CHAPTER ELEVEN
I take a step toward him. Ryan’s gaze softens as I do, the anger in his expression fading into something else. Something hopeful.
“Ryan,” I whisper.
“Yes?” he replies without hesitating, moving closer, his hand twitching.
The fire door from the ballroom suddenly swings open and the two of us spring apart as Isabella Blossom appears. She slams the door shut behind her, before leaning against it and shutting her eyes in despair, rubbing a hand in circular motions around her bump.
“Isabella, hi!” I begin, my cheeks still burning from my interaction with Ryan.
She opens one eye to look at me. “Oh, hey, Harper. How are you?”
“Good. Are you doing okay? I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I shouldn’t have come,” she admits with a heavy sigh. “I was determined to save face by showing up tonight. You know, make sure the world knows that I’m not a big mess after the breakup and—”
She pauses, opening both eyes this time to study Ryan suspiciously.
“Don’t worry, I can vouch for him,” I assure her. “He works with me.”
“So he’s a journalist,” she surmises grumpily.
“Yeah, but anything you say here is completely off the record. He’s not interested in that kind of journalism anyway, isn’t that right, Ryan?” I say, tapping his arm.
“Yes,” he says quickly, nodding.
“I like your dress,” I comment, admiring the pale pink tulle skirt.
“Thanks. It’s Versace.”
“I didn’t realize Versace did maternity wear.”
She chuckles, wiping her forehead. I can see that she’s sweating and she doesn’t look too steady on her feet.
“Are you okay?” I ask again, watching her with some concern.
“Yeah, fine. Sort of. Everyone’s being so nosy and fake in there. I kept trying to smile my way through it, but it got a bit much,” she admits, before suddenly grimacing and adding in a strained voice, “Also, I think I might be having contractions.”
Ryan turns to me in alarm.
“Y-you what?” I ask, my eyes widening at her.
She can’t answer, instead letting out an “argh!” and shutting her eyes tight.
“Isabella, oh my god,” I say, rushing over to her. “You’re having contractions?”
“I know. I’ve been having them a while now. Such bad timing.” She winces. “I need to put a pause on them.”
“You can’t put a pause on contractions!”
“I have to, Harper!” she cries, her eyes filled with anguish. “I need to show all those people in there that I’m over Elijah! They all think I’m falling apart. That’s why I had to come tonight, despite the fact my water broke this morning. I had to show them I’m fine.”
“Isabella,” I say slowly, taking her hand, “if your water broke, you are having your baby. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“The baby won’t come for a while yet, don’t worry,” she says, shaking her head. “It can take hours after the water breaks for anything to really begin. And anyway, we can’t go to the hospital. Not right now.”
“What?”
“If we go out the front, all the paparazzi will see and they’ll crowd the hospital, and I don’t want them knowing because I can’t handle the stress of that and … ahhhhhh!”
“Just breathe. That’s it, you’re doing great.”
“I know I’m doing great,” she says, her forehead creased in pain. “That’s why I think we have a few hours before this baby is coming, so I can just walk right back in there with my head held high and show them all.”
“You’ve already shown them all!” I say urgently, looking to Ryan for help.
“Uh, yes, you’ve shown them that you’re fine,” he says, coming to stand behind me.
She looks up at him hopefully. “Really? They don’t think I’m a big horrible mess after the breakup?”
“Oh, well,” he says nervously, glancing at me as I give him encouraging eyes. “I … um … overheard someone saying that this breakup was clearly the best thing to happen to you because you look so good.”
She smiles in relief.
“Okay, so now we need to get you to the hospital,” I say in as soothing a tone as I can muster. “How can I contact your driver?”
“I need my phone. It has his number in there.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“In my bag.”
“Where’s your bag?”
She looks around herself and then groans. “I don’t know. I think I gave it to someone.”
“Your PA? Your manager? The cloakroom?”
“I don’t know, someone!” she whines.
“Okay, no worries, I can go ask around,” I assure her.
She grips my hand so tight, I squeak in pain. “You are not leaving me,” she says sternly. “I need you right now, Harper.”
“I can go look for the bag,” Ryan offers.
“No! If you go asking around about my bag, people will get suspicious,” Isabella growls at him. “They’ll ask you questions about where I am and then everyone will know! Neither of you is leaving me!”
“Who did you come with?” Ryan asks. “I can at least find them to come help.”
“I didn’t come with anyone,” she growls. “I came alone. I just went through a breakup, remember?”
“Right, that’s absolutely fine, we’re here,” I say calmly as Ryan looks panicked at her fierce tone. “We can go out the back way of the hotel and get a taxi. Yeah? I’m sure whoever has your bag can look after it. Okay, let’s get moving, shall we?”
