Chapter Twenty-Three
Tess remained very out of sorts in the days after the evening of her many dates. She was emotionally depleted. Her social battery drained. Her romantic impulses flatlined.
Maybe that was why she couldn’t summon up the appropriate enthusiasm for her forthcoming date with Darcy. Her one true literary love. Not even literary. Her one true love.
During a very tedious week at work – Claire was on the warpath after someone had dared to take her favourite mug from the kitchen.
She’d even searched Tess’s desk drawers then given her a bollocking for how unorganised they were – all Tess could really think about was Gabe.
Well, Gabe, and if she dared to put in an official complaint about Claire to HR.
For all her thinking about Gabe, she still couldn’t figure him out.
During their dim sum date, then their walking and talking date (though technically, they weren’t really dates), she’d never doubted his sincerity.
That his interest in her and her work and love-related woes was genuine.
That he wanted her to succeed in both ventures.
But after the disaster of the speed dating event, Tess was forced to admit that Gabe’s intentions hadn’t been anything even approaching pure.
That was why she’d been subjected to all those terrible mismatches.
He’d been counting on her to write a scathing piece, a real hatchet job, to ensure that The Love Library never opened its doors.
That was the worst-case scenario; and the best-case scenario?
Gabe didn’t know her at all, despite the time they’d spent together, the deep conversations that they’d had.
Once again, Tess had worn her heart on her sleeve, been open and vulnerable, and where had it got her?
On her own, that was where.
It was Friday evening and after one too many wines with Jay, she was heading home with the basic kit of every single and heart-sore woman.
More wine. A share bag of Walker’s cheese and onion crisps, even though she wasn’t going to share them with anyone.
A carton of Magnum, the one with the thick chocolate shell that Tess would crack with great force like she was plunging a knife into her enemy’s heart, and three steamy romcoms that she’d picked up from the shelves in The Sentinels’ canteen, left there by the features team who were regularly sent free books.
Not that Tess would be joining their ranks anytime soon. Or would she?
After Claire had left early that afternoon to see her ‘podiatrist’ about her ‘bunions’, Jovan dared to lift his head and address Tess over the partition that separated their desks.
‘Have you heard that Izzy is leaving? She’s got a job on The Times,’ he informed Tess. It was the first time he’d talked to Tess in days, as Claire took a very dim view of her team ‘chattering away when you should be working’. ‘Are you going for it?’
Izzy was on the features desk and had the career of Tess’s dreams. That week alone, she’d done an article on female fashion entrepreneurs, a think piece about Pedro Pascal’s biceps and had written up one of the features that Tess had pitched to Sarah.
Now Jovan’s intel and question made her stomach roll. ‘Are you going for it?’ she threw the question back at Jovan.
Even though Claire was off the premises, they spoke in whispers. Force of habit and also a not totally unfounded fear that she might have their desks bugged or that Faith and Uzma sitting on the next bank of desks might report everything back to her.
Jovan shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said casually but his face flushed. ‘As internal candidates, we’re meant to be guaranteed an interview.’
Tess felt her own face heat up with shame at the thought of the six other times she’d applied for a features position and had been clearly considered so lacking that she hadn’t had the mandatory interview.
‘We’ll see,’ she hedged.
‘Because I went for a job on the Parliamentary desk at the end of last year and I didn’t get an interview then,’ Jovan revealed.
He drew himself up fully so Tess could see the peevish expression on his face.
‘I have a first in PPE from Oxford and an MA in Social Justice Journalism. I was only meant to be doing holiday cover in Creative Solutions and yet a year later, here I am.’
‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ Tess said, with an anxious look sideways to where Faith was leaning towards them and clearly hanging on their every word.
‘This time if I don’t get an interview, I’m going to take it up with HR,’ Jovan muttered darkly.
‘HR! You know that Harry in HR is best friends with Claire!’ Faith dared to say.
She wasn’t even whispering. ‘Which is why they always skive off together on Friday afternoons. And is it any coincidence that Harry also handles all internal job applications? Of course not! If I don’t get an interview this time, I’m going to take it up with our union rep. ’
‘You’re going for the features job too?’ Tess asked, not able to keep the dismay out of her voice. ‘Uz, what about you?’
