Love on the Air

8

I woke to a cacophony of sounds including but not limited to my iPhone alarm, the hotel phone ringing and somebody banging on the door. I checked the clock next to my bed. It was 11 am. I was meant to meet Leo three hours ago. Fuck.

‘I’m coming! I’m coming! Hold on!’

I jumped out of bed, stumbled over to the door and on the way caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair looked as though a wild ferret had been run over and then strapped to my scalp, and my dress was on sideways. How was that even possible? And why was I still wearing it?

Flashback memories of me spinning around in circles trying to reach the zip and giving up the night before came flooding back. I pulled open the heavy hotel door.

Leo was standing on the other side, mobile phone in one hand, looking altogether panicked.

‘How much trouble am I in?’ I winced, leaning my head against the door and closing my eyes. At this point, I was too nauseous to be embarrassed.

He sighed, crossed his arms and looked at me with utter exasperation. ‘Alex, I’m not your father.’

‘Well, that’s a relief. I haven’t seen the guy in twenty-five years but I’m pretty sure he didn’t look anything like you.’

‘I’m not joking. I was worried about you. I’ve been knocking and calling for twenty minutes. You assured me you were taking this trip seriously, Alex.’

The implication made me furious. ‘I am taking it seriously, Leo. In two days we’ll board a flight home with incredibly well researched and executed interviews with the two biggest artists on the planet, both of which are exclusives. This is what I do. And this is how I do it.’

‘Well I hope you got the chat with Finley in the can before you knocked back the three tequila shots and attempted to do the worm on the top of a bar somewhere in Shoreditch.’

I glared at him, confused, exhausted, hungover and, well, mainly confused.

‘That would explain the throbbing hip bones. But how do you even know that?’

I couldn’t tell if he was finding all of this funny or pathetic.

‘Tom uploaded a play-by-play on his Instagram stories, which kept me across your movements until about midnight. I expected you’d miss our am, to be honest. Thankfully this morning the hotel let me know you’d had the wherewithal to order room service at three, so I knew you’d come home; I was just worried you’d choked on it in the bathtub or something.’

I scanned the room, spotting a tray of half-eaten club sandwiches on the floor next to my bed. Nice.

‘I love 3 am drunk me. What a clever gal she is. Anyway—’ I resumed my previous serious tone. ‘—I’m sorry I missed our meeting, that was shitty of me. But can you please just trust me? I’ve got this. I promise.’

Leo looked at me hesitantly, then peeked over my shoulder.

‘Please tell me the network is not paying for this room?’

‘Oh. Yeah. No, they’re not. Friends in high places. Wanna come in?’

‘I might get drunk on the fumes. Why don’t you have a shower, freshen up and go eat something greasy. We’ve got a couple of hours until we need to head to the interview, so that should be enough time for you to return to the land of the living.’

I rubbed my eyes and gave him a sarcastic thumbs up. He walked back towards the elevator without saying goodbye.

Alex York, 11:10 am: London has destroyed me once again.

Vanessa Blake, 11:15 am: I know. You FaceTimed me from a bar somewhere. How’s the head?

Alex York, 11:15 am: I’ve felt better. You should be here.

Vanessa Blake, 11:15 am: Damn straight. Finley Stark is so fkn hot. When’s the big interview?

Alex York, 11:16 am: In a couple of hours. Leo just berated me for getting drunk last night and missing our meeting this morning.

Vanessa Blake, 11:17 am: Well at least one of you knows how to have fun.

Alex York, 11:20 am: His wife died. He’s allowed.

Vanessa Blake, 11:21 am: Still can’t believe you thought he was a cheater. Sooooo awks. I think he’s the one who needs a couple of tequila shots.

Alex York, 11:23 am: You’re probably right. I better get in the shower. Love you. Miss you x

Vanessa Blake, 11:23 am: Love you too. Wish I was there x

A little while later I was showered, fresh and ready for bacon as I waited for Tom in the lobby of the hotel. My phone made a dinging sound that, due to the delicate nature of my current state, nearly made me fall over with fright.

York! How’s the head today? Still keen for dinner tonight? Would love to see you again X teddy

I closed my eyes and strained, trying my hardest to piece together the memories from last night that would help me figure out who the heck Teddy was.

Before I had time to respond, Tom appeared behind me in a pair of Versace sunglasses that I was pretty sure even Gianni himself (God rest his soul) would classify as ‘too much’. He moved them down to the tip of his nose, squinted and stared at me with a mixture of intrigue and disgust.

‘Why is your face doing that thing? What’s happened?’

I showed him my phone screen. He quickly scanned it, then removed the monstrous sunglasses entirely and shrieked, ‘PLEASE tell me you got a wax before you came.’

‘Babe, who is Teddy?’

‘How drunk were you? Teddy! The Canadian guy that Finley knows. Owns all those ski lodges. We told him we’d definitely come visit next ski season. I think at one point you got your phone out and started looking for flights.’ Tom snorted as he laughed, pulling out his phone and scrolling.

I groaned and reached into my handbag—Fendi, baguette, black embossed leather with a gold chain—for some gum, as Tom let out a loud ‘a-ha!’ and showed me a blurry picture of myself next to a tall, mixed race demigod with a shaved head and kind eyes. It all started coming back to me.

‘Ohhhhh, Teddy! Nice guy!’

