Chapter Eight
Four Weeks Left
Xander doesn’t let me go until we get to the kitchen, his warm hand radiating in mine. There’s no one in the room but us. The minute he releases my hand, its sudden absence feels unnatural, too empty.
‘So, what’s this urgent business you had to drag me in here for?’ I demand.
After a beat he lets out a choked laugh that lightens the tension in the room.
‘We need to talk work stuff.’
He shrugs. Work stuff? Seriously? We’re at a party for God’s sake, surrounded by people having a good time. Can the man not take a break for one night? Not only that, but he also pulled me away from a really great conversation I was having with sweet Gabe.
I can tell that there’s something Xander’s not saying. He’s trying to look relaxed, but I don’t miss the way his knuckles are gripping the countertop, to the point where they’re almost white. His smile, which doesn’t quite reach his eyes, feels forced. I want to scream at him, and demand he answers my questions, but I know I’ll get nothing if I push too hard.
His green eyes track my movement as I take a step back.
‘Fine, let’s talk work stuff,’ I say.
He presses his lips together, runs a hand through his hair. In the dimly lit kitchen, the room feels like it’s got smaller and the walls are closing in on us. The music, the chatter, everything surrounding us is a distant hum in the background and all I can focus on is Xander standing in front of me.
My eyes flick down to the can in his hand. He lifts it to his lips, only to realise that he hasn’t even cracked it open yet. I suppress a small laugh that I try to brush off as a cough. His cheeks flush. It makes him look almost sweet, boyish. Out of the office, he seems not quite as certain of himself, unsure where to put his long limbs.
‘So, are you gonna say something, or are we just going to stand here not making eye contact all night?’
He pauses and tugs at his earlobe. He looks distracted.
‘I just wanted to talk about our writing schedule. We’ve got just over four weeks left and I thought we should distribute who’s writing which scenes,’
he says with some conviction, but still not enough to convince me.
‘And I wanted to check in on how you’re feeling. About us working together and everything.’
‘You’re serious?’
My voice is laced with disbelief.
‘You dragged me away from talking to a really nice guy to ask about this?’
‘I know you weren’t happy about it and I wanted to make sure you’re alright. I can be competitive and stubborn and—’
‘Arrogant.’
‘That too.’
He chuckles but it sounds hollow.
‘But I guess I just want to ask how you’re doing?’
‘Okay, well, I think that this whole thing is stupid. Meagan is always talking about how important collaboration is and then she thrusts this weird competition on us? And it’s not fair that Meagan threw us in this together, without anyone else as a buffer. No offence but it’s not like we get on. I mean, most of the time I can’t stand you,’
I say hurriedly, the words coming out before I can stop them.
‘Geez, tell me how you really feel.’
His tone is lighthearted, but he looks hurt.
‘Sorry, I… I didn’t mean it like that. This is just how we are, how we talk to each other, right? I’m tired and stressed and I really just wanted to unwind tonight. And I really thought this opportunity was going to go to me, I needed it to—’
I cut myself off, realising I’ve already said more than I wanted to. Xander doesn’t need to know all about my family and my hopes and dreams. He’d probably only pity me and that’s the last thing I need.
But Xander’s looking at me with a curious glint in his eye.
‘You needed it to…? To do what?’
I hesitate for a moment before taking a deep breath.
‘To prove to my parents that this is more than a silly job before I get started on a real career.’
The truth rolls off my tongue, my voice softer now.
‘It’s not a silly job,’
Xander says. He bites his lip before he continues.
‘And you’re an incredible writer, so don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re less than, because you are anything but.’
It sounds like he’s speaking from his own experience, like it’s a lesson he’s trying to teach himself. Anger tightens his features, which warms my heart. A guy who has never pretended to like me gets defensive on my behalf and that somehow sends my hormones into overdrive. Wow, my standards are low.
‘I know that. I do. And I’m so proud of what I’ve achieved so far, but it would mean a lot to me to just have them say I’m proud of you, you know.’
He nods like he understands, and maybe he does, maybe I judged him unfairly…
Standing here in the kitchen, like we’ve just revealed something to each other, it throws me back to that fateful night three years ago. I was a few weeks in, and I’d felt obliged to go to the Christmas party. My first interaction with Xander hadn’t been great, to say the least, but I was all about giving second chances, especially since I had a crush on him. Had, not present tense. And Theo and I had just broken up, so I was keen to get out there and meet new people. Since the trainwreck that was my first day, Xander had been making it up to me, teasing smiles, flirtatious banter, and I had felt something then. I would even have called him a friend. We had in-jokes, we went to grab coffees together, and gossiped after meetings. I suppose the way we spoke in those first few weeks isn’t so different from how we act now – we were always having a go at each other, trying to provoke a reaction. But it was different then, warmer. I felt more sure we were on the same side.
For the party, I’d got all glammed up, wanting to make a good impression because all the cast and crew were going to be in attendance. I’d worn my favourite vintage Vera Wang dress, which I’d got for an absolute steal, that complements my figure like no other dress ever has.
