Nudge 6 The Agreement
The Agreement
‘Ihate him,’ I cry out as I throw my back against the mattress. ‘Tell me I don’t have to go in tomorrow.’
‘If I tell you that, will you get off my stuff?’ Anton asks, roughly tugging his hoodie out from underneath me.
Evie got pulled away on a shoot with Fenty, so she pushed our meeting back by a week. I nearly cried with relief when I heard; it’s hard meeting deadlines when you’re tied to a lead balloon.
I worked with Aiden on a fair number of occasions over our fourteen years at school together.
I have not, however, worked with Aiden in a situation where my job and future are on the line.
Turns out that comes with a whole lot more frustration and a week’s worth of headaches and stress screams to anyone who will listen.
That includes Anton, who is enduring the latest one as he packs to go back to uni.
‘And everyone loves him. Gus and Pippa can’t stop sucking up to him when he’s there and gushing over how amazing he is every time that he leaves.’ I can hear the whine in my voice.
‘That tracks. I was only at Winterdown at the same time as you for a year, and I still heard about him my whole time there. That man was a legend. But I don’t get why you still care. That was, like, fifty years ago for you now anyway.’
He ducks, effortlessly dodging the T-shirt I throw in retaliation. It flies past his shoulder and dips to the floor to land perfectly in a crumpled heap in his suitcase.
‘Thank you,’ he says, smirking as I scowl back at him. ‘Seriously, though. You’re obsessive, but you’re not “hold a decade-long grudge” obsessive. There’s no way this is still over beef you had at school.’
Flickers of memories slice through me, packed full of biting comments, fragmented eye rolls and frustrated sighs.
Alone, each one would have been fine – forgettable, even, but they went on for years, spanned decades and haunted me for so long after.
Perhaps things would have been different, perhaps I would have forgotten it all if not for the trauma of our last interaction.
But that last time . . . I can’t. I feel my stomach curl into a tight, fixed knot.
‘It’s not about school,’ I say.
‘When have you seen him since? There’s no way you two run in the same circles. He’s too cool for that.’ Anton tuts.
‘Are you calling me uncool?’
‘Was there a world where you ever believed you were cool?’ he says, deadpan.
I get him this time, triumphantly watching him flinch as a pair of jeans hit him square in the face. I’d like to chalk it up to my fantastic aim, but I know he let me have it.
‘D’you know he was responsible for my first taste of failure?
’ I shift my focus to a far less traumatic interaction.
‘End of Year Three. Mrs May took me to the side and said “it was such a shame that I couldn’t change his behaviour” while sitting next to him.
’ She may as well have slapped on handcuffs and sent me to prison.
‘I cried all evening. Mum and Dad didn’t know what to do. ’
‘You know that’s pathetic, right?’ Anton asks.
I sigh, sinking further into his duvet. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’
‘We both know that’s not true,’ he scoffs. ‘You’ve never met a challenge that you can’t make the best of. It’s really annoying.’
I turn to look at him, sat unassumingly on his floor as he folds his clothes without a care in the world.
‘That was almost nice.’
He grunts as he zips up his case. ‘Don’t get used to it.’
But the words stick with me past the hug goodbye the next day and carry me all the way to my next session with Aiden.
I have always managed to make the best of a challenging situation and Aiden is just that – another challenge.
When I enter the Abbingtorn building I am, above all else, a professional working individual.
And I should be able to stay that way even around the likes of Aiden Edwards.
I let his little comments roll off me, his blank face fade into the wall and every little grating moment dissipate around me. That is, however, until Raina’s message hits the group chat.
HE DID IT!
The words are bold and bright underneath a picture of a dazzling diamond ring.
It’s immediately followed by a slew of non-stop OMGs and FINALLYs from Devi and Kimi.
I join in, of course, sending a garbled string of capitalised letters and liking their messages about planning the hen, but I can feel my face grow cold and the air draw sharply from my lungs.
She’s engaged. Getting married. Married. At my age.
‘You look rough as hell,’ Aiden says. ‘You need to start taking your lunch break.’
‘I’m fine,’ I mutter, eyes still glued to my screen and that ring.
‘Cool, well, I’m gonna head off then.’