“Fine,” she says, pushing herself away from the door and then pointing her finger at both of us. “I cannot handle press attention right now. So if we see anyone, act normal. Got it?”
Ryan nods. “Got it.”
“Got it,” I echo.
“Good. Now, do either of you know how to get out of here the back way?”
“That’s a very good question,” Ryan comments. “Harper?”
“Actually, yes I do.”
The two of them look at me in pleasant surprise.
“How?” Isabella asks, intrigued.
“Thanks to directions from a very helpful waiter, I once came to the rescue of a very well-known chat show host who needed to sneak out.”
“He was escaping the press, too?”
“His ex was lurking around, actually. He didn’t want to risk bumping into her. Anyway”—I gesture one way down the corridor—“we should probably get going.”
“Right.” Isabella nods, moving forward.
Unfortunately, my memory of the back corridors of The Langham proves somewhat hazy, due in part to the several mojitos I’d enjoyed that evening, and we get lost more than once. This doesn’t go down too well with Isabella, whose contractions seem to be getting closer together and more painful.
At one point, Ryan takes her hand, chanting, “Breathe, breathe,” before yelping in pain as she grips his fingers and goes, “You fucking breathe.”
“I think my thumb is broken,” he whispers to me as she bumbles on ahead down the stairs.
“Oh, poor thing, we all feel very sorry for you,” she calls back, overhearing him. “Because that sounds just as painful as pushing a basketball out of your vagina.”
“To be fair, she has a point,” I tell him, stifling a laugh. “But don’t worry; we can have your hand checked out at the hospital, too, if you like.”
“I’m fine,” he grumbles.
We make it to a corridor I recognize, knowing that the outside world is just a few steps away. A couple of the kitchen staff look a bit puzzled as we pass, but as soon as I say I need fresh air because I feel I’m going to be sick, they quickly point toward the correct door, no questions asked.
We finally burst outside. Ryan and I check a couple of taxi apps, but all of them are coming up with drivers unavailable. It’s a busy night, and we’re in the heart of Central London.
“We should call an ambulance,” Ryan suggests.
“No! You don’t call an ambulance when you go into labor!” Isabella balks. “I just need a bloody car to get me to the hospital.”
“I really think an ambulance is a good idea,” he insists gently.
“No ambulance,” she seethes.
“Okay, I’ll try the main road for a black cab,” Ryan says, his voice much higher-pitched than usual as he shudders under her glare. “You going to be okay here for a bit?”
“Sure, take your time,” Isabella replies, “it’s not like I’m having a baby or anything.”
I give him a thumbs-up as he scuttles away.
“Poor guy. It’s not his fault. I’m just pissed off at men not having to go through any of this. Oh god,” she says, trying to steady her breathing and pushing her hair out of her face, “this is not how this was supposed to go.”
“It’s going to be fine, I promise,” I assure her. “We’ll get you to the hospital.”
“No, I mean—” she throws her hands up in the air “—having a baby on my own. I thought Elijah would be here. I thought that I’d have someone to face all this with. The baby’s father doesn’t want anything to do with me, and now I’ve messed up a relationship with someone who was happy to help raise the baby even though it wasn’t his. I’m all alone. This baby is coming and … it’s just me.” She looks at me, her eyes glistening as tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
She starts having another contraction, and I put my arm around her as she cries out in pain, before she begins steadying her breathing again. I watch her in admiration, waiting until the contraction is over to speak.
“Isabella, you can’t plan everything out in life. No one can. Nothing is supposed to be a certain way. It is what it is and we make the best of it.”
“I know, but this baby doesn’t have a family.”
“Are you kidding? This baby has you!” I say, squeezing her arm. “You’re their family. Trust me, this baby doesn’t need anyone else.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whimpers.
“Of course you can do this. I know you can do this.”
Tears stream down her cheeks. “I’m not so sure.”
“Isabella, look at me,” I demand, staring her right in the eye. “You’ve got this. All this baby needs is you, their loving and wonderful mum. That’s it. They need you. So, you can do this because you have to. Yes?”
Her lip quivering, she nods slowly. “Yes. You’re right.”
“I am right. I’m always right. Feel free to mention that in front of Ryan when he comes back.”
She laughs, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Thanks, Harper.”
“You don’t need to thank me. You already knew all that before I said it.”
“I mean it,” she croaks, grabbing my hands in hers. “Thank you.”
I smile at her.
She sighs. “Where the fuck is Ryan?”