My mind was racing through the contents of my suitcase, trying to remember if I’d packed any good undies before I reminded myself that this was a work trip and there was no way I was going to let myself fall in love with some kind-eyed lothario who lived on the other side of the world.

‘Have you packed some nice lingerie or do we need to do a quick La Perla stop?’

‘How do you do that?’

‘Read your mind? We spend more time together than most couples. Plus, I have access to your emails and your socials and occasionally read your text messages.’

Alarmingly, none of this was news to me.

‘Also, how much do you think I earn? I haven’t got a spare 300 pounds for a new lingerie set.’

‘Yes, you do. Don’t fake poverty with me, it’s not classy.’

I also knew with 100 per cent certainty that he would have read my employment contract. I didn’t bother fighting him on this one. What made the whole situation even more infuriating was that despite Tom’s intricate knowledge of every detail of my life, he’d managed to keep his own private life off limits. To everyone. Especially me. He was a closed book. He could have been married to an Italian billionaire for all I knew. He could technically be straight for all I knew. He never ever told, and I’d given up asking long ago.

Both of our phones buzzed in unison with a message from Georgia including a link to a news article. The headline read ‘Finley Stark on a wild bender with Aussie radio host and swag of attractive revellers’.

Tom gasped, furiously scrolling through the article, breathless with anticipation. ‘OMG, AM I THE ATTRACTIVE REVELLER? SHOW ME RIGHT NOW!’

‘Morning, again.’

My head snapped up from my phone to see Leo standing in front of us. He was freshly showered, and his hair was wet and out nearly to his shoulders. He ran his fingers through it self-consciously when he noticed me staring. I instinctively wanted to look away but it was as if I’d just seen my schoolteacher out in public. Tom hid his phone behind his back with as much subtlety as he was capable of (absolutely none). Leo cocked his head to one side and glared suspiciously. Tom looked at the ground. I felt nauseous (and not just because of the hangover). Of all the big nights we’d had with Finley, the only one that appeared in the press the next day just so happened to be on the same trip that my new boss decided to come on? My new boss who still isn’t really sure I deserve the gig? It felt particularly cruel.

Leo gave Tom a knowing look. ‘If this is about the article, I’ve already seen it. Caroline from PR sent it through a couple of minutes ago.’

At the mention of Caroline’s name, Tom pretended to spit on the ground. He had obviously chosen a new office nemesis, which meant George in HR was off the hook. ‘I just wanted to clarify that when the article said “attractive revellers” they were referring to me …’

Leo gave Tom a confused look. ‘Right. Well, luckily for you, Finley’s label shut down some of the more salacious images that were snapped so the pictures in the article are all pretty tame. Can we all agree to just focus from here on in? No ragers. No hangovers.’ He focused his attention on Tom. ‘No grainy images surfacing of what may or may not be illegal substances being snorted off the chests of exotic dancers.’

Tom winced. ‘You can just call them strippers, Leo. No one uses the term “exotic dancers” anymore. Plus, if my memory serves me correctly, he was from Essex, which isn’t exactly exotic.’

‘I don’t think that’s the point,’ I whispered.

My stomach grumbled loudly. ‘Okay, interrogation over. I got us a table at Dishoom where I will be ordering every fried item on the menu.’

I could tell Leo was trying to look legitimately exasperated by me but was still somewhat amused. ‘We’ll leave here at 3:30 pm. Do I need to attach some sort of ankle-monitor hardware to you both or can I trust you to stay sober for the next few hours?’

I shook my head. As Leo walked off towards the lifts, I pulled my phone out and composed a message as Tom peeked over my shoulder.

Teddy my friend! Head is okay thanks to a perfectly timed club sandwich from room service. Working tonight so might miss you, sorry. Hope the rest of the trip is fun! X

‘No need for the lingerie, sorry, darl,’ I told Tom. ‘The last thing I’m gonna let myself do is get entangled in some cross-continental love affair; in any case, no one that rich or that handsome turns out to be good news. Let’s just nail this interview, prove to Leo how effortlessly talented and wonderful we are and go home.’

An hour later, with my belly full of bacon naan and strong black coffee, I felt ready to do exactly that.

Sometimes when you’re getting ready for a special event, no matter what you do you just can’t seem to make it work. The outfit doesn’t fit right, your make-up looks weird and your hair refuses to cooperate. And then sometimes the universe shines down on you and you look back at yourself in the mirror genuinely convinced you could seduce George Clooney. Thankfully, this particular afternoon I was firmly in the latter category. I looked good. Really good.

We were thankfully ahead of schedule as we zoomed through the streets of London in the back of a taxi, Tom wearing more beige, Leo in his usual uniform (this time with the olive-green jacket) and me in a tight Acne tie-dye mini dress, black chunky Versace heels I got on Facebook Marketplace and an oversized lilac coat that looked altogether edible. Taking inspiration from Dua Lipa on the Rolling Stone cover I’d passed at the airport bookshop, I did a kind half-up half-down thing with my hair, and while she is at least seventeen times hotter than me (even on her very worst day), I still looked great. When her latest single came on the radio in the taxi, I took it as a sign that the pop music gods were on my side.

As we pulled up at the venue, the boys got out of the cab first and Leo held his hand out to help me as I shuffled over to the door. I wondered if he thought I looked good too. I wondered if he even noticed how women looked. I remembered how he’d paid the hot waitress in Bondi absolutely no attention even when she fawned over him so hopelessly and decided that if he didn’t notice her, he certainly wasn’t going to notice me.

