Chapter 57
‘So, we’ve looked into renting an industrial space in Camden for Friday the tenth of November.’
‘Help yourself to breakfast pastries,’ I say, motioning to the centre of the table. ‘They’re from the bakery down the road.’
‘I’ve already eaten,’ Eddie responds. ‘I have breakfast around six a.m., just before my morning workout.’
‘Ah, OK,’ I reply. ‘Would you—’
‘Usually a shake or something else protein-based,’ he continues. ‘Simple carbs aren’t conducive to a well-balanced diet.’
‘You’re probably right,’ I say, lifting a croissant. ‘You’re far more disciplined than I am. It’s admirable!’
He watches closely while I begin stuffing it into my mouth before turning back to Eesha.
‘Outside we’ll have photographers, red carpet for the VIPs and security,’ she states.
‘Everything branded, from the Flirt First signature cocktails to the wall decor. LCD boards displaying the app’s functionality, staff wearing FF T-shirts, everything themed around the Flirt First branding.
We’ll install plush booths, tables and a custom dance space. ’
‘And how much is that going to eat into—’
‘All provided by our sponsors. We’ve negotiated terms with them, if we decide to go ahead.’
I see his brow unfurrow. He flips through the presentation package on his desk.
‘We couldn’t have just rented a nightclub for the night? Maybe a restaurant?’ he asks, looking back at the screen. ‘Somewhere a bit . . .’
If he says sexier, I will fly kick him out the window.
‘. . . more exclusive than a warehouse.’
‘We want something unique,’ Eesha replies. ‘Promotion focused on the brand, not necessarily on the venue. Something cool.’
He bobs his head, though I can tell he’s not convinced yet. If he wanted to hire out the Century Club or the Taj Mahal, he should have given us a bigger fucking budget.
‘It’s actually very exclusive,’ Eesha informs him. ‘In fact, I can’t say too much but a little, very reliable birdie told me that Dua Lipa celebrated her twenty-seventh birthday there. It’s a miracle that they even had this date available.’
‘Really? Dua Lipa?’
She nods. ‘Although the birthday celebration was very hush-hush. She’s an incredibly private person. I’m sure we can honour that too.’
I smirk to myself. It was very hush-hush because it didn’t happen.
He perks up at this detail. ‘Excellent! I love Dua Lipa. Brilliant idea!’
We run through the rest of the package, including Kieran’s social media strategy to create a buzz around the launch. Two coffees later he agrees on principle. I know that he’ll come back with some sort of redundant concern but it’s essentially good to go.
‘Excellent work,’ I tell Eesha, as we watch Eddie leave. ‘I’ll have a chat with Rupert. Your skills reach far beyond reception work.’
‘Dua Lipa thing too far?’ she asks.
‘Not at all,’ I reply. ‘Unless she comes out and denies it, I think you’re good.’
She gives a little squeal. If I could, I’d make her the events coordinator in a heartbeat.
I return to my desk and let Kieran know how the meeting went.
‘Eesha nailed it. I’m going to talk to Rupert about moving her to events. We need a dedicated staff on there, instead of everyone . . . well, me, dealing with it.’
Kieran slurps his coffee. ‘You know he’ll just moan about having to hire a new receptionist,’ he replies, ignoring the phone ringing on his desk. ‘We’ve been through four already and he’s only just learned that her name isn’t Alisha.’
‘This is true, Kato.’
He frowns at me.
‘But if he doesn’t at least give her a trial run, I’ll be surprised if she sticks around for much longer.’
‘Yeah, that would suck,’ he replies. ‘Oh, are there any pastries left in the meeting room? I’m kind of peckish.’
‘Yes, but they are not conducive to a well-balanced diet.’
He laughs. ‘Eddie was on top form then?’
I roll my eyes. ‘He’s relentless. I was tempted to eat them all out of spite. Let’s just hope he’s less tiresome on launch night.’
I arrive before Alex and take a table near the door. It’s just before 4 p.m. and although the café is busy, it’s relatively quiet given that most tables are taken up by sombre-looking laptop users.
Alex arrives ten minutes later, his eyes darting around until he spots me. Wearing running gear and Beats headphones around his neck, he smiles and takes the chair opposite me.
‘Am I late?’ he asks, a tad out of breath. ‘I’ve just run over from Spitalfields. My last client decided to tell me about his recent divorce before I eventually just legged it.’
Alex is around five foot ten, with red hair in a man bun and a small, flat mole under his left eye. I can tell that he works out but it’s not like sitting across from the Rock.
‘No, I’m early,’ I reply. ‘My meeting finished sooner than I thought.’
‘You work nearby?’
I nod. ‘Near the university. About a ten-minute walk.’
He orders himself an Americano and a latte for me, complete with what I assume was supposed to be a leaf decoration on top but looks more like that time a seagull shat on Naomi’s schoolbag in year ten.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he says, shaking a little sugar packet. ‘If you intend on killing me, can you at least wait until I’ve had this?’