“He’ll be here any minute, I’m sure.” I bite my lip and check my phone. “Let me just give him a call.”
“Tell him if he’s not here in two minutes with a taxi, I’m going to break all his other fingers,” she grumbles.
“I’ll pass that right on,” I say, taking a few paces away from her with the phone up to my ear. As soon as he picks up, I hiss, “Where are you?”
“I’m trying to flag down a taxi,” he snaps.
“Any luck?”
“If I’d had any luck, I’d be with you, wouldn’t I?”
“For god’s sake, Ryan, there must be one taxi somewhere!”
“Hang on,” he gasps. “Is that … I think I see … a yellow light. A yellow light!”
“Oh good! Get it quick!”
“I’m running out into the middle of the road to make sure it stops.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m in the road!” he cries.
“Oh my god, hail it down with your hand like a normal person!”
“I will take no such risk! He can’t miss me.” His voice grows faint as he yells, “Taxi, taxi!” and I assume he’s waving his arms around. “Harper, he’s stopped!”
“Yes!”
“I’ll be with you in one second! Stay where you are!”
“Trust me,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at Isabella, who is now almost bent double leaning against the wall of the hotel. “We’re not moving.”
As I hang up, Isabella raises her head. “Harper, I think … I think this baby is coming soon!” she says, looking much sweatier than before.
“It’s okay. Ryan’s got the taxi.” I gulp. “Although maybe we really should call an ambulance?”
“No. No, just get me to the hospital.”
“I promise we will.”
She experiences a long, painful contraction. I rub her back and then hear the beep of the taxi pull up next to us, Ryan swinging open the door and jumping out.
“We need to get you into the car,” I tell her as she turns huffing and puffing to face Ryan.
He puts his arm around her and gently guides her toward the taxi, saying, “It’s okay, Isabella, you’re doing really well. Almost there, in you go.”
“You’re both coming with me, right?” she asks nervously as she climbs in.
“Yeah, of course,” I assure her, hopping in opposite her as she lies across the back seats.
Ryan pulls down the seat next to me, slams the door, and, over his shoulder, tells the driver to go, go, go.
“Where?” the driver asks.
“The hospital! Where do you think? Ahhhhhh!” Isabella shrieks, hunching in pain.
“I think the closest is St. Thomas’ Hospital,” Ryan says frantically. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
“She better not have a baby in my cab,” the driver grumbles, putting his foot down. “I had someone in here only last night being sick everywhere. I don’t want to have to clean those floors again!”
As we set off, Ryan and I share frequent looks of panic as Isabella’s contractions seem to be getting closer and closer together.
“I need you to come sit over here, Harper, and comfort me,” she says, puffing out breaths as she continues to shift positions throughout the journey, sometimes perching on the edge of the seat then moving to kneel on the floor of the taxi, resting her forehead and arms on the seat. “You’re going to be my birthing partner.”
“It’s an honor,” I tell her, determined to do a good job.
I launch myself from one side of the taxi to the other, offering my hand. She reaches for it and grips it tight.
“I’ve got this. I’ve got this,” she says repeatedly through breaths.
“You’ve got this,” I echo, Ryan nodding in solidarity.
“Please say we’re nearly there!” she squeals, just as we come to the stop in some heavy traffic on Westminster Bridge, before crying out at a contraction.
“Almost there! We’re so close!”
“Oh god, this is bad,” she croaks. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it. I’m feeling an urge to push. We need to get to the hospital!”
“We’re going to make it,” Ryan assures her, glancing back over his shoulder at the long queue of traffic across the bridge. “Any minute and we’ll be moving again.”
There are beeps and angry shouts up ahead, and I see the cabdriver look at us in his rearview mirror, his forehead creased in panic. After a while of standstill traffic, our cabdriver starts honking the horn constantly, especially when Isabella shrieks in pain at another contraction.
“Move it!” the driver yells out his window. “LADY HAVING A BABY HERE!”
“Harper,” Isabella says, tightening her grip on my hand, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead as she moves her position again, “you need to phone the ambulance. I’m feeling the urge to push.”
I feel like all the breath has been knocked out of me. “Are you s-sure?”
She nods.
“Okay, don’t worry, it’s going to be all right, it’s going to be fine,” I say, convincing myself as well as everyone else as I grapple with my phone and dial 999.
“You have got to be kidding me,” the driver groans, slamming his hand on the horn. “You should have called an ambulance in the first place, not a cab!”
Ryan opens his mouth, but Isabella shoots him the evilest of glares. “If you dare say anything along the lines of ‘I told you so’…”
“I wasn’t going to, I swear,” he says, his eyes wide with fear.
