Chapter 28
Rachel
One night close to Christmas, I am with work colleagues in a bar for our company Christmas party.
As I settle in for my second drink, I notice Lawrence Carmichael approaching me. He is wearing a Santa hat, a sprig of mistletoe protruding from his pocket.
I know only two things about Lawrence. First, he is on the bank’s executive team, and second, he has a reputation.
I hear his name mentioned a lot in passing, like a rumour. We’ve been in a couple of meetings together before, and it’s true he has a kind of stop-talking charisma, the kind I’d usually associate with famous people, or criminals.
He takes the empty seat next to me and swigs from his cocktail glass, staring straight ahead as if we’re strangers on a train platform.
He is crisply dressed, and there is a certain sharpness to his profile.
He is not dissimilar to Josh in appearance, except he maybe has more of an edge – Santa hat aside, obviously.
‘What are you drinking?’ he asks eventually.
I raise my glass, though it’s obvious and I assume he’s just breaking the ice. ‘Snowball.’
‘Very retro. Feeling festive?’
I raise an eyebrow, nod down at the mistletoe. ‘You do know I work in HR?’
He shoots me a smile, and I feel it ripple through me. The dark scent of his cologne bites as he inclines his head. ‘Hate to disappoint . . . but the mistletoe isn’t actually for you.’
I try to laugh it off. ‘Just checking.’
‘I mean, don’t get me wrong: it absolutely can be.’
Even in the gloom of the room, I can see his eyes are startling, the iridescent green of a deep sea in sunlight. I smile and sip from my glass, decide it’s best not to respond to that.
‘Didn’t think you were a Santa hat kind of guy.’
‘Well, that just goes to show how little you know me, Rachel Foster.’
I turn to him, surprised. I didn’t think he had a clue who I was.
He reclines a little, stretches out his legs. ‘I should imagine Christmas parties are a nightmare for you, with your HR hat on.’
‘Only if people misbehave.’
I regret this, of course, as soon as I’ve said it. Because it’s already clear to me that Lawrence is not the kind of guy you want to flirt with unless you’re sure.
He lets my words hang for a moment, which immediately makes me wonder if I misread his tone. Then he says, ‘Heard you did stellar work on the feedback and engagement project, by the way.’
‘Did you? Thanks.’
‘Sure. Everyone’s singing your praises. Talking about our new rising star. You must only be – what? Mid-twenties?’
What a line. I shake my head. ‘Very funny. I’m thirty-two.’
Lawrence’s eyes widen.
‘Please don’t,’ I say quickly.
At this, he laughs. I can tell he is the kind of guy for whom misconduct is oxygen. ‘What? I was going to be nice.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I don’t want to have to report you.’
‘Report me . . . to yourself?’
Annoyingly, a laugh slips free. I shake my head again, wondering why I am making time to indulge this very strange back-and-forth.
‘Out of interest, what did you think I was about to say?’
‘Something like, You don’t look a day over twenty-five.’
‘You’re wrong, actually.’
I can hardly hear him now above the booming bassline from the dance floor. But I refuse to lean in any closer. ‘Really.’
‘Of course. That’s the kind of thing I’d say to my mother.’
‘Okay, then, what were you going to say?’ I am cross with myself for asking. For being willing, apparently, to play his game.
He moves his head towards mine. For a surreal moment I think he is about to kiss me. I swallow, my mouth sticky from the snowball.
But instead, he straightens up and gets to his feet. ‘Ah, I think I’ll keep that to myself. You being HR, and everything.’