Nudge 8 The Comment
The Comment
‘Apanic attack?’ Raina asks.
‘A panic attack,’ I say over the café chatter around me. ‘My first one in years, right there, on the floor of the boardroom.’
She nods sympathetically. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine, it was fine.’ I shrug it off quickly. ‘What’s important is that Aiden Edwards has now seen me cry. And not just cry – ugly cry. While shaking uncontrollably. I’m never going to be able to live that down.’
‘I doubt he’ll bring it up. And, honestly? If he does, he’s a dick,’ Raina says.
‘A bigger dick than we already know he is!’ Kimi adds.
Raina frowns. ‘Let’s not be too harsh – he did just help her through a panic attack.’
‘Was he supposed to stand there and let her rot? That was the bare minimum. And let’s not forget that he kind of caused it,’ Kimi tuts.
Raina and Kimi, diamonds that they are, jumped to action the second I sounded sirens in the group chat.
They nodded patiently over a crackly FaceTime as I spurted out the shaky series of events, masking their shock and worry to the best of their abilities.
I am eternally grateful for the urgent response, but that has not stopped the ever-quickening beat of my heart.
‘He didn’t cause it. It wasn’t about what he said, I just . . .’ I trail off. I can’t do this. ‘This is mortifying,’ I groan.
Another person brushes past me on the way to pick up their drink, but I hardly register the feeling. My mind’s still in the boardroom, between Aiden’s arms as he coaxes me through the worst moment I’ve had in years.
‘He won’t mention it. No decent person would mention it,’ Raina says.
Kimi shrugs. ‘But he’s not a decent—’
‘Drop it for two minutes, Kimi! We don’t need petty, we need reason. And reason stands, he won’t talk.’ Raina’s voice is firm. ‘It’s all going to be OK, Mads – I promise. Now wipe your face off, get a falafel wrap and go back inside.’
And I know that she’s right. Aiden is many things, but I don’t believe he’d be one to lord that kind of thing over me.
I keep her words with me all weekend, soothing my thoughts every time they get a little too frantic.
I take them as far as they’ll go, all the way to work on Monday morning.
He wouldn’t talk about it, he’s not that guy.
But then my desk phone rings the second I sit down, his name flashing across the screen, and I can feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach.
‘Good morning, Aiden.’
There’s a small shake in my voice as I deliver the greeting, but not enough to pick up on if you didn’t care to. And he doesn’t care, I remind myself. He’s probably already forgotten Friday happened.
‘Checked your emails yet?’ he asks.
‘I just got in.’
‘Nice, so I get to hear your live reaction.’
There’s a slight teasing to his words that makes my stomach flip over and my breath catch under the weight of them. I crook the phone between my ear and neck as I frantically log in, my pulse pounding so hard it could solo on drums.
Friday got pretty heated and my episode gave him the perfect means of revenge.
What if he emailed Evie and told her that it was too much for me – that I can’t handle overseeing something so big?
And the sicko has chosen to stay on the line so he can hear me cry about it in real time.
I should have expected nothing less. Raina was wrong and she owes me apology brownies.
‘Oh, my God,’ I gasp, as my screen jolts to life.
‘Welcome to Evie-land.’ Aiden is clearly amused.
When Evie said she was going to start riding us hard, she was severely underplaying it.
My inbox sits at 147 from the weekend alone, more pinging in each second that I stay on the phone.
The subjects range massively from What about?
and Idea! to slews of random calendar invites.
She must have phoned in favours with every connection she has, because suddenly I’m booked in for site visits, canapé tastings and flower-arranging classes.
‘Is she always like this?’ I ask, speed-scanning my screen.
‘Pretty much. Evie’s very much “strike first, think later”.’ He chuckles. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll soon learn to filter through the garbage to get to the gold.’
‘And how much of this would you say is gold?’ I ask, frantically rummaging around in my drawer for my rough notebook.
‘So far? I’d say about fourteen per cent. But I’ve only read as far as Saturday, two p.m., so I’ve still got like eighty emails to go.’
I don’t know how he deals with this all the time – the sheer volume is making me feel sick to my stomach. I don’t even think these can go straight into the notebook. It’s a print, highlight and filter kind of job.