I explain the situation to the emergency call handler, as Isabella instinctively moves into a squatting position, shouting, “Do any of you have a towel? We’re going to need a towel! This baby is coming! It’s not supposed to be coming yet! This is too soon! This pushing part is supposed to take ages! Tell them, Ryan!”
“I … uh … if you can hear me in there, little baby, you’re not s-supposed to come yet,” Ryan stammers dutifully.
“I DIDN’T MEAN TELL THE BABY! I MEANT, TELL THE DOCTORS!” Isabella bellows.
“Right, of course,” he whispers fearfully.
“We think the baby is coming now,” I say urgently into the phone. “But apparently it’s not supposed to be happening this quickly.”
“Every birth is different. Do you have a clean towel?” the calm woman echoes on the other end of the phone.
Quick as a flash, Ryan whips off his tux jacket and holds it ready.
“We have a tux jacket,” I respond, helping Isabella to balance.
“You need to ask the driver to pull over and put on the hazard lights,” she instructs.
I repeat the instruction and he says, “We’re in the middle of standstill traffic!” before putting on the hazard lights and opening his car door. I watch out the window as he starts yelling, “Is anyone in this traffic jam a doctor?” at the top of his lungs.
“Oh my god, the baby is coming!” Isabella shrieks. “Ryan, I can feel its head! ITS HEAD IS COMING!”
“I’m ready, Isabella,” Ryan says, holding his dinner jacket under her legs and looking at her with an encouraging smile. He suddenly doesn’t look panicked at all, as though a switch has gone off in his brain and he knows he needs to step up. “Don’t worry, we can do this. We’re right here with you. You can do this! Keep breathing. You’re doing brilliantly.”
Her eyes fixed on his, she nods.
“An ambulance is on its way to you,” the caller promises as I tell her the head is coming out. “It will be with you any minute. She needs to push.”
“Isabella, you need to push,” I inform her.
“NO SHIT.”
“That’s it, Isabella,” Ryan says in this steady, calm voice that’s so convincing. He’s making me feel much better, too, as though he might actually know what he’s doing. “Big push, you can do it. It’s going to be okay.”
I hear sirens in the distance as Isabella howls, gripping my hand until my fingers no longer have any feeling left in them. Ryan has positioned his jacket right underneath her, ready for the baby to come, so when the woman on the phone tells me to make sure the baby won’t fall on the floor, I can assure her that we have that covered.
“More pushing, Isabella, you’re doing so brilliantly,” Ryan says, a great big smile on his face.
“You’ve got this, another push, you can do it,” I say, Ryan nodding along.
Above Isabella’s groans, I hear the cabdriver yell, “It’s here! The ambulance is here! Cars are parting to let them through! Why didn’t you do that for us when I was saying we were having a baby, eh? You load of wankers!”
“Almost there, Isabella, almost there!” Ryan says soothingly, and I watch in disbelief as after a few more pushes from Isabella, he wraps his jacket around a baby whose cries pierce the air and send a wave of relief through all of us. As he passes the baby to her to hold on her chest, the door behind swings open and paramedics appear.
“It’s a boy,” Ryan whispers.
Tears are streaming down all three of our faces. Ryan and I tell Isabella that we have to step out to let the paramedics into the cab and, as the fresh air hits my damp cheeks, I notice the driver is also crying, beaming down through the window at the little baby. Other drivers have gotten out of their cars and are squinting at us to see what’s happening, the blue lights of the ambulance flashing across their faces.
Ryan and I look at each other, big dopey smiles on our faces.
“I can’t believe that just happened. Ryan, you were … incredible. I would hug you, but you are covered in blood.”
He laughs, looking down at his shirt. “This is going to be a fun story to tell the dry cleaners.”
“You delivered a baby,” I whisper in amazement.
“It was a team effort. You were so great with her, Harper, she really trusts you.”
As a paramedic steps out of the cab to speak to his colleague, I ask him if everything is okay.
“Everything is great. You did really well; well done. We’re going to get them both to the hospital now. We can take one of you with us if you’d like? I think she wants you there.”
“You go,” Ryan says, gesturing to his shirt.
“No, you should come, too. Please,” I plead.
Having just gone through such an event together, I suddenly feel bereft at the idea of him leaving me.
“I’ll meet you there. I can walk, it’s really not far.”
We look on as Isabella is transported out of the cab to the ambulance, and I nod toward our driver, who is dabbing at his eyes with a tissue that a fellow motorist has offered him.
“We need to tip heavily on this fare,” I whisper to Ryan.
“Don’t worry. I’ll expense it. Cosmo will love this story,” Ryan laughs. “Go on, don’t let her be alone in the ambulance.”
