Chapter 4
Callum had a habit of sneaking up on people as if from nowhere. I had enough to think about without his fun and games, so I didn’t appreciate his sudden arrival.
‘Early finish, is it?’ He’d always paid more attention to my timekeeping than his own. Callum was nothing if not predictable.
I spun round in my chair and trying to ignore the ridiculous Santa hat jauntily perched on his head, gave him the best smile I could muster. ‘It is, indeed.’
Callum raised his eyebrows as if waiting for an explanation. But whereas other women swooned if he as much as looked at them, I saw beyond the man’s sleek blond hair and well-practised faux charm. Callum was, and always would be, the last person I answered to.
‘‘Suit yourself,’ he said, his gaze going from me to Rory.
Sir! Sir! Erin’s skiving off without permission! he was no doubt thinking. It was probably taking everything he had to not run and tell tales.
Having long suspected Callum had HR on speed dial, I wondered why he didn’t simply cut out the middleman and go direct.
‘I just didn’t have you down as a slacker,’ he added.
I’d often questioned whether Callum was aware of what he was saying? Or if, unlike the rest of humankind, his mouth operated independently of his brain? Usually it was hard to tell, but in that moment, I leaned towards the latter.
Hands down, Callum was the laziest employee in the office.
He treated Melissa like his personal secretary, because she was better at organising than he was; and Kelly like a runner – after all, picking up a sandwich or collecting a bit of dry cleaning isn’t that much of a detour; she’s out on appointments anyway.
While Tricia made the best cup of coffee ever.
By all accounts, his need to delegate wasn’t just a work thing; he behaved the same way at home. For weeks I’d had to listen to Callum brag about how his Christmas preparations were all done and dusted, taking full credit, when his mother and girlfriend had clearly done all the work.
Although admittedly, on that front, a part of me was jealous. I could have done with some help myself. Christmas Day was just around the corner and regardless of any good intentions, I’d yet to write a single card let alone buy gifts.
‘Then again, if we can’t take time off at Christmas…’
I rolled my eyes, wondering why the man was still talking.
I wished I could blame his boozy lunch, but Callum’s words of wisdom again came from a place of ignorance.
Had his finger really been on the pulse, he’d have known my early festive break hadn’t been through choice; it had been forced upon me.
Apparently, when leave days accrued like mine had, employees didn’t have a say in the matter.
Callum strutted over to the coffee machine; an area that Tricia had decorated with tinsel and Christmassy poster-penned slogans. Your hard work has been a gift all year… Wishing you a season full of laughter, love and success…
He settled himself next to my personal favourite – May the holidays bring you all the joy you bring to the team…
Oh, the irony.
‘Let’s face it…’ Callum continued, ‘…all work and no play and all that.’ In no position to talk about a work/life balance with anyone, he’d clearly forgotten he’d been AWOL for the previous two hours. He looked at me direct. ‘Although I’m guessing none of that matters to you anyway.’
‘And why’s that?’ I asked. As soon as the question was out I regretted it.
Having spent months listening to Callum’s repertoire of spinster jokes, I’d known full well at some point he’d move into the realms of pseudo-psychology.
People like him couldn’t help but try to figure out what was wrong with me.
Was I too picky? Too smart? Too independent?
Too funny? As if lowering my standards, dumbing down and acting all needy would bring me nothing but happiness.
He made his way to the open window and without even a ‘do you mind?’ closed it. ‘Well with no partner, no children and no social life to speak of.’
If Callum knew anything about me at all, he’d know that I had a great social life. How could I not with two of the best friends a woman could ask for? Within minutes of meeting at the crochet club, Hattie, Joyce and I had clicked.
The three of us made quite the trio. Hattie, a thirty-something homebird with a quirky dress sense and kind heart.
Dare I say it, too kind at times. Joyce, a retiree who had three great loves in life – her husband Richard, food and gossip.
Then there was me. A die-hard singleton who lived to work, rather than worked to live.
Three generations of women who, despite our differences, had become the firmest of friends.
As usual, Callum was talking out of his arse.
‘I mean, don’t you get lonely? It’s got to be hard when this…’ – he waved his hands, indicating our surroundings – ‘…is all you’ve got.’
Be it the sudden lack of cool air, Callum talking bollocks, or dancing hormones, whatever the reason, my body temperature rose. ‘Maybe some of us are just conscientious. Maybe we enjoy working.’ I reached into my bag and produced a handheld fan.
‘Or maybe you need to get a life before it’s too late. Property is a young man’s game, Erin, both of which, I’m sorry to say, you’re not.’
The timing of Callum’s observations couldn’t have been more impeccable.
By design, of course; the man never left anything to chance.
With my meeting with Rory due to start, he probably thought I’d become so irritated by his remarks I’d throw away any chance I had of promotion.
Tilting my head, I gave him a wry smile.
‘In my experience, being a young man isn’t quite the real estate flex you think it is. ’
Callum opened his mouth to respond, but before he got the chance, Rory caught our attention and quickly ending his call, waved me in.
He rose to his feet, ran his fingers around his trouser waistband to ensure his shirt was properly tucked in and straightened his tie. He always smartened himself up when he had something major to impart and it was good to know he, at least, afforded me some respect.
Getting up from my seat, I gave Callum a superior smile and feeling a big dose of pride and a touch of one-upmanship, I stuck my nose in the air. Finally, Callum was about to find out just how far from the scrap heap this so-called spinster was. A lesson I’d make sure he never forgot.