‘My hitman does not do requests unfortunately,’ I reply. ‘But, seriously, it’s fine. I’ll just never follow any of your advice again.’
‘I take it there’s been no word from your captain guy?’ he asks.
‘We didn’t exchange numbers,’ I reply. ‘In fact, throughout all of this, I did not receive one new mobile number from an eligible man. How sad.’
‘That’s bizarre to me,’ he says. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you’re an attractive, funny, professional woman.’
‘I do not mind.’
‘And as much as I’m sorry that your cruise didn’t go as planned, I have enjoyed your emails.’
I laugh. ‘A lesser man would have blocked me. But likewise, I’ve enjoyed them too. At least your plan came to fruition! You got the girl! It was motivating. You’re the only reason I decided to take this challenge on.’
He purses his lips and looks down at his coffee cup. ‘So . . . I haven’t exactly been entirely honest.’
‘About what?’
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘The article. I might have embellished just a smidgen.’
I stop sipping my coffee. ‘Embellished how?’
‘Oh, you know . . . here and there.’
I stare in disbelief. ‘You’re kidding? Please tell me it wasn’t all bullshit!’
‘No, not all of it!’ he insists. ‘Like, I did do the activities I mentioned, and I was dumped by the iPhone girl. But Corrine. There is no Corrine. There never was.’
‘You made up a girlfriend?’
He nods. ‘I’d never have had the article published without it. How I went through all of this, and not a bloody thing changed. How I’m just as single as I was when I started.’
I’m stunned. I warn my mother not to believe everything she reads online and now here I am doing exactly that. Thank God he didn’t tell me to find the love of my life by jumping into a bear pit. I’d either be dead or singing a rendition of The Bare Necessities to my new furry friends.
‘I wasn’t trying to deceive anyone,’ he asserts, swirling a spoon around in his coffee.
‘But I’d pitched four previous articles, and this idea was the only one they were interested in.
So I zhuzhed it up a little. Gave it a happy ending.
I didn’t expect anyone to actually follow the plan, it was more—’
‘I followed it!’ I exclaim. ‘I hit myself in the face with a bat! I bought blister-inducing tango shoes! I went on a fucking cruise!’
He looks like a scolded child, his eyes never leaving his coffee cup. Until I start to laugh.
‘I went on a cruise,’ I repeat, my eyes starting to water. ‘I invented a sibling to chat up a man! Christ, I applied to go on First Dates. Thank God they didn’t respond.’
Slowly he starts to laugh with me. ‘Um, why are we laughing?’
‘Because everything about this is ridiculous. I had to sit across from a client at speed dating. Mortifying.’
‘Shit. I feel bad now.’
‘You should!’ My laughter begins to subside. ‘I’ll admit, I feel a bit better knowing that I’m not the only one this didn’t work for.’
He shakes his head. ‘Even though it didn’t go your way, you still came closer than I did. I’d say that’s better than nothing.’
He has a point. I did come close. That week I felt excited about love again. Optimistic. I’d like to feel that again, even if it’s not with Ellis.
‘Do you think you’ll date again anytime soon?’ he asks. ‘Or has this scarred you for life?’
I shrug. ‘I’m sure I will. When? I have no idea.’
‘Well, how about now?’ He smiles enthusiastically.
It takes my overworked brain a second to realise what he’s suggesting.
‘You mean us? Here?’
He nods. ‘Well, unless you’d rather go somewhere else? I just thought since we’re here . . . and, well, your email did suggest that you might be up for it.’
‘What email?’ I reply. ‘I don’t remember any emails, you must be mistaken.’
He laughs. ‘More coffee?’
We chat for another hour and it’s easy. No pressure, no pre-date nerves and no need to pretend we’re someone we’re not. He’s a loser who made up a girlfriend and I’m a loser who makes up siblings.
Alex is a great guy. Smart, easy to talk to and even easier on the eye.
However, two coffees and a slightly stale pastry later, it’s clear that we’re not remotely compatible.
Unsurprisingly, along with his passion for fitness, his first love is sports.
Kayaking, tennis, wall climbing, anything that might break a sweat.
Britain’s Strongest Man is his Eurovision (which he cannot stand, or country music), he’s definitely more right wing that I am, would still like to have three kids and tends to go for women in their early thirties.
‘You do realise I’m forty-five?’
‘I didn’t actually . . . Wow, OK.’
Rude.
But more importantly, and the real dealbreaker, is that he doesn’t make me laugh. Not properly. Not like Naomi, or Kieran or Eesha. Not like Ellis.
As we say goodbye, neither of us mention a second date, which is a relief. While my deal breaker was his sense of humour, I could absolutely tell that his was age. Maybe we’ll meet again for coffee but as far as romance, neither of us is saying yes.