Not that I wanted him to. I just … wondered. That’s all.

A rep from the record label was standing on the street waiting for us. He looked as though he must have been quite junior—not more than twenty-one—holding a clipboard in one hand and a phone in the other. Before long we were being ushered through the fire exit, directly to the backstage area. There were busy men and women everywhere, dressed in black with headsets on; crew eating lunch; and lots of American voices talking loudly into their mobile phones. We were given a dressing room to set up in, and Tom was quickly in work mode, unpacking gear, running cables and connecting power boards. I set up two chairs opposite each other, sat in one and went over my notes one last time as Leo chatted outside with someone old and important from the UK label. They were talking and laughing as if they were old friends and I wondered if they’d known each other when Leo was living here. I moved towards the door where I could hear the conversation a little better.

‘We miss you terribly, mate. No one could ever run that place like you did, and believe me they’re bloody trying,’ the older voice was saying.

‘They’ll be right, Benj.’

‘And how’s Goldie? I couldn’t believe the news.’

‘I was just as surprised, mate, trust me. But you know Goldie, she’ll do what she wants.’

‘Ahh. If only we all had the luxury. But you’re going to keep the gig?’

‘Well, I tried to quit when she first told me, but it obviously didn’t work because here I am. So, we’ll see.’

‘It’s good to see you looking so well, Leo. Next time let me know and we’ll make a night of it, eh?’

I jumped back across the room and sat down in my chair, notes in hand. It occurred to me then that I’d never even really bothered to find out about Leo’s work history. Perhaps I’d been too busy mistakenly hating him for being a cheater.

I pulled out my iPhone and typed the words ‘Leo Billings radio’ into Google.

Holy shit.

‘Tom!’ I hissed.

He looked up from the ground, with a cable in one hand and a roll of gaffer tape in the other.

‘He was the network head of Pulse.’

‘Huh?’

‘Leo. He was the network head of arguably the best fucking radio brand on the planet. It says here he’s the one who got them back to number one after all those years.’

Tom stared back at me. ‘Ohhh. He’s that Leo.’

‘You knew?’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t know that Leo and this Leo were the same Leo. Wow. That makes sense, I suppose.’

Leo’s voice grew louder outside the door. Tom snapped back to work and I closed the screen on my phone. He reappeared in the room just as Tom had finished setting up, giving us both a brief thumbs up, clearly impressed at how quickly it had all come together. Little did he know, Tom’s all-time record for setting up a two-camera, two-mic shoot with lighting was one minute and fifty-three seconds. For big interviews like this one, however, he preferred precision over speed and I knew better than to ever offer to help. He liked things done just so, and I couldn’t be trusted to not make a mess of his precious cables and cords.

Soon enough we heard a hustle and bustle outside, which was a sure sign that things were about to kick off. People like Tilly Roy are always surrounded by a hustle and bustle.

For the first couple of years of Tilly’s career, I wasn’t much of a fan. She’d started out as a country singer and before long had ditched the ethereal long dresses and cowboy boots for sequin leotards and absolutely catapulted into the very upper echelons of all-out pop stardom. The whole schtick felt contrived, and her fans were so obsessive that I found it all a bit overwhelming. I enjoyed her radio hits but had never bothered to listen to an album in its entirety. That all changed the first time I interviewed her, around seven years ago. I walked in a sceptic and I walked out ready to run the Australian arm of her fan club. She was utterly enchanting. Freakishly smart. Unassuming. Hilarious. She was the kind of girl everyone wants to be best friends with, and for that eight-minute interview she made me feel like that’s exactly what she was. My best friend. Every encounter we’d had since had been exactly the same. She’d achieved the level of success that means press tours aren’t even really necessary, and yet she still did them, and treated everyone she met with familiarity and respect. She made the kind of effort that no other star on Earth did, and for that I’d always been grateful.

The energy in the room automatically shifted as a handful of her team walked in, did a quick check of the set-up and then signalled to those waiting outside.

A short woman holding three mobile phones looked towards me with a face that meant business. ‘Alex, thanks so much for coming all this way. The set-up looks great. Tilly is about two minutes away. She wants the chat to be as intimate as possible so it will just be you three, Tilly and one person from her team. You’ve got a strict fifteen minutes. All sound good?’

‘All sounds perfect. We’re looking forward to it.’

I winked at Tom, took my seat and revelled in the nervous energy that was coursing through my veins. It was my favourite feeling in the world.

The most important part of any interview is the first two minutes. That’s all the time you have to win an artist’s trust, so it’s in those initial two minutes that I would have to prove two crucial things. The first? That I’d done my research and was familiar with the music. The second? That I wasn’t going to ask dumb questions. Once an artist knows these two things, they relax into the chat and start to open up. And that’s when the fun begins.

Seconds later, Tilly appeared in chunky stilettos and an acid-green mini shift dress that looked like something Twiggy would have worn in the 1960s. She was the epitome of pop-star glam and I was instantly obsessed.

‘Alex! It’s so great to see you again, thanks for making the trip out from Sydney!’ she cooed as she leaned in for a hug before taking the seat opposite me.

I know with 100 per cent certainty that one of her team had, not two minutes ago, told her I’d flown in from Sydney, and I appreciated the effort on all parts to make it seem like she knew anything about me. This was classic Tilly Roy. She went the extra one per cent when she didn’t have to.

