Page 29 of Little Miss Fortune

Am I imagining it, or has his mood shifted?

I will not ask. Not my chickens, not my eggs. It’s an improvement from the last few weeks of constant second-guessing the meaning behind his every word.

The online meeting with the events team pops on our screens with Engel, a man with a hint of a German accent; Seana, a lovely lady with a knitted colourful cardigan; two Dans. The meeting began with a five-minute apology from Seana about almost killing me.

‘You didn’t know. I am okay, I promise.’ I try to reassure her, but tears are forming in the corners of her eyes.

‘Hey, if anything, I was the one who fed it to her, so she is angrier with me than she is with you.’ Toby interferes.

‘Honestly, Seana, if I had died, you wouldn’t even have been considered an accessory to murder. It would just be him,’ I say, and Toby raises his eyebrow at me off-screen but nods at his camera.

The events team is much more lacklustre with their filing and organisation, and in a sense, I would say events is the only thing they organise. No suppliers, no event staff contacts. Who is putting up decorations? Where are they ordering them from? Who is taking them down? Are you absolutely sure you want it to be rainbow themed?

My asking questions made me the lead on raising the purchase orders, which needed to be done three days ago. Dan and Dan eventually caved, and the theme was changed to Interview with the Vampire. Not the film but the general atmosphere. I had to find data to prove that Goth is very in, which was surprisingly easy to do. People yearn for dreary castles and lacy dresses. Plus, the decorations would be easier to find than Toby’s suggestion of Dadaism and Absurdity because Père Ubu was a gay icon at Oxford.

‘No one knows what Ubu Roi is,’ I cut him off after the meeting.

He wants some credit for his idea, and I am not willing to give it.

‘But you know!’ He pouts.

‘Because I studied absurdism in cinema as a module. That makes two people who are aware of a weird French play from the 1900s.’

He grumbles, ‘1896.’

‘And you have the audacity not to be into opera.’

He plummets down into his seat and runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Did Alexandra say anything, by the way?’

That she will marry you tomorrow. ‘I am not telling you.’

‘Why not?’

‘You are my supervisor, and she is my best friend,’ I say without looking up from my laptop, concentrating on the PO at hand.

I do not understand this finance system at all. The online guide is not helping.

‘You know that I’m your supervisor only in name, right? Steven made it up for my personal development. I think it’s going well. Dating, I mean. Your advice not to be a dick helps.’ He laughs, but his gaze goes somewhere else. Somewhere distant. As if he is talking to himself, not to me. ‘She is lovely.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that.’ I really wish you didn’t, as I cannot find the requisitioning codes.

‘No, I guess not.’ He flashes an empty smile and then slaps his knees.

Something happens to my laptop when he does that. The screen goes blue, then, black, then flashes green. ‘What just happened?’ I try to switch the laptop back on again. ‘Did you kick something?’

‘No?’

‘The screen’s gone.’

‘Let me see.’ He comes behind me and wiggles my mouse, locking me in the cage of his arms.

The screen remains unresponsive to the restart button or Ctrl+Alt+Delete. I try to make myself smaller, squeezing my shoulders in to avoid my body touching his. His lips part slightly as he tries to press more and more buttons. I stare up at his eyes in the flashing lights of the screen. Why can’t I look away? And every breath sounds too loud, telling me to stop inhaling instead of not scaring him.

That’s not what my thoughts should be.

‘Ta-da! Works again.’

‘Thanks,’ I whisper, looking anywhere but at him. Then I see it. ‘Did you press something?’