As well as it being my first industry party, there was another reason why I wanted to look good that night. Xander had promised he’d be there and that I should save a dance for him. An hour went by, two, and there was no sign of him. I’d still had a good time getting to know everyone, but him standing me up felt like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t until I was preparing to leave that he finally decided to show his face. When he stumbled in, he was nothing like the charmingly cocky, put-together guy I’d got to know over my first few weeks. His skin was ashen and his eyes were glassy. He was back to looking how he did that first day I’d met him. His eyes searched the room until they landed on me. Despite his unkempt appearance, my heart fluttered, and I smiled at him, but he didn’t return it. I wish I’d just left then with my dignity intact rather than what happened after.
He made his way towards me, purpose in his stride. Luckily the room was still busy enough that nobody was really focusing on us.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me towards a secluded area. I remember it so clearly. I’d let out a laugh, thinking he was being a bit direct, but I was so attracted to him that I barely minded. Alone, he’d looked at me intently, holding me firm and strong in his grasp. Then, his lips crashed into mine with a fervour that felt powerful and sent blood rushing to my head. And I was more than happy to give in, my hands reaching for his hair and pulling slightly, which made him let out a low groan, his hands cupping my face. It had felt so urgent, so right, the friendship we’d been developing over my first couple of months bursting into what it was always meant to be.
The sound of glass shattering in the distance was enough to break the spell and he ripped himself away from me so fast, I didn’t have time to grasp what was happening. He put both his hands to his face and rubbed them up and down. All he said was.
‘This was a mistake.’
Then, he left, and we never spoke about it again. We never addressed the kiss and, maybe worse, we never got back to how we were those first few weeks. Friends. With the possibility of something more, maybe. But the next day in the office, it was like a wall was erected between us that I’ve never been able to take down. That’s how we got to where we are now. Throwing sharp barbs the other’s way, not worrying about how they’ll land. Rivals who are desperately competing for the top spot. It hadn’t always been like that.
I blink away my thoughts and pull myself back to the present. Xander looks at me questioningly and I was going to hold it in, I really was. But being here, in this quiet space, it takes me back.
‘Was I really just a mistake to you?’
I avoid his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, but his brow furrows in surprise.
‘All those years ago I mean…’
He looks torn and the silence stretches before us. I’m mortified, wishing I’d never said anything. What a loser he must think I am, still hung up on something that happened years ago.
‘It wasn’t,’
he says quietly at last.
I look at him, the question clear in my eyes. Then why did you say it was?
But he says nothing, bites his lip again, looking confused and awkward. I cough, sigh, try to bring us back to whatever we can call normal.
‘What about you?’
I say brightly, too much cheer in my voice.
‘Besides what you said the other night, why do you want this so much? You seem to have everything you could possibly want in life.’
He bristles, suddenly cold.
‘What’s is to you, Yara? It’s not like it’s any of your business. If you think I’ve had everything handed to me, why would you care?’
I shake my head.
‘I care because you dragged me in here to talk about “work stuff”, when obviously you want to talk about something else.’
I take a step towards him so that we’re only a breath away from each other.
‘And maybe because, if we’re going to have to work together for the next month, it would help to get to know you a bit better. It’s pretty inconvenient for our writing schedule if you can brush me off whenever you want.’
I stand there waiting for him to say something, anything, that will make sense. He just stares back at me.
‘Okay, you want to talk about work? Let’s talk about work.’
I try to keep the frustration out of my voice without much success.
‘What’s wrong with my romance plot? Why can’t Layla and Atticus be together? Why do you hate love so much?’
‘I don’t hate love,’
he says with a clipped tone.
‘I just hate how it makes people – characters – lose control. It’s like they forget who they are and what they want. And it’s going to go wrong. Because it always does. Everyone ends up getting hurt and I can’t deal with that. I don’t want to.’
‘That’s it? That’s the reason you don’t believe in love, because… you think it makes people weak?’
He shrugs and lifts his chin higher. I can see him trying to reconstruct his assured persona, but he’s given me a glimpse of what’s underneath. I take another small step closer to him, so we’re almost nose to nose. In another timeline, I’d close my eyes, and he’d lean down and press his lips to mine. In another timeline, he’d be willing to open up to me and I’d see a different side to him. But we’re in the here and now, and our situation couldn’t be more different from the scenarios I dream up in my hopelessly romantic head.
‘You know’
– my voice is quiet now .
‘that sounds like a you problem. I don’t know how you’ve been burned, but I can tell you have, so now you think everyone else is going to get burned as well. But maybe you’ve not experienced just how beautiful love can be. You’re a coward, you know. You’re afraid of what it means to let someone in.’
‘I don’t need love,’
he mutters.
‘Maybe not,’
I say, not letting my eyes leave his.
‘But maybe it’s not about needing it but being willing to accept it when it comes. And not running from it just because you’re afraid of what might happen.’
Xander glances at me through his lashes, still leaning heavily against the kitchen counter.
‘Are we still talking about Layla and Atticus?’
‘Who else would we be talking about?’
He shakes his head sadly before pushing himself off the counter. He leaves. Again. Just like he did at that party years ago…