Not only did Raina’s news throw me for a loop, but it helped me finally succeed in forgetting Aiden’s existence. So much so that I didn’t notice him pack up his bag, ready to abandon me and our half-finished pitch deck.
I glance down at my watch. ‘It’s only four-thirty.’
‘And we never took a lunch break. I’m owed an hour. You should feel lucky I’m only taking thirty minutes.’
I stare at him in disbelief. ‘But we’re not even close to being done.’
‘That’s a problem for tomorrow morning, when I’m back on the clock.’ He swings his backpack onto his shoulder.
I’ve always known he was unserious, but I didn’t think that even he would be so stupid as to leave something that last minute at the expense of ‘owed time’.
He wants to continue tomorrow morning. The same morning in which we are presenting to Evie at eleven o’clock.
My brain fizzes and splutters, breaking down as a result of his sheer idiocy.
I take a pause, take a breath and swallow my rage as Anton’s words echo in my head. I can be professional, understanding, face this challenge head on. Even at the limits he’s pushing me to.
‘Have you got plans tonight?’ I ask, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
‘Nope,’ he replies, plain and simple, as he heads for the door.
‘Then why would you need to—’
‘I told you – we worked through lunch. Our paid time was done thirty minutes ago. You should be leaving too.’
‘There’s still so much to do.’
‘Whatever, see you tomorrow.’
I know that he’s smarter than this. We’ve made progress for sure, but not Evie-ready progress.
The script and mood-board accents are still things of fiction, and neither of us has even started proofreading the binder.
Leaving it all for the two hours we have tomorrow morning is a sure-fire way to guarantee that this whole thing crashes and burns.
The fact he even suggested it makes me question how he got all the way to being a talent manager in the first place.
‘You’ve never stayed late a day in your life, have you?’ I tut.
‘I’ve probably done it more times than you’ve chilled out,’ he retorts.
‘I know how to chill,’ I reply, rolling my eyes.
I’m just also aware that there’s a time and a place, and work is not one of them. Especially the day before a presentation like this. A presentation I’d happily stay all night to finish if it meant it went well.
‘I beg to differ.’ He chuckles. It’s extremely grating. I feel my blood simmer, flames crawling up my body.
I don’t know who I offended to get this level of karma, but somehow my friends are killing their careers, buying property and now getting married, while my chance at making it past assistant level hinges on a guy who hates my guts.
And if that weren’t enough, if the odds weren’t already unfair, he also thinks he deserves to leave early the day before I face the most pivotal moment of my career so far.
I lunge for the door at lightning speed, barricading it with my body before he can reach it.
‘We’re not done yet,’ I say, my jaw clenched.
‘Are you serious?’ he asks, one eyebrow raised.
We are face to face, one step away from our chests touching as he stares, flummoxed, at the new five-foot-six obstacle in his way. But I’m not moving. I stay still, rooted to the spot, my fist squeezed around my ballpoint pen.
‘We’re not leaving until we at least finish the presentation content,’ I say as calmly as I can.
He makes a play for it – arm brushing ever so slightly against my waist as he reaches for the one thing that could make his escape.
But I’m faster, more agile and way closer to it.
I grip the door handle tightly before he has the chance.
His hand clasps over mine, palm warm to the touch but eyes cold and angry.
‘We’ll finish it in the morning,’
His voice is low and gruff, his breath close enough to tickle my face as he speaks.
He hasn’t moved his hand. It stays pressed on top of mine over the metal handle, resolute.
He means business. It’s time to show I do too.
I puff out my chest and feign intimidation, the buttons of my dress brushing his T-shirt in the process.
‘This isn’t school, Aiden – you can’t just do things half-arsed and still expect to come out on top.’ I point my pen angrily at his chest. ‘They don’t think I can do this as it is, and I am not giving Pippa Shaw the chance to take this away from me.’
I stand my ground, rigid with indignation and the sheer resolution to see this through. Looking at him now, it’s clear that his grip on the handle has brought him lower. If I turned, my nose would graze against his. But he still doesn’t move, so neither do I. No matter how close we seem to be.
‘What would you prefer? That I be more like you and plan every breath and second of my life?’ he asks.