Page 38 of Little Miss Fortune

There is something in his voice that Sashka would call nedopravda. He is not lying, but he is hiding something.

Seeing me staring, he stumbles over his words to redirect the topic. ‘And I am sorry for dragging you onto the dance floor. I don’t know what’s got into me. I just really want us to be mates again.’

Mates. That would be nice.

‘You are quite an impressive dancer,’ I say.

‘I did ballroom for about six years. Our parents believed we needed to do a sport, an art, and an instrument, and everything else in between. My sister was a lot better than I was before she stopped it, just like she stops everything else.’

I sense a slight resentment in his voice but decide to ignore it for now. You know, how I ignore everything else. ‘I did ballet, and I wasn’t any good at it. It’s impressive you did so many things when you were younger.’

Toby smiles, but his eyes dim, as if a memory weighs his lids down. He gestures for me to eat my food.

I twist the pasta onto the fork. The garlic, tomato, and red wine aroma fills me with hunger. The lights in the restaurant flicker for a second. Must be an issue with the grid.

‘Strange. Anyway, is there anything I can do so that you stop avoiding me?’ He leans in closer. Too close. Why is he always so close to me?

As I lift my fork to my mouth, a bit of red tomato sauce flicks off the noodle and lands in the centre of his white shirt.

‘Oh my god, I am so sorry.’ I look for tissues but then remember that rubbing it in would make the stain worse. ‘Washing liquid and some warm water! They must have some.’

I try to bolt to the counter, but Toby pulls me back by my wrist. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it.’

He unbuttons the shirt. I hold my breath until I see a T-shirt underneath. Obviously, he had a shirt underneath, Fuko. He isn’t going to undress in front of the whole restaurant. Toby disappears into the toilets with some washing-up liquid from the kitchen. I stuff myself with all the sauce to avoid any further splatters. My phone lights up with a message from Leon.

It’s the link to the newsletter he promised last week. I read through as I finish my noodles. Toby comes back, his wet shirt in hand, looking quite proud of himself for getting the red mark out.

‘Eat quickly. We need to go.’ I cut him off before he can tell me about the cleaning process.

‘Fuko?’

‘The venue the events team selected? Look.’

The art venue with the transphobic owner and the venue for our Interview with the Vampire party are the same place. Our client will go from being homophobic to being transphobic really fast if we don’t change the location. We have a week to rectify it.

If my luck wants to change, now would be an amazing time for it.

CHAPTER 13

You’re only supposed to find the bloody venue!

‘It’s a no from Brixton,’ Toby shouts across the room when he returns.

‘Which one in Brixton?’ Fawzia is bent over the table with a printout.

‘All of them.’

She crosses out six venue names from her list. ‘I don’t swear, guys, but Wallahi I’m close to losing it.’

The entire PR team, which is currently the three of us, and the events team have booked the biggest meeting room in the office and have been occupying it for the last four hours. We are contacting every single venue in London, and somehow, they are all booked for next week. Fawzia rolls her hijab into a bun to keep it off her face as she hovers over the lists like a hornet. Toby’s shirt is drying on a chair.

‘I am open to some drastic ideas from the team,’ Fawzia requests, but the room is silent.

Drastic. Maybe there is a way I can change our luck if I do something out of my comfort zone. Something not boring. I am willing to try anything.

‘Your face is folded,’ Toby says, sticking a Post-it note on my forehead.

Amid the chaos and worry, he is calm. I can see why Sashka likes him; she always looks for peace, after everything she’s been through. Toby feels like the guy who always has ground under his feet, even if the rest of us are falling. His shirt is dry and back on.