‘Well, it was this or stay home and help my aunt prune back her roses, so …’

She laughed wildly and heartily in a way that would have seemed insincere from anyone but her. ‘I’m sure that would have spared you the hangover you’re no doubt nursing after last night’s Finley Stark debauchery!’

I looked back at her with a mixture of laughter and shock. ‘How do you know about that?’

‘Finley texted me a video of you doing the worm at, like, 2 am and said to go easy on you.’

I put my head in my hands. ‘I’m gonna kill him!’

Tilly’s raucous laughter burst out again. I looked up at her, shaking my head with faux embarrassment. She reached over and patted my knee lovingly. ‘I love a woman who can party hard and then kick ass at work the next day.’

I flashed Leo a quick, triumphant look. He caught my eye quickly before shifting his focus to the ground, hiding a grin.

‘Well babe, it takes one to know one,’ I sang back, refocusing on Tilly. I took a deep breath and bent down to press the start button on my phone timer, letting everyone in the room know we were ready to kick it off. I gave Tilly a wink as I did so, and then sat up straight and dove in.

‘Well, the album is amazing, my friend, congratulations!’

And we were off …

When we finally made it back to the hotel, I collapsed back into bed and checked my phone.

Hello Ms York. How’s London? Leo said you absolutely nailed the big interview. Go girl! Sounds like you’re getting along better? Hmm? xx Goldie

I knew I had killed the interview. Tom knew I had killed the interview. Even Tilly’s team came back to thank me for killing the interview. But Leo had remained his usual calm, stoic self and not said a word, so Goldie’s text gave me a quiet sense of satisfaction.

Goldie! So happy to hear from you. Tilly made it easy … but yes, I nailed it! Leo isn’t as bad as we thought … you were right. London is still my favourite city on the planet. Big love Xx

Satisfied and happy, I grabbed the remote control and was surfing the room service menu when my phone buzzed again, presumably from Goldie. With one eye still on the menu, I looked down to see Leo’s name light up the screen in a group message with Tom and me.

Brilliant job today, team. Shall we head out for a bite to celebrate?

Tom already had tickets to Les Mis , and I didn’t want Leo to feel obliged to have dinner alone with me. I stared at my phone for a while, not knowing what to say. Tom messaged a second later.

Awww cute. Soz got cheap tix to see a show so I’m out. Don’t go anywhere expensive/chic without me! Have fun.

It would appear as though Tom had decided that we would be going out without him. Unless Leo was about to retract his offer, which would be even more awkward. Oh God. Why did it feel like everything was getting awkward?

A couple of minutes passed and neither myself nor Leo replied. It was like an SMS Mexican stand-off. In London. I decided that the best course of action was to make an excuse and let him off the hook. Only before I pressed send, another text came through. This one was from Leo, sent directly to me.

Shall we? Or are you planning another round of room service club sandwiches?

Was Leo Billings … serving up the banter? I honestly didn’t know he had it in him. I returned serve.

I prefer my club sandwiches at 3 am while stuck in a sequin mini dress and reeking of tequila.

Seconds later he replied.

Downstairs in ten?

Well, I supposed we were having dinner then.

Sounds good. But I’ll need twenty. Unlike you, I don’t wear the same thing every day.

And then Leo showed his age by replying with the thumbs-up emoji.

I exited the lobby elevator twenty minutes later wearing high-waisted black silk pants with a matching oversized blouse tucked in, a gold vintage Gucci belt, my McQueen boots and last night’s leather jacket, which was somehow still in pristine condition despite the bar-top dancing. Very moody and London-y, and as understated as I could muster—I didn’t want to look completely overdressed next to Leo in his uniform. Only this time, when I spotted him across the lobby, the uniform was nowhere to be seen. Leo Billings was wearing … proper trousers. Kind of. The denim jeans had been replaced by charcoal pants in what looked like some sort of very chic wool blend, secured on his hips with a mustard-coloured drawstring. On his top half he wore a black tee with a chunky grey sweater over the top. And on his feet were sneakers.

Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t know he had it in him. Leo Billings looked … cool.

‘Well, well, well,’ I mused in an exaggerated tone.

Leo looked embarrassed.

‘I do own other clothes, you know. I just don’t see the point in wasting time on a work day figuring out what to wear.’

‘Working out what to wear is literally the highlight of my day.’

‘Yes, well that’s obvious. You always look cool. Although I never want to see your credit card bill. I think it would give me a premature stroke.’

‘Says the guy with the Navitimer on his wrist! Don’t think I haven’t clocked that baby.’

‘This …’ Leo sighed happily, ‘… was a gift. Let’s walk, I know a place that’s not too far.’

He held out his left arm, ushering me to follow. Were we just going to skip over the fact that Leo said I always look cool? I concealed my grin as we stepped out into the crisp London air and made a right turn.

‘Does dinner mean I’m forgiven for last night’s antics?’ I goaded.

Leo let out a short ‘ha’, which didn’t really answer my question. He just continued to walk, as if there was a conversation happening in his mind that I wasn’t privy to.

We walked in silence for five minutes, until we reached a quaint and incredibly busy little Italian bistro with a long line of people out the front. I was grateful I’d worn boots instead of precarious heels that would have made the wait unbearable. Leo craned his head to peek inside.

‘Wait here for one second, I’ll be right back.’

And with that, he disappeared inside. I pulled out my phone only to see a message from Teddy. I’d completely forgotten that I’d even palmed him off.