‘What is even the point?’ Uzma clearly didn’t think that Tess’s question was worth even lifting her head over the screen. ‘I’m seriously considering jacking journalism in and going to work in a cake shop.’
Part of Tess wanted to get to her feet and make a stirring speech about how they should rise up against Claire’s tyranny and storm the HR department en masse.
But another part of her, a much larger, already defeated part, stayed seated and slumped, because she really didn’t have a chance in hell of getting the features job if most of her colleagues were going for it. Not to mention outside candidates.
And yet … The Sunday Sentinel wasn’t the only paper in the world. It wasn’t even the only paper in London and though she’d spent the rest of the afternoon brooding, on the way home Tess had come up with a plan.
After she’d passed what was left of the evening reenacting every sad singleton cliché in existence, Tess was going to spend the rest of the weekend in a proactive manner.
Having Claire rummage in her drawers really was the last straw.
Or maybe realising that her fellow Creative Solutions colleagues were equally trapped was the last straw.
Or even the knowledge that complaining to HR would be as much use as trying to pan for gold in her bathroom sink. It was a lot of last straws.
What was painfully obvious was that her job was snuffing all the life out of Tess and stifling her creativity.
She was going to spruce up her CV and instead of waiting for a likely job to pop up on her LinkedIn alerts, she was going to pre-emptively email every features editor, deputy features editor and commissioning editor that she’d ever made awkward small talk with at some uninspiring media event.
If Elizabeth Bennet was stuck in the wilderness of Creative Solutions that was exactly what she’d do.
And while she was channelling Elizabeth Bennet, Tess was also going to plan her date with Darcy outfit.
And her second date with Darcy outfit for the university reunion and who knows what might happen after that?
Yes, he was stuck in a book. But if they really hit it off then maybe she could just keep taking him out.
Or if Tess’s dreams came true, because there had to be a first time for everything, maybe he wouldn’t go back into the book. They could be together forever. Stranger things had happened.
So, Tess had a busy weekend ahead and she wasn’t going to spend any of it thinking about Gabriel Sharma and how he’d punched another man for groping her arse.
How his cheek beneath her fingers had been both soft and scratchy and the taut line of his jaw, the muscle working as Gabe had swallowed, had done things to Tess.
Which was nothing compared to the things that had happened when she’d seen him with the little fat baby in his arms. Her ovaries still had her uterus on full blast after that brief interlude.
Her treacherous insides were doing the fandango even as Tess unlocked the door of her flat.
Her immediate plan was a long, soaky bath and romcom.
Then comfies, wine and crisps, and more romcom.
She might even be able to hold off on the ice cream until tomorrow but as she stepped into the hall, she realised that she wasn’t alone.
There was the sound of laughter, music on low, so Tess decided it was best not to take off her bra where she stood.
‘Tess? Is that you?’ Saskia called out.
‘No, it’s burglars.’ Tess poked her head round the doorway that led into the open plan lounge cum kitchen diner and confirmed that her friend was not alone.
Next to her on the sectional sofa upholstered in a nubby oatmeal, which was a bitch to keep clean, was a man. An actual man. On the premises.
The last time that had happened was when someone had come round to service the boiler. Not a euphemism.
‘This is Yuki,’ Saskia said, shifting even closer to the man, who smiled politely at Tess. ‘He works for a Japanese private equity firm. This is Tess, friend, flatmate, writer.’
‘Not even a writer,’ Tess said as she always did. ‘Hi.’ She waggled her fingers at Yuki, who nodded his head and smiled again. ‘I just need to put my ice cream in the freezer then I’ll get out of your hair.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to do that on my account,’ Yuki said.
He was very handsome in a clean-cut sort of way.
He and Saskia had both obviously come straight from work because he was wearing a beautifully cut pearl-grey suit.
Saskia was wearing one of the shift dresses, in navy, which made up her work uniform, a sartorial choice that would have delighted Tess’s mother, along with a pair of heels, which had been kicked off and were lying under the coffee table.
Not even put away on the shoe rack in the hall cupboard.
‘No, it’s fine. I’ve been on the wine and I need an early night,’ Tess said, as Saskia shot her a grateful smile.