‘Your head must be gone. Get the notebooks out,’ he says. There’s no malice to be found in his words, even a hint of a smile creeping through in his voice. He’s choosing the high road and, in turn, a second chance at our partnership – panic attack and heated arguments a thing of the past.
‘Not at all.’ I’m lying through my teeth.
If he can be a new person this Monday, then so can I.
‘It’s a lot, yeah, but obviously just part of the job. I’m pretty good at going with the flow,’ I say as breezily as I can.
‘No one relaxed actually uses the phrase “go with the flow”.’
‘Sorry, can’t hear you, too lost in the flow. Please try again later.’
It’s a dorky joke and I regret it the second I finish, but his laugh is instant. He tries to hide his chuckle as it leaves his mouth, muffling it with a sleeve or something, but I can still hear it clear as day over the line, permeating through the speaker and soothing my stampeding stomach.
‘It’s not all bad. Did you get to Sunday, 3.12 p.m., yet?’ he asks.
I quickly scroll through and click on the email in question. It’s another calendar invite, this Friday at 9.30 p.m., with WILL PAY OVERTIME written alongside the subject.
I read out loud. ‘Cocktail tasting.’
‘At the La La Lounge, yeah. Evie’s friend’s the owner, designs her bespoke cocktails each year. It’s proper fancy,’ he says.
‘Like black-tie fancy?’ I ask.
He laughs again. If it wasn’t clear before that I don’t get out much, it certainly is now.
‘Every time I’ve gone, men wear shirts and jeans, but all the women have been in high heels and tiny dresses.’
I huff. ‘Lovely.’
‘I’m not complaining,’ he replies.
And once again I am reminded of just who I am dealing with: the boy who was such an inexplicable hit with every girl we went to school with. They would swoon over him and whisper about him in the hallways. He was a natural-born flirt. Except when, of course, he sat next to me.
‘You still there?’ he asks, filling the silence I’ve left.
I lie quickly. ‘Yeah, sorry. Just reading through. Shall we make notes and exchange them on Wednesday?’
‘Sure, but we might have to do it over email. Evie wants to steal you our first day this week.’
‘Steal me? Alone?’ My voice is higher than I’d like.
‘Yeah. Can you make it? I’ll send you timings once she gets back to me.’
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘So you know when to show up . . .’
‘Aiden . . .’ I plead with him, too stressed to waste time rolling my eyes.
‘Look, I don’t know – she just told me to get you here Wednesday. I didn’t care enough to ask any more.’
It makes complete sense for him – why would he bother asking a question? God forbid I’d want any info or to prepare.
‘Shall I tell her you’re a yes?’ he asks, already obviously bored.
‘Of course, I’m a yes.’
Who would say no to Evie Eesuola?
‘Calm, I’ll let her know. See ya, Maddy.’
‘No one calls me that.’
‘Good. Makes me special.’
And with that he hangs up, leaving me with nothing to work with other than the fact that Evie ‘wants to see me’ alone on Wednesday.
Why Evie, blazing star and business baddie, would want to spend time alone with me is baffling, especially when she made such a point of insisting Aiden ran this event with me.
I know it can’t possibly be bad – I’ve been killing this project so far and one workday ago she literally offered me a bonus.
But that was over forty-eight hours ago, which is more than enough time for something to have gone wrong, or, more importantly, someone to have made them go wrong for me.
‘Who was that?’ one of the main suspects asks, concern as fake as her morning smile.
Pippa strolls into the office, breezy as ever. I check my watch: 10.24.
‘Just Aiden. We have some details to lay out for Evie,’ I reply. ‘She wants to see me on Wednesday.’
‘Oh, really? Do tell!’ She plops down in her seat.
After Pippa realised that her cold shoulder was proving futile, she pivoted to subtler and far more disingenuous tactics.
It has been nothing but wide smiles and gentle prods into my work, all in the name of ‘genuine interest’.
The sickly sweetness emanating from her could tar the walls of our office, and I can see it makes Gus’s skin crawl almost as much as mine.
I have a sweepstake going with the FGA on how long she’ll keep it up for, and I was convinced Evie’s bonus would be the thing to break her.
But, surprisingly, here she still is, faux excitement in tow as she tries to hide the fact this whole thing is killing her inside.
‘She’s just sent us some meetings and tester appointments – different suppliers, contacts, all that jazz.’
The vaguer I can be the better, because the last thing I need is her weaselling her way into places she’s not needed. Regardless, she scurries to peer over my shoulder at my open calendar.
‘Cocktail tasting? Do you even know your mojito from your margarita?’ she asks, masquerading her insult as a joke. ‘I’d be happy to come for a second opinion!’
‘Aiden and I have got it covered, plus Evie only booked for two. By the sounds of it, this place is pretty fancy,’ I say.
She peers closely at my screen. ‘The La La Lounge. My friends and I almost went the other week.’
Pippa twirls her hair a specific way every time she lies, wrapping it around two of her fingers, twice to the right and then unfurling. It’s a tell I’ve picked up over the years and you’d be surprised at how often it comes up.
‘Oh, cool. I’m excited,’ I lie in return, only to be met by a near-silent chuckle from Gus.
He swallows it almost immediately, eyes darting bashfully between me and his blank computer screen. He knows that I heard it, but he’s praying I won’t bring it up. Unfortunately for him, I have a little fire under my belt this morning.
‘You all right, Gus?’ I ask, the question startling him ever so slightly.
‘It’s nothing, don’t worry.’ He is typing suspiciously fast and likely fake notes on his screen.
We’ve never had an issue because we keep our relationship as base level as we possibly can.
It’s all ambiguous descriptions of our weekend and what we’re having for dinner – it never stretches further and it does not need to.
He does not care to know about me or my life or my extra-curriculars, and I afford him the same privilege.
He turns a blind eye to my afternoon coffee run, and I don’t comment on him buying Funko POP!
s on eBay during work hours. Which is why his little giggle is so confusing and deeply out of pocket.
‘You scoffed,’ I say, refusing to drop it.
‘It was hardly a scoff.’ He is still avoiding my gaze.
‘Should I not be excited for the La La Lounge?’ I press on.
‘It’s not that. It’s just . . .’
He’s desperately hoping I’ll back off, eyes frantic as he searches for the best way out. But there is none. I stare back, being as strong as I can, making it as clear as day that this will not be dropped until he answers me.
‘I just can’t imagine you there,’ he mumbles after what feels like a lifetime.
‘Meaning what?’ I ask, continuing to stare him down.
That I’m not hot enough?
Don’t wear short enough skirts?
Don’t own enough designer?
‘You know . . . You’re just a little . . .’ He looks to Pippa for backup.
‘Go on.’ I dare him to answer, bringing focus back to me.
‘Predictable.’ He winces, clearly deeply uncomfortable.
A small giggle quickly escapes Pippa’s mouth. She catches it between her perfectly puckered lips, trapping it there with a dignified smirk, but I already heard it. I know that she’s loving this. I grit my teeth to distract from the sudden wash of shame.
‘It’s not a bad thing! It’s just . . . The people there are usually a little wild,’ Gus continues.
He’s desperately trying to claw himself out of this hole, but it’s too late.
‘I can be wild,’ I say.
But it’s to no avail; neither Gus nor Pippa can contain themselves this time.
‘The world needs people like you to balance out people like us.’ Pippa is blatantly trying to hold in a laugh.
‘People like me?’ I repeat, as they try to straighten their faces.
‘The sensible ones, that keep the rest of us in check.’ She flicks her hair. ‘Not everyone can be a go-getter. Some people need to sit on the sidelines and make sure the rest of us don’t go too wild. And you are fab at it.’
‘I’m not . . .’ I don’t even know what to say.
Pippa coos. ‘Don’t take it personally, babe. We all have our things and yours is being exactly what you’d expect.’
She has a really great talent for taking a seemingly harmless statement and delivering it in the most bludgeoning way possible. I’d respect the craft of it if I respected her in any way at all.
I turn back to my computer, typing furious and nonsensical words into a blank email before succumbing to my anger and dropping it entirely. I can’t focus. I’m too sick and tired of people making assumptions when they only see a rundown fragment of who I actually am.
So, I do what I do best. I reach into my bag, practically snatching my list book from its place and smoothing down the crease before getting to work.
To-Do List
Find an outfit for the La La Lounge.
Google ways to be unpredictable to colleagues.
Find out if IT can block eBay on work computers, specifically Gus’s PC.