I understand :( Enjoy your last night in London and come visit soon. You promised! x

‘Alex!’

I looked up as Leo poked his head out from inside the busy restaurant. I shuffled towards the entrance, somewhat self-consciously passing the lines of London’s beautiful people waiting patiently for a table. Leo held the door open for me, and I followed him inside, slightly bewildered. The smell of garlic made my tummy rumble. An old Italian man stood at the front desk with a head of curly grey hair, a bushy moustache and incredibly kind eyes. He looked positively delighted by Leo’s presence as he barked orders in Italian to the waitstaff, who scurried around busily. Seconds later, he was ushering us to a secluded corner table, where he continued to beam at Leo.

‘Marco, this is my work colleague, Alex, from Australia.’

‘ Buona sera , Alex, welcome!’ Marco took me in his arms for a bear hug before patting my cheeks gently. ‘ Che bella !’

He looked back at Leo joyously and repeated the cheek pat on him.

‘ Grazie , Marco!’ I replied, using up the entirety of my Italian vocabulary.

‘The pleasure is mine. A friend of Leo is welcome always. Sempre, sempre ! Sit down, I bring you drinks? Vino rosso for you, Leo, and for you, bella ?’

‘I’ll have a gin martini with cucumber, please, Marco!’ I said.

‘Of course! And I will choose the food. Happy?’ Marco clapped his hands gleefully and disappeared into the crowded restaurant.

‘I keep forgetting that you used to live here. Ten years is a long time.’

‘Sure is,’ Leo mused.

‘Was this your regular?’

‘It was Laney’s favourite. They have a strict no takeaway rule, which they broke when she was too sick to go out. Marco was very good to her.’

I felt a pang in my gut. It was still so hard for me to believe that he’d lost Laney just two years ago.

‘What was her go-to dish? If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘That’s easy. The lasagne. If I wanted even a spoonful, I’d have to order my own. Laney was generous to a fault but not with Marco’s lasagne. Even when the chemo took away her appetite … it was a sure thing.’

I could tell by the contentment on his face that he liked talking about her. It was the kind of nostalgic look that made every part of his face open up. It was the most human version of Leo I’d seen.

‘Did she work in radio too?’

‘Oh God, no.’ He laughed. ‘She was a paediatric nurse. The best in the world. She instilled a sense wonder and awe into the lives of sick six-year-olds, while I sold my soul to the fast-entertainment gods so I could make enough money to keep her alive and comfortable for as long as possible.’

I leaned forwards and rested a hand under my chin. ‘You’re lucky to have found your person.’

‘Yeah, well some people never have what we had. I just wish we had it longer,’ he replied, staring at the table. ‘So, what about you? Your aunt mentioned a break-up.’

The question was jarring and I was immediately embarrassed. Bloody Aunty May and her big mouth.

‘Oh my gosh, my ex does not deserve to be discussed in the same conversation or even on the same day as your wife. Yeah. No. He’s a nobody. He … yeah, he sucks.’

‘So I take it you’re not holding out hope for a reunion anytime soon?’

I screwed up my face and made a gagging sound. ‘Correct. I mean, for a while I was hoping for one. Obviously the whole … break-up hit me pretty hard. I mean, hard enough to make me quit my job and run away to a desert island. Which sounds pretty lame compared to what you’ve endured …’

Leo shrugged. ‘Pain is relative. I get it.’

‘That’s kind of you to say. I think I’m only just starting to get enough distance from the relationship to see that I never really had him. No matter what I achieved, what I did. No matter how delicious a meal I cooked or what holiday I planned. It was never enough. It’s almost like … keeping me on a string made him feel like he had power.’ I started to worry that I was oversharing but the interested look on Leo’s face told me he didn’t mind.

‘It sounds to me like maybe he was jealous of you.’

I’d never thought about it that way, but his words instantly made sense. I remembered a time I’d been nominated for a huge media award, and on the night of the ceremony he realised he’d double booked himself. I won that night but still cried in the taxi on the way home because he’d ditched me. My big night had been ruined. ‘I think maybe you’re right. It’s like the things that I thought he loved about me turned out to be the things that he resented. I dunno. Maybe he never actually loved me at all.’

Leo leaned back in his chair a little. ‘And were you? In love with him?’

I thought for a moment. ‘Maybe. Perhaps I was just too infatuated to see things clearly. In fact, the night he dumped me he was acting weird and … oh gosh this is super embarrassing to admit …’

Leo’s eyes widened. ‘Go on …’

‘I actually thought he was about to propose.’ I buried my face in my hands, stifling a fake, mortified scream.

I looked up as Leo mouthed the word ‘eek’.

‘Yeah. I don’t often read the room that badly.’ I chuckled.

Moments later a waitress appeared with our drinks. She passed Leo a glass of red wine, and handed me a perfect-looking gin martini with a twist of fresh cucumber. I held it up to Leo for a toast. We clinked glasses as I spoke.

‘I feel like I’m cheating on Malik ordering this here.’

Leo chuckled. ‘Speaking of Malik …’ He paused. ‘There’s a reason I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring that day.’

I took a long, dramatic sip of my martini and winced. ‘Go on.’

‘It was a test run. The first time and only time I’d ever taken it off. It’s why I bolted for my room so quickly. I think I lasted twenty minutes.’

