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I turn around, bracing myself for whatever snarky comment he’s about to make. But instead, he looks at me with a hint of concern in his eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asks, and I’m taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. It has to be a trick, a new angle he’s working instead of teasing me relentlessly.
“I’m fine,” I snap, but even I can hear the false bravado in my voice.
He steps closer to me, and I can feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him. It makes my own body temperature rise and I squirm uncomfortably.
“You do not seem fine,” he says softly, his hand reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from my face. My heart races as I realise how close we are; his breath is tickling my skin and I don’t hate it…I mean, I do hate it.
I’ve never gotten this close to him before. Never allowed it on either of our parts. But today has me so flummoxed I’m breaking all my rules. And I hate it. Hate him and this weird spell he seems to have cast over me.
“I don’t need your concern,” I say, trying to pull myself away from him. But his presence is too strong, I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and so his hand lingers on my cheek.
I turn to stone so that I’m not tempted to lean into his touch, seeking comfort. I’m not a damn cat looking for cheek rubs. I don’tcravethe warmth of his touch.
“I know we have had our differences,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “But I don’t want to see you upset.”
“Why not?” I whisper, swallowing hard. “You love to see me fail, don’t you?”
He takes a step back, confusion flittering across his beautiful face, and I feel the loss of his touch keenly. “I do not love to see you fail,” he says, his words slow and deliberate as he shakes his head. “I just...I do not know how to talk to you any other way.”
I stare at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, running a hand through his gorgeous dark hair. “Nothing. It does not matter. Enjoy the rest of your day off, yes?”
He turns and walks away, leaving me more confused than ever. The residual heat and tingling in my cheeks must be from my embarrassment earlier. It has nothing to do with his touch. Nothing.
* * *
I had every intention of going to the gym, I really did. I thought it might clear my head. But I left my gym gear at home today in my last minute rush to go over my presentation one final time, and by the time I’ve walked home in the rain, I’m just not feeling it anymore – even though the health suite is in my building.
Grabbing a bottle of wine from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard, I collapse onto my sofa, closing my eyes. It doesn’t matter that it’s early; the wine is pink, therefore it doesn’t count. It’s practically a breakfast drink. There’s a wine for every occasion, and a cheese to match.
I wish that the rain had managed to wash the humiliation of my shitty day away, but all it’s managed to do is make mascara tracks down my face, because I’ve run out of my favourite brand of waterproof.
Eventually though, I’ll have to let it go. So what if I don’t land this account? There will be others. Not securing this seven-figure contract does not make me a failure, any more than spilling water over the client, stops me from getting promoted. There will be plenty more opportunities to prove myself and to build on the excellent work I’ve already demonstrated in my four years at the agency. I can do this. One bad day does not end a career.
Reaching for the wine, I pour myself a generous glass, taking a sip and letting the fresh, fruity flavour dance on my tastebuds. I flick on the TV and some sort of low-budget, made for daytime TV film is just starting, so I settle down to watch it. I hope it’s not a romance. We’ve just got through the Christmas and Valentine’s period and I’m so over romantic movies. Give me the blood, guts and gore of Halloween any day – even if I love to read smut.
As the opening credits of the movie roll on the screen, I can’t help but think about how much I hate romance movies in a way that smutty books never do. They always make me feel so lonely and miserable, like I’m missing out on something everyone else has. But today, I’m too exhausted to even feel sorry for myself. I take a long sip of my wine and let the movie play on.
The film turns out to be a thriller, with a plot that twists and turns in unexpected ways. As the protagonist fights her way through a maze of obstacles, I find myself getting increasingly invested in her story. She’s strong-willed, determined and doesn’t need anyone to save her. I like that about her.
But of course they have to go and ruin it by introducing a love interest, and I quickly losemyinterest. Sigh. Why is nothing going right today?
By the time I wake up from my unplanned nap, the movie has long finished, the news is showing some war on the other side of the world, and it’s dark outside. I switch off the TV and decide to order a pizza from my usual place, before taking a shower.
The buzzer goes while I’m still rinsing shampoo from my hair and I swear while blinking suds from my eyes. No matter how gentle my all organic formula claims to be, that shit still stings like a bitch when it gets in my eyes.
I hastily run, naked and dripping wet, through my apartment and over to the intercom by the front door.
“Pizza’s here,” Bob, my regular delivery guy, chirps happily through the speaker.
“Shit, thanks, Bob. I’m still in the shower! Door’s on the latch, money’s on the table. Keep the change.”
I buzz him up and dash back to the bathroom, all too used to doing this dance with Bob. Luckily, I trust him and he’s always a perfect gentleman, so I never have to worry about him peeping on me or robbing me or anything. I always tip generously, but I’m sure there are some guys out there who’d rather sneak a peek than get paid.
I dive back into the shower to rise off the shampoo and finish up. I didn’t expect my regular order to arrive so quickly. I thought I had more time, but I’m not complaining.
