Chapter Thirty One
A sprinkle of dust across the table tells me that the cleaners also didn't work over Christmas.
The bin is full of pulled crackers and candy wrappers, holly still hung up on the framed pictures of different cities, and a string of Christmas lights have been left off and are now so dim it's difficult to tell they're even blinking.
The mess doesn't exactly scream 'come back to work and be happy!'
Chelsea dropped her laptop next to mine in the round table room an hour ago and we haven't said a word to each other since.
I've got twenty three emails to reply to and another Christmas campaign related document to fill in before lunch.
We then have team meetings until the end of the day to go over our quarterly targets.
I continue staring at the spreadsheet sent by our revenue manager, hoping that the numbers will begin to make sense if I burn them into my retinas. It's ten in the morning but I'm already drinking my second coffee.
My phone vibrates on the table.
"Noah?" Chelsea mumbles.
I scoff, which elicits an all-knowing smirk from her.
She is fully aware that Noah and I haven't spoken two words to each other since yesterday afternoon. I found out he doesn't date or sleep with people he isn't in love with, I ran from the room as quickly as possible, and Matt hasn't seemed to leave our sides since.
Noah even managed to convince Matt to go the long way to work this morning, meaning he dropped me off at work with my brother in the front seat just to avoid the awkward conversation with me.
Is he in love with me? After just these few short months?
Or did his attitude change when I moved in with the two of them, and suddenly readily available sex was just on the couch downstairs?
The numbers blur in front of my eyes.
"I'm tired of overthinking Noah," I groan. "Tell me about your problems."
She taps her fingers on the table, slamming her laptop shut after doing so. The chair she sits in squeaks as she turns it towards me.
"My mother is overbearing, I haven't had sex in three months, Tony take two working days to text me back, and I think I'm developing lactose intolerance." She holds up a new finger as she lists each one.
I blink. Once.
And then a grin breaks out from somewhere deep within me.
"Tony from the club? Damien Mierro's Tony?"
"Who?" She shakes her head when my eyes widen. "But yes, the guy from the club. I gave him my number while Noah was practically fingering you in front of his friends."
My cheeks blaze.
I look through the windows next to us despite the door being closed, knowing that nobody outside this room can hear us.
But there's hardly anyone in the office.
Mohammed booked annual leave for the rest of the week and it seems that a few other people took the same initiative.
Loretta is sat at her desk at the far end of the room.
Zach is still nowhere to be seen.
It took me almost a full panic attack to walk into the building an hour ago knowing that I'd have to explain my... escapades, to Zach. Luckily, he texted the group chat that he's be late due to a personal appointment. Maybe he can't bare facing me either.
Maybe he can't bare having to fire me.
I shove that thought to the very pits of my mind and clear my throat.
"He doesn't text you back?" I ask.
"He does," Chelsea shrugs. "It just takes him ages; busy with work. But he's the least of my problems-"
"What happened to liking them skinny and dead-looking?"
"Oh," her hand waves in the air between us.
"I read a smutty book about a man with a shaved head and.
.." She flushes, shakes her head to rid whatever book-related dirty thoughts popped up, and sighs.
"I mean, it was a fantasy book so the guy had wings and ruled an entire kingdom, but I've not looked at shaved heads the same since. "
I'll take my time processing that string of sentences.
Whilst the words shaved and smutty and wings float around my head, Chelsea pats my shoulder and continues, "anyway, the real problem is my mother.
The boundaries between us seem to have vanished - she's setting me up on dates, she's buying me lingerie, she-" The word is growled.
Chelsea takes a deep breath, and then, in a forcibly calmer voice, "she invited a stranger back to the house. Some guy she met on the bus."
"For you?"
"Yes - because I, apparently, am almost past marrying age."
My eyebrows furrow. "At twenty-three?"
Her hands are thrown up in front of the table, head sinking back in despair. She gurgles some sort of noise indicating a positive response.
I say, "that's insane," because I'm not sure what else there is to add.
The ping of an email notification chimes between us. She moans and opens her laptop again, clicking on her most recent email thread and leaning towards the screen to read it.
I wiggle my mouse and look back at the spreadsheet in front of me but the numbers still jumble into one, and, despite it being impossible, it seems that they have completely changed in the last five minutes.
Click-clack of typing rings out into the room.
Focus. Look at the numbers. Understand the numbers. Be at one with the spreadsheet.
I twist my chair back to hers.
"What the fuck is her prime marrying age if twenty-three is too old?"
Chelsea snorts out a laugh.
Her reply is suddenly softer than before. "She watches Disney films. She bakes cookies for a living because she wants to and not because she needs to. She met my father when she was thirteen and neither of them ever looked at anyone else. I think I am long past her prime marrying age."
Her father. Rarely a topic of conversation for us.