Once again, all signs pointed towards me being the arsehole. Not him. I was getting hot and sweaty, trying to suppress tears that I had no business shedding. Certainly not in Leo’s presence at least. I took a big gulp. ‘My God, you absolutely do not need to explain a single thing. I feel like such an idiot for presuming what I did.’

His eyes were serious. ‘Please don’t apologise. I just wanted to explain. That’s all.’

I made a mental note to never presume anything about anyone ever again, knowing full well this was an impossible task.

He continued, ‘Wanna hear something weird? I don’t actually drink cucumber martinis. They were Laney’s favourite drink and I thought ordering one might help me through the shitty day. When I looked across and saw it was you of all people next to me at the bar, drinking the same thing, I knew Laney was up there somewhere, laughing. It actually cheered me right up.’

‘I’m sure my credit card getting declined was the icing on the cake!’

He guffawed as I buried my head in my hands, reliving the mortification all over again.

Conversation flowed freely for the next half an hour as we gorged on fresh burrata, prosciutto, the best focaccia of my life and melt-in-your-mouth octopus. I told him exactly how I came to live with May and Billy, and stories from the island (some sanitised for my own self-respect). He asked questions about my shopping addiction and looked like he was about to genuinely have a heart attack when, three martinis later, I filled him in on my most lavish purchases.

‘So you’re telling me you’ve never seen a financial planner? An accountant? No one is across your spending?’ he asked incredulously.

I pretended to fall asleep. He laughed heartily into his wine glass.

‘I know, I know. It’s bad.’ I sighed. ‘And I know there’s only so long I can continue this whole go shopping every time I feel any sort of negative emotion thing. But hey, sometimes I do yoga instead!’

‘Well Alex, it’s your life. It’s your money. You can do what you want with it. I’d just recommend you at least know when you’ve hit your credit limit so your card doesn’t get declined in front of a stranger who turns out to be your boss …’

I rolled my eyes sarcastically. ‘Hey, if I remember correctly you told me that I was the real boss in this relationship …’

‘I did say that. You’re absolutely right.’ Leo chuckled.

It was hard to believe this was the same man that just one week ago I’d found so irritating. In this light, Leo was easily someone I could see myself being actual friends with.

He leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hands. ‘Part of me envies you, you know …’

‘Me? Why?’ I asked, shocked.

‘Because you can be … reckless. I don’t have a reckless bone in my body. I’ve always done the responsible thing, even before Laney got sick and I had to be … properly responsible. I mean, following her to London was pretty crazy, but soon enough I got a job and committed to it, worked my way up and stayed there. For eight years.’

‘But you loved it, right?’

‘Not like you love it,’ he replied warmly.

‘So what would you do, if you could do anything?’ I asked.

Before he could reply, we were interrupted by Marco appearing alongside our waitress, who was carrying a large tray laden with plates. One by one, he filled the table with dishes, each more amazing than the last, leaving space in the middle of the table for one final plate. Slowly he lowered onto the table the lasagne of my dreams. Gooey and crispy and melty. I looked at Marco, whose eyes were wet. He grabbed Leo’s hand and squeezed as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

‘ Grazie , Marco.’

‘ Buon apetito, amico mio. ’ He winked, patting Leo’s shoulder, then made his way back to the kitchen.

Leo stared at the plate of lasagne, his face wistful but at peace.

I shuffled in my seat. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I am.’ He raised his eyes to mine. ‘I just hope you’re ready to be ruined for all other lasagnes.’

The lasagne really was the best I had ever had. As was the course that followed. As was the tiramisu. When we finally made it back to the hotel, I wanted nothing more than to unzip my pants and lie on the ground unhindered, basking in the glory of my carb coma. Leo walked me to my hotel room door, animatedly regaling me with stories of the good old days working with Goldie. He told me how, all those years later, she and Joanie had flown to the UK to attend Laney’s funeral in person, filling the church with thousands of pink peonies. Soon after, the hospital ward Laney worked at received a hefty donation in her name, courtesy of Joanie’s foundation.

I swiped my key and walked in, holding the door open for him. ‘You may as well come in for a second and see what ￡1000 a night will get you in central London.’

Leo followed me into the room and raised his eyebrows as he looked around. ‘Friends in high places, hey? Are you ever going to tell me who this mystery benefactor is?’

‘Oh, it’s no secret. That would be Finley. He’s too generous for his own good.’

Leo hesitated for a moment. ‘So. You two …’

I furrowed my brow, confused. ‘Us two?’

‘You two … um. Are you …?’ Leo stumbled.

‘Are we?’

‘Come on, Alex, are you really going to make me ask?’

And that’s when the penny dropped. ‘Oh, I’m gonna make you ask all right. Please proceed with your line of questioning.’

Leo leaned against the back of the Chesterfield in the lounge room and looked at me as I sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Are you and Finley … more than friends?’

I crossed my arms dramatically as I stared back at him. ‘You do know that these days you don’t have to be more than friends to fuck, right?’

Startled, Leo looked at the ground and made an awkward chuckling sound. It was clear I’d really flustered him.

I continued, ‘But in this case, we are most definitely just friends. He’s like a brother. A very, very generous and very, very rich brother. In fact, he organised the same room for Tom. One big happy family. Nothing debaucherous going on, sorry to disappoint you.’

As I spoke, I noticed the suite had been made up by housekeeping while we were out at dinner. The bed was pristine, and one corner of the duvet had been folded back into a triangle shape with two chocolates on the pillow. I casually popped one in my mouth and chucked the other one towards Leo.

