Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
‘Mate,’ said Nicky. ‘After all we discussed about bad choices, you still jumped his bones first chance you got?’
‘ Technically , his bones were still hidden within his deliciously fit body,’ said Evie. ‘But in essence, you are correct.’
Nicky opened the paper bag of poppadoms. ‘And–?’
‘And?’ Evie echoed. ‘What specific juicy titbit are you fishing for?’
Nicky dropped a big spoonful of lime pickle on her poppadom, which immediately broke under the weight. Undeterred, Nicky spooned up pickle and poppadom shards and shoved the whole lot in her mouth.
‘Was he a churning hunk of burning funk?’ she said, through sticky crumbs.
Evie reached for a poppadom before they all disappeared. ‘Is that actually a thing?’
‘You tell me,’ said her friend.
Normally, Evie was happy to share stories of her sexual encounters. Not in such detail that she grossed Nicky out, but enough to convey the vibe. Being a farm girl, Nicky had a highly pragmatic view towards sex, and her own stories were limited to one-liners, such as ‘Couldn’t find a clitoris if it bit his finger,’ or ‘Top lay,’ which Evie always thought made the guy sound like a battery hen.
This evening, though, Evie was reluctant to talk about it. She’d spent the rest of the day travelling around with Ash, watching them do plumber things, trying to get her thoughts straight about Leo. Her mind was like a ping-pong ball, bouncing between sympathy and frustration. Given what he’d told her, she could completely understand why he was so afraid of failure. But he’d been out in the real world for, what, six or seven years? If you hadn’t built up some resilience by then, when would you? Although Evie had most certainly felt a much deeper connection with Leo than she’d ever felt with Shaun-Tony-Jason, was Leo any more reliable, or was he just as flaky and self-absorbed? Were Evie’s instincts wrong yet again?
Nicky was waiting.
‘He was vindaloo hot,’ said Evie. ‘But that’s irrelevant. He’s put the barriers back up between us. Tomorrow, I’ll be staring at the back of his laptop as we converse via email.’
‘What if you ate your morning scone really sexily in front of him?’ Nicky was on her second glass of pinot grigio. ‘Got all suggestive with the whipped cream?’
‘May I remind you that Leo and I share an office space with Nigel and Ange from procurement? And the entire sales team is only separated from us by a glass wall.’
‘They might appreciate the diversion.’
‘They might also complain to HR,’ said Evie. ‘And then Kev would want a word …’
‘Yikes.’ Nicky had heard tales of what happened when Kev wanted a word with people.
Evie tried to use her poppadom to scoop out some raita, but it snapped.
‘You would think that after this many curries,’ she said, ‘we’d know the structural limits of poppadom. Nevertheless–’
‘We persist!’ said Nicky. ‘Because the universe hates a quitter!’
Evie sighed. ‘But what if I’m barking up the wrong man-tree again? What if Leo’s not worth persisting for?’
‘This is another test,’ said Nicky. ‘A fork in the road of self-discovery. Like the bloke on the bridge said: the key is figuring out what you really want, and why. You have to get your own priorities straight before you can make good decisions about Leo.’
Nicky topped up Evie’s wine glass. ‘Only then will you have achieved the next level of enlightenment.’
‘The Spice Girls level?’ said Evie.
‘Zig-a-zig,’ confirmed Nicky, and clinked her glass on Evie’s own. ‘Hopefully, with an extra-large helping of ah.’
Evie made it to the office at eight-twenty-five. Leo was at his desk.
‘I’ll never beat you in, will I?’ she said.
Leo glanced at her for a nanosecond. ‘No.’
Evie eyed her container of sharp pencils. It was a consolation to know they were there in case murder by stabbing became the only option.
She fired up her PC, checked her inbox – yes, four emails already from Leo, some of them with the dreaded Fwd. before the subject line, a sure sign that the email contained a long, boring business article she’d be expected to read.
But she had other priorities. A document. Five double-sided pages, which printed then stapled together at the top left corner.
Evie stood and waited by Leo’s elbow. Today, he was wearing a retro-style knitted polo shirt, olive green and white, with a pair of slim-fit chinos and tan loafers, no socks. Leo didn’t push the boat out fashion-wise, but he always looked stylish. Mind you, Evie had to admit, if he’d just crawled out of sewer, she’d still want to jump him.
This morning, he also looked cool and distant, as if he and Evie hadn’t even had a proper introduction, let alone got jiggy with it not twenty-four hours earlier.
‘Yes?’ he said, with another nano-glance.
‘Here–’ Evie handed him the stapled document. ‘I wrote up some observations from yesterday. While they were fresh in my mind.’
She decided not to mention that she’d written them up at two in the morning because she couldn’t sleep. Owing to fantasising about having sex with Leo. Multiple times.
‘More than just observations here,’ Leo remarked, scanning the pages. ‘You’ve made some recommendations.’
‘Well – not necessarily good ones,’ said Evie, and mentally kicked herself. If you’re going to crack self-deprecating jokes whenever you feel uneasy, then rule one is to make sure they’re funny, and not pathetic.
Leo finally looked at her directly. There was a small lift in the corner of his mouth that might be a smile …?
‘Worried I’ll have feedback?’ he said.
Evie flexed her hands and cracked her knuckles. ‘Bring it, boss-man.’
Suddenly, all was cool and distant again. Leo slotted the document onto a pile on his desk.
‘Thank you,’ he said, turning away. ‘I’ll read it as soon as I have time.’
Evie had a happy vision of picking up his MacBook Air and braining him. Instead, she went back to her desk and got petty revenge by leaving Leo’s emails unread and instead clicking on one from Keith. Normally, Keith’s emails contained useful if erratically written information for the staff, such as “new pub down the Road happy hour 4 to 6!” or “Local lottery Store Luckiest in Britain!” No subject line, ever, so clicking on Keith’s emails was like the proverbial box of chocolates – you never knew what you were going to get.
This time, though, it was an email only for Evie: ‘Can you come see me and Kev in our office at eleven.’ He’d spelled “eleven” as “elven”.
Crap. Today had already pushed her to the cliff edge of disappointment, and now it was sending her plummeting into the canyon of terror. Keith and Kev. What could they possibly want to see her about?
Evie checked the time: 9.05am. An hour and fifty-five minutes to go before elven/eleven. This was about to be the longest morning of her life.