From what I remember he died in a car accident when Chelsea was still in school, and her mum, in her grief, lost custody of their five children.
Two years later she went to court and got them back, but Chelsea's vacant look when she told the story many months ago told me that their house never felt the same again.
I rack my brain to try and remember the names of her four siblings. Two boys, two twin girls. Her. Chelsea was the second child, not the first. Her predecessor was Charlie, the first born.
Struggling to remember my best friends family history pulls at my chest the wrong way. I've been so wrapped up since I moved out of my flat that I've barely thought about anything that isn't covered in tattoos and driving a convertible.
"What about Charlie?"
Chelsea clicks her pen. "Charlie has priorities." Her words are biting, the sinister edge not directed at me, but at the double standards. "Who needs a wife when you've got a business to run?"
"It sounds like you need to move out."
She grins, "that's rich, coming from you."
"We're talking about your problems right now."
The laugh dies in her throat as her face pales. I follow her eyes to the elevator, my body going cold as I spot Zach walking towards his office. He holds a briefcase and wears a pristine suit - looking smarter than I've ever seen him. I release a breath.
Chelsea mutters, "speaking of problems..."
I freeze as his eyes meet mine through the window.
I don't know what to do or say; I should pretend I didn't see him, or turn back and look busy with my work because I do actually want to keep my job, but I can't tear my eyes away from the crash site.
Thankfully, Zach looks away and steps into his office, closing the door behind himself. A breath I didn't know I was holding releases. Chelsea whistles next to me.
"I'm about to get fired," I squeak.
Chelsea watches me stand up.
"Oh my God, you are not going over there-"
"I am."
"You're insane," she hisses, trying to pull me back into my chair. "Maybe he won't want to talk about it."
"I had sex in the company car park, I think it might come up-"
"Shhh!"
I roll my eyes and try to shake the nerves out through my trembling fingers.
"Besides, if I don't do it now then I may just leg it out of here and never show up again."
I walk out of the room before she can convince me otherwise.
Zach's office feels like it's on the other side of the world as I walk towards the closed door. His blinds are closed, the room seems dark - I wouldn't know he was in there if I hadn't just seen him walk in.
Am I hyperventilating? Possibly. The walls do feel like they're closing in. I wipe my clammy hands against the cotton of my trousers and flip my hair over one shoulder, then the other.
I roll my shoulders back, stand tall, and raise my hand to the door. Once glance behind me shows Chelsea holding up two thumbs and forcing a big smile from the oval room window.
The door opens before I knock.
My half lifted fist sits in the air between Zach and I.
It takes me longer than it should to drop the arm back to my side and blink away my wide eyes.
He looks taller than usual, somehow. The suit he's wearing is smart and fitted, and for once, he actually looks like someones manager. My manager.
We say nothing to each other for too long.
"How was your Christmas?" I blurt.
He pinches the skin on his nose between two fingers.
"I have a meeting, Maddie."
Watchful eyes burn against the skin on my back. I don't have to turn around to know that Chelsea is still staring at us through the window, or that the admin team who share our floor space are looking at us like we're a foreign concept.
It's not unnatural to speak to your boss first thing in the morning.
But it's unnatural to do it whilst looking this awkward and sweating so much.
"Cool," I say. He frowns at me. "Want some help?"
The frown deepens. He holds up his wristwatch, looks at the time, and then takes a step back into his office. The door is held open for me. The vast majority of my brain thinks this is a terrible, terrible idea. I should've just waited for him to come to me. Yet I follow him inside anyway.
A small click signals the closing of the door.
Zach sighs, leaning against his desk.
"I really do having a meeting, Maddie," he mumbles. "I don't mean to sidestep this conversation."
This conversation?
The panic surely shows on my face.
"Should it have happened? No. But I'm not going to fire you."
I release a breath, watching as his eyes follow the drop of my shoulders. Tension I've been holding all week begins to loosen.
We meet eyes across his desk.
"Don't let it happen again."
"I- I really won't," my head is shaking with my words, which seem to be vomiting out of my mouth without first going to my brain for analysis. "I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry. I - literally cannot even begin to explain to you why that-"
Zach interrupts, "I don't want to know."
"Of course you don't - right, of course."
He checks his watch once more.
Message received.
I throw my thumb back to the door and he nods quickly, sighing as he rushes past me with a briefcase in hand. I watch him half jog towards the elevator before I drop into his office chair. I spin around once, twice, and then push myself away from the desk.
I should probably get back to my own desk. There's a mountain of work to get through since it's the first day back and I've not even finished looking at my emails, never mind replying to them.
I squeeze my phone out of my pocket and pull up Noah's contact.
Fingers hovering over the green call button, I spin in the chair once more.
Won't date. Not unless he's in love.