‘Sorry for asking. I should have known you two weren’t dating. I don’t think you’d date someone like him.’

‘Like him?’

He popped the chocolate in his mouth. ‘Famous.’

‘What, you don’t think someone famous would date me?’

‘No, that’s not what I said. I don’t think you would date someone famous.’

I sat back on the bed, intrigued. ‘Why is that?’

‘You care too much about your reputation. Your credibility. I can’t imagine you’d do anything to give people reason to doubt it.’

I stared at Leo. He was absolutely right. I may occasionally party with famous types, but I took my work far too seriously to ever date one.

‘Yep. Maybe I care too much. Who knows. My best friend Vanessa always says that she should have had my job because she would have done it justice in the old “sleeping with pop stars” department. I’ve just never even been tempted.’

‘Well, I’m sure many have tried. You’re Alex York, for goodness sake.’ The words tumbled out of his mouth, and even he looked surprised by them. ‘I mean, if you can charm Tilly Roy as well as you did today, I’m sure you can charm anyone.’

‘Oh, so you think I did a good job, hey? I was hoping to get some feedback,’ I teased.

‘Oh, come on.’ Leo rolled his eyes. ‘You know you were brilliant.’

A kick of adrenaline surprised me; I was about to blush, which would be mortifying for both of us. I gave him a sarcastic look and wandered into the walk-in wardrobe.

‘Take a seat,’ I called out. ‘That Chesterfield is as comfortable as it looks. I’m just gonna get my comfy socks on!’

I took a couple of moments to compose myself, then pulled my boots off and slid the warm fluffy socks on. A minute later I returned to the lounge room to find Leo sitting on the couch with his eyes closed and his head resting on the soft brown leather headrest.

Tom had been right when he’d said that Leo was my type. Physically speaking, he was absolutely my type, with a quiet masculinity that wasn’t obvious at first. If I was completely honest, I’d known he was my type the second I laid eyes on him at the bar. The fact that he had zero ego when it came to how good-looking he was made him even more attractive.

I sat on the ottoman opposite him. His eyes were still closed. I looked at his clothes. Strangely enough, I missed his uniform. There was something comforting about it. Like I always got what I expected. No surprises. And while he could be as straight as an arrow and unwavering in his need to put business first, it made me feel like everything was going to be okay. Predictable. Safe.

He stretched and opened his eyes again, catching me staring directly at him. I held his gaze in silence for a moment and said nothing. I wondered who would speak first. But neither of us did. I smiled at him slowly. Kindly. Calmly. Because that was exactly the thing: I didn’t feel awkward or embarrassed or like I needed to fill this silence. I was happy and content to just be. Be here. Staring at Leo. Saying nothing.

His honey-coloured eyes were on fire all of a sudden. And they were staring directly back at me. Through me. I wanted so desperately to reach out and touch him. To let him know that I wasn’t scared. That I wanted to be here with him. That I wanted him to see me and to know me and I wanted so much to know him.

And then he stood up. Holding my gaze, he took a slow, deep breath and let his arms fall, moving towards me until he was just centimetres away.

He reached out his hand and ever so gently brushed it against mine. The contact lasted only a moment. It was utterly electrifying.

‘Goodnight, Alex. I had a wonderful dinner.’

And before I could reply, he moved past me and was gone.

Alex York, 11:05 pm: Are you up? I need to talk!

Alex York, 11:07 pm: Helllooooo?

The next day was our last one in London and I spent the hours between 6 and am lying in my stupidly large and stupidly comfortable hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Bon Iver in an attempt to settle my mind as it raced between two possible scenarios. The first was that I’d imagined whatever the hell had happened last night, that Leo never actually looked at me like he wanted to rip my clothes off, and I never actually for a moment maybe wanted him to. The second was that I hadn’t imagined any of it. I wasn’t sure which scenario was preferable, given the fact that up until three days ago I kind of hated the guy. Then there was the complicated working relationship situation. And the fact that he was a grieving widower.

I wondered how long someone had to be a ‘grieving’ widower before they could just become a ‘widower’. I started googling it on my phone before realising how utterly insane I was being and burying my head under one of the fourteen pillows that surrounded me. This was certainly not a situation I’d been in before. In fact, I wasn’t sure I was even in a situation. Maybe I was just being dramatic (so unlike me, I know). I decided that the only option was to send Leo a friendly message that let him know I certainly wasn’t spiralling about whatever did or didn’t happen last night. I pulled out my phone and started typing out the kind of nonchalant message that someone would send to a work colleague after a perfectly aboveboard and not confusing or emotionally charged evening.

Morning! Dinner was great thanks for the invite. Regretting not shoving some tiramisu into my handbag … How’d you pull up today? Ready to fly?

There. Yep. I was happy with that. I pressed send, stretched out and rolled over on the bed, opening up Instagram and preparing myself for a solid block of mindless scrolling.

I was less relaxed an hour later when I still hadn’t received a reply. Eventually my phone dinged, interrupting my brain’s fourteenth go around the ‘grieving widower slash boss’ hamster wheel and snapping me back to reality. It was a message in the group thread from Tom.

How was dinner, kids? Anyone around for breakfast?

At what point did he decide that communication would now happen in the group thread? In what universe did Tom include Leo in our social plans? I was pretty well convinced at this point that Leo had ignored my earlier text, which meant he certainly wasn’t going to reply to Tom in the group thread. I picked up the phone, called Tom direct and told him to put on the most chic daytime outfit he’d packed. I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend my final morning in London in an emotional shame spiral.

An hour or so later, the two of us were perched at the caviar bar in Harrods with a bottle of Veuve on ice, nibbling away at two dozen rock oysters, Prunier caviar and a lobster roll that I simply couldn’t not order. Whatever feelings of confusion or self-loathing I’d had earlier that morning had disappeared as I let the incredibly overpriced champagne soften my edges and the zingy oysters bring me back to life. Once Tom had taken sufficient photos for the ’gram and topped up our champagne glasses, he leaned in, narrowed his eyes in my direction and began the interrogation.

‘So, last night. Tell me everything. Was it awkward? What did you guys even talk about?’

I knocked back another oyster, followed it with a swig of champagne and leaned back in the most relaxed fashion I could muster on a bar stool.

‘It was fine! Nothing awkward but nothing special to report. We had dinner at an Italian bistro around the corner and then came home.’

I certainly was not going to tell Tom about the ‘moment’ in my room afterwards. In fact, I wasn’t going to tell him that Leo even set foot inside my room, otherwise he would soon be joining me in the spiral and we’d lose the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours trying to figure out what had actually happened. Whiteboards would probably be involved. He might even have called Toulla, his very expensive but eerily spot-on psychic from Western Sydney.

‘So, no goss at all? Nothing? You just had dinner and then came home?’

I nodded as I took another sip. ‘Yep.’

Tom sighed. ‘He really is boring, isn’t he? I’m kinda glad he never wrote back in the group chat; I only involved him in breakfast plans because it’s our last day and I felt bad for ditching you guys last night.’

And then, in some sort of spooky coincidence, both of our phones dinged. Tom flipped his over and swiped across to unlock it, revealing a message from Leo in the thread.

Sorry Tom, catching up with some friends before we leave. I’ll see you at the airport.

I took my phone out, hoping he’d written back to my message too, but there was nothing. Not even three dots to let me know he was typing.

Leo Billings had left me on read. Ugh.

I called for the waiter and ordered the bill, tapped my card without even looking at the total (the Veuve alone was 135 quid, I didn’t need to know how much the rest of it cost), and we both finished off the last of our champagne. I grabbed Tom’s hand and gave him my most devilish grin.

‘So, it’s our last day in London. We’re at one of the best luxury shopping destinations on the planet, we’ve just smashed a bottle of French champagne, and I’m probably never going to earn as much money as I’m currently earning ever again. Let’s go spend the last of my savings on some insanely overpriced shit.’

Tom closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross, blew a kiss to the sky and, with a shriek, we were skipping arm in arm in the direction of the handbags.

After a pleading call to the hotel to extend our check-out time even further, three dizzy hours later, an Uber dropped us back at the hotel lobby with enough shopping bags to put an Arab oil magnate’s long-suffering wife to shame. I had shopped like I’d never shopped before. I was unabashed, I was free. I was fearless and shameless and I justified it all by the exorbitantly large monthly pay cheque that would soon land in my bank account. I knew that buying pretty things wouldn’t always fix life’s hiccups, but the shopping-induced adrenaline had now replaced the Leo-induced confusion and I’d momentarily been able to forget the fact that he still hadn’t bothered to respond to my text. That was, until I spotted him sitting at the hotel bar writing in his Moleskine note book as we gleefully traipsed through the lobby.

His eyes caught mine the second I spotted him, before darting back to his notebook. My first instinct was to simply keep walking, but instead I strode in his direction, with Tom scurrying quickly behind.

‘Hi Leo!’ I chirped as he looked up, feigning surprise.

‘Hi, you two,’ he replied, his eyebrows raising as he eyed the dozen or so shopping bags at my feet. I remembered that last night I’d confided to him that I shop when I’m sad or upset, and felt very exposed all of a sudden.

‘You know … the right limited edition Chanel handbag appreciates at a greater rate than most houses in Sydney,’ I quipped, despite the fact that he hadn’t said a thing about the shopping bags.

‘So you … bought a limited edition Chanel handbag?’

‘Oh God, no, I’m not sixty years old, I don’t use Chanel handbags.’

‘Ew,’ Tom whispered under his breath in solidarity.

‘Oh, by the way. Sorry I didn’t write back to your text; I was … on the tube when it came through and lost reception.’ His response was stiff and awkward. Tom looked sideways at me. I didn’t let my expression drop for a moment.

‘Oh, I forgot I’d even sent that! No stress. Anyway, we’ll leave you in peace. I know you’ve got plans.’

Leo stared back at me blankly.

I pressed on confidently. ‘With some friends? Which is why you’re going to meet us at the airport?’

Leo shifted awkwardly in his seat, looking over my shoulder as he replied. ‘Oh right. Yep. Yeah, of course. I do, yeah.’

Oh my goodness. He had totally lied about having friends to catch up with. It was obvious that he just didn’t want to see me today. I felt as if someone had kicked me in the gut. I became hot and sweaty as I frantically searched for the name of the emotion I was feeling.

It didn’t take long to hit the nail on the head.

Rejection.

At this point my cheeks had begun to hurt from the forced smile, so in one polite but swift movement I said goodbye and quickly made a beeline for the hotel lifts, Tom trailing close behind. Once the doors closed behind us, he spun around, dropped his shopping bags and put his hands on his hips.

‘What the hell happened with you two last night?’