“I’ll see you at the hospital?”
“Promise.”
Tearing myself away from him, I hurry to climb into the ambulance and we set off, meandering through the traffic. I sit at the side, trying not to get in the way of the paramedic while beaming down at Isabella and her baby.
“Can you believe it?” she says to me, her eyes filled with joy and wonder. “Can you believe that that just happened?”
“No,” I laugh as tears start spilling down my cheeks again. “I guess it’s proof of what we talked about—when it comes down to it, you really can’t plan everything.”
“That’s true,” she says, gazing at her little boy, now wrapped in a proper towel. “I wouldn’t change a thing. It was absolutely perfect.”
“I’ll say,” I nod. “Very Hollywood.”
She tilts her head up at me. “How so?”
“It was outrageous and extraordinary,” I say, before flashing her a grin. “And you gave birth wearing Versace.”
AUGUST 2012
After my interview, I plan to head home but find Ryan waiting in reception. He jumps up when he sees me, coming over with an apprehensive smile on his face.
“How was it?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Terrifying. What are you still doing here?”
“I thought we could go for a drink, maybe,” he says quickly. “It’s been a pretty stressful day, so we’ve earned it. Only if you don’t have any plans.”
It has been a very stressful week, really, trying to focus on our usual intern tasks but secretly prepping for the interviews that were cruelly scheduled for Friday afternoon.
The interview was conducted by one of the senior editors, Martha, and Celia was in there, too, mostly making notes, but every now and then asking a less grueling question than the ones Martha was firing at me. I have no idea how I did, but Celia whispered, “Well done,” as she opened the door for me at the end, and right now I’m just so relieved it’s over. I spent the last two weeks practicing interview questions and studying The Daily Bulletin. At least I can rest assured there was nothing more I could have done.
“A drink sounds great,” I say, and his expression brightens.
He suggests a pub in North London, since we’re both heading that way home anyway. We get the tube together, talking about the interviews and what questions came up, before we both agree we shouldn’t discuss it any further because it’s boring work chat and we deserve a night of fun.
It’s busy at the pub Ryan chooses—the only rule I had was that we don’t go to the bar I work at—as there’s a large group of smartly dressed friends who must be going on to a fancy black-tie event. We manage to bag a couple of chairs and a small table inside, which I’m grateful for because I’ve been wearing smart heels all day for the interview and, even though it’s late August, it’s threatening to rain. As soon as I sit down, I cause Ryan to wrinkle his nose with disapproval as I use the sleeve of my jacket to give the table a quick wipe.
“What?” I sigh. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll get some napkins from the bar. White wine?”
“Yes, please.”
His phone starts vibrating with a call, and he tells me he’ll be back in a moment, answering and ducking back outside the pub. I shrug off my jacket, leaving it on the table before heading to the bar myself and ordering the drinks, just in case his call takes a while. When he reappears, he makes a beeline for the bar, but I call him over and gesture to the bottle already waiting in a wine chiller with two glasses.
“Sorry about that,” he says, taking a seat on the stool next to me.
“I’m making them a large, I hope that’s okay,” I say, pouring the wine into our glasses.
“Fine by me.” His cheeks are flushed. “It’s been a day.”
“You can say that again. I can’t believe they pushed our picnic piece back, too. Do you think they’ll still publish it?”
“I reckon so. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I respond glumly, clinking my glass against his.
“Why do you look so upset?” he asks, concerned.
“Oh, I just really want to have an article published so I can show my parents.”
He smiles. “They’d be really proud, huh?”
“Ha!” I say, throwing him off guard. “It’s complicated,” I hurry to explain. “Anyway, sorry, we said we wouldn’t talk about work, didn’t we? Let’s focus on something else.”
There’s an eruption of guffaws and laughter from the fancily clad group on the other side of the pub. I nod toward them.
“Where do you think they’re going?” I ask him. “Maybe we could make friends and try to wrangle an invite.”
“No, thanks,” Ryan says, glancing at them. “I’m not a fan of black tie.”
“What? I love it! It’s so fun dressing up for posh events!”
“They’re the worst kind of events,” Ryan groans. “You have to stand there in an uncomfortable suit and make small talk and worst of all, dance.”
“All of that sounds great!” I laugh.
“Yeah, for people like you, who find those situations easy. For me, they’re excruciating,” he admits shyly, shrugging. “I feel so out of place, like I don’t belong and everyone knows it.”
Has he looked in the mirror? Does he not know how beautiful he is? If he wanted to, he’d have people falling over themselves to dance with him. Bