In every other way you can imagine, Liz and I couldn’t be less alike – in fact, we’re pretty much one another’s opposite.

Liz is (almost annoyingly) beautiful, with her sleek, pin-straight glossy black hair. She has those almond-shaped eyes, which she always cloaks in a smoky eyeshadow, giving off a seductive Bond girl vibe. She’s super slim, with legs for days, and confidence surges through her veins to the point where she practically glows with it. On a warm June day like today she’s lounging in her chair, without so much as a bead of sweat on her brow, wearing a silky vest top without a bra – she looks cool in every way imaginable.

And then there’s me. I’m about half a foot shorter than Liz, and what I lack in height I make up for in curves, which means that I’m (quite literally) sweating my tits off in an industrial-strength bra under my T-shirt. My long blonde hair is naturally wavy – which is neither here nor there but takes a lot of effort to edge one way or the other – and any kind of weather, be it rain or shine, seems to make it frizz. My green eyes are rounded, like my cheeks when I smile, whereas absolutely any emotion Liz seems to feel only makes her look more chiselled. And yet, despite our flirting (with James, not each other), neither of us ever seems to come out victorious. The main rivalry between us is when it comes to work and, believe it or not, that’s what this is all about right now.

‘Okay then, Liz, what are you thinking?’ Rick Wiseman (an ironic surname, if ever there was one), our boss, chimes in.

I retreat back into my seat a little, standing down, making way for Liz. For a moment there I was letting myself get so carried away with what James was saying that I forgot where I was, or what I was doing. I’m in the boardroom at work, pitching ideas to the team so that we can choose the best one to take to the client.

‘Let me show you how it’s done,’ Liz says, getting up from her seat, marching over to James and plonking herself down on his lap.

Liz wiggles her neck, as though she’s loosening up to get into character.

‘I like the look of you, I know you like the look of me, so what say we both get out of here?’ Liz says. ‘I don’t need to know your last name, or what your job is, or how you take your coffee on a morning. Life is short so let’s live it.’

James’s eyebrows shoot up at her direct approach. Reluctantly, I’d say it was pleasant surprise on his face.

‘And then maybe, on the screen, there’s the line: Matcher – forget “the one”. Get some .’

Liz, remaining on James’s lap, hooks an arm around his neck to steady herself while she looks to Rick to see what he thinks.

I know what I think, I think it’s a terrible idea. I should say something, right? I should defend my idea, and say why I don’t think Liz’s idea works, and I need to do it now, or I’ll miss my chance.

‘It’s just, er, it’s not that I don’t like the idea,’ I start, offering up a compliment to try to smooth over what is to follow. ‘It’s just that I don’t think it’s what the client wants.’

‘Erm, the client is Matcher, they’re a hook-up app,’ Liz reminds me, as though anyone in the country doesn’t know what Matcher is. It’s the ultimate dating app.

‘Right, but in the client meetings, they have been consistently telling us that they want to move away from being seen as a hook-up app. They want the world to see them as a viable way to find love,’ I explain. ‘The whole point of this campaign was supposed to be to show them in a different light.’

‘Okay, but the client doesn’t really know what the client wants – we all know that, right?’ Liz says, addressing Rick and the handful of others in the room. ‘What the client actually wants is results, and what will get them results is a campaign that leans into their strengths, not their weaknesses. So screw Robin’s happy-ever-after, right, boys? It’s always going to be sex that sells.’

Ugh. Rick is smiling, James is grinning (although that might be because of the woman writhing around on his lap) and almost everyone else in the room seems to be onboard with Liz’s idea too. Everyone apart from me and Priya, my work bestie. At least she always has my back.

Priya tucks her sharp brown bob behind her ear – one of our secret signals for when we think everyone else is being ridiculous. I give her a half smile, letting her know that I know when I’m beaten.

The thing is, though, I spoke to the Matcher team for over an hour about how much they want to change perceptions (and use) of the app, because they never set out to create a platform where women would be judged in a split second on their appearance, and men would write entire bios that seemed to almost aggressively mention how much they loved protein. Speaking as someone who has been single for some time, and who has given Matcher a go, trust me when I say that it is a recipe for disaster. The girls are just as bad as the guys, I’ve found out, too. It’s amazing how many women list a minimum height for men, like they are a rollercoaster, and you have to be this tall to ride. And most of the men, well, they’ll tell you whatever you want to hear, get you into bed, and then never call you again. It’s a hook-up app, whether you want it to be or not, and I respect that – even with all the money they are making – the owners want that to change.

It isn’t up to me to decide what is pitched to the client, though, so I guess Liz wins this round.

‘Okay, Liz, we’ll give your idea a shot,’ Rick says, clapping his hands as he takes to his feet. ‘Julie is sending out a reminder for later in the week, for our last meeting about the Italian job, so make sure you get that in your diaries. Otherwise, back to work.’

Julie, Rick’s long-suffering assistant, has fallen victim to some kind of Stockholm syndrome, where she feels genuinely tethered to Rick, like she’s his work wife – he does have an actual wife, though. Well, almost – they’re actually tying the knot next week.

Between Rick and Julie, they have decided that our next project – for an Italian client – should be referred to internally as ‘the Italian job’ and they’re so, so pleased with themselves. The Italian job that they are referring to is a first meet with a new potential client – one who we are going to Italy to meet (fun) and we’re all going together (not fun).

I sigh. Perhaps I’ll have more luck coming up with a pitch for that one.

‘Well, I’d better get back to work,’ James says, prompting Liz to get up from his lap – she takes her time, though.

‘You don’t want to grab dinner together later, do you?’ Liz asks him. ‘Just me and you. We could go over the project, run some more lines of flirty dialogue together, really get the idea down between us, because I really feel like this is something you and I can run with together.’

Oh my God, could she be any more transparent?

‘Sorry, Liz, I’m meeting a buddy at the gym after work,’ he replies.

Liz pouts.

‘Oh, okay,’ she says. ‘Maybe some other time.’

‘Maybe,’ he replies as he heads for the door.

Something stirs inside me. Perhaps I need to be more confident, like Liz. Perhaps it might get me a little further. I might not have pitched the best idea, but what if…

‘Oh, James, I was just wondering,’ I begin as I catch him up – there’s no turning back now. ‘I wanted to see if you were available for a drink after work – maybe tomorrow?’

Liz catches us up and, upon hearing the last part of my sentence, stands next to us, glaring.

‘Oh, I, er…’ James laughs awkwardly. ‘I don’t know if I, er…’

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need to walk this back, to save face.

‘No worries if you’re busy,’ I interrupt him. ‘I just thought it might be a good idea to have a sit down – those of us pitching for the Italian client – ahead of our meeting with Rick. I actually studied Italian culture, so I thought we could get our early ideas together, so when we go into our meeting, we’re all on the same page, and we’ve all done our homework. It’s just an idea.’

Not the best way of explaining what I mean (or what I’m pretending I mean, anyway) but I think I’ve styled it out.

‘All of us?’ Liz interrupts.

‘Yeah, all of us,’ I reply. ‘I only just had the idea, so, yeah, this is me, asking everyone, now.’

‘Okay, sure,’ Liz says, a hint of suspicion in her tone.

‘Yeah, sounds good,’ James replies. ‘I’ve got to dash, but send round the details, yeah?’

‘Will do,’ I reply.

Just as soon as I figure them out.

‘Let me know then, I guess,’ Liz tells me. ‘Oh, and Robin, no hard feelings about today, yeah?’

Liz smiles at me sweetly for a second, waiting for me to smile back, before she dashes off.

Priya, who has been eavesdropping from a safe distance, catches up with me and links her arm with mine.

‘So, we’re all going out for a drink tomorrow?’ she says with a knowing grin.

‘Yep,’ I reply, mustering up an unmissable level of sarcasm. ‘Can’t wait.’