Fuck. Would I usually want to call Noah in these situations? Am I that whipped over him?
I blow some papers over Zach's desk and then immediately fix them back into their original position.
I do want to call him. I want to tell him that I'm not fired and that Zach obviously cares but is letting it go out of the kindness of his heart.
I want to tell him it feels like everybody but Matt knows about us and that surely that'll make it worse when we do eventually tell him.
I want to ask if he meant it when we kissed on New Years.
He won't even sleep with a girl unless he's in love with her.
Another spin in the chair.
I want to ask what those words mean for us.
"Oh thank God, you're not crying."
Chelsea's head is sideways against the door frame, her body hidden outside of the office. It takes me a few seconds to register the words she said with my mind.
I confirm, "I'm not crying."
She grimaces at me, standing upright in front of the door and wiggling her hips in some sort of faux happy dance. "Yay?"
I snort at her. We go back to the oval room to discuss what happened and continue sorting through the chaos of our emails. Eventually Mohammed and Loretta join us so we can work through our social media channels together.
Chelsea and I go to the coffee shop for lunch and I spend my entire break thinking about everything I'll have to say to Noah when he picks me up.
I'd talk it out with Chelsea, but Tony called her around ten minutes ago and she's done nothing but grin and kick her feet out at me since they began chatting.
Being left alone with my thoughts probably shouldn't be so scary.
And yet I can't help but pick at the skin around my nails wondering if Noah and I should even mention the word love to each other in a serious context. I'm in deep.
More social media managing when we return to the office. Loretta brought a box of donuts back from lunch to cheer us up, so needling my way through thousands of twitter mentions doesn't feel so tedious.
Zach doesn't show up again. The four of us work without him.
By the time the end of the working day rolls around, I've snapped two pencils and my nails have never looked worse.
Well. They have looked worse once - right before the interview I had for this very job.
I may be able to fake confidence before sex, but I've never been able to plaster a smile on my face when it comes to negotiating a salary.
Chelsea is staring at me from across the table. I pick up my snapped pencil and shove it in my pocket. We both know that I'm usually the first to pack away and rush out of the door, but I'm stalling today.
Her sigh makes me look up.
"Do you think he does?"
I frown. "Does what?"
"Love you."
Do I? It's what I've been asking myself all day.
"It's only been a couple of weeks."
She quips, "weirder things have happened in your life."
"Not good weird things," I emphasise. "Weird things like kissing my dentists fingers or walking in on my best friend chained to a radiator. Weird things like my boss seeing me shag my - Noah, in the company car park."
"Your Noah?" She grins. "And you said you wouldn't bring up Bradley ever again."
Ah, yes. Bradley. The radiator guy. Seeing Chelsea abandoned, handcuffed and scowling early into our friendship certainly did solidify it.
"Those weird things happen to me. Not hot strangers appearing in my life - via my brother, no less - and then suddenly falling in love with me."
She crosses her arms and leans back into the wall.
"Tell that to the hot stranger stood by your desk."
What?
I spin on my heels to face the window.
I can't help the drop of my shoulders when I see him looking back at me, waiting for me with unusually hard eyes and no distinct smirk. If I didn't know him any better I'd think he was angry. But I do know him better; he's spent the whole day thinking about Matt's words too. He's nervous.
Maybe my heart shouldn't jolt like this just at the sight of him. Nervousness bubbles it's way into my chest and I suddenly feel sticky and gross all over. Should've worn nicer clothes.
I smile and hold up one finger, spinning back to Chelsea when he grins.
A squeak falls out of my mouth. Chelsea cackles. Witch.
Forget about the last of my things. I grab what I've already got packed and speed walk out of the room before I can change my mind. Noah looks up in the surprise. A quick glance around the room reveals empty desks and the cleaners, who, like before, are staring at him.
Forget them. Forget love. Forget the whole fucking day.
As soon I reach him I wrap my arms around his neck and pull us both into a tight hug. He smells like petrol. I sink into his arms and press my face to his chest.
"Long day?" He murmurs.
Ask me to be your girlfriend.
"Come on," Noah speaks into my hair. "I'm parked illegally."
He takes the bag from my shoulder and holds my hand the whole way to the elevator. Once we're safely behind the doors I look up and kiss him, squeezing his fingers in mine. My cheek is covered by his hand and my body is clung to his like water.
We stand as one whilst we descend. He carries my bag to the car as well as half of my body weight whilst I'm leant against him. Parked in the spot right outside the office doors, of course. After opening my door for me and putting my seat belt on he walks around to the drivers seat.
I'm not even thinking about it when I say it.
It would make more sense if I was. But instead I'm still hoping he asks me if I'll date him or be with him forever or start naming our future children. It slips out like a lost thought before he even has time to put his seatbelt on.
"So you love me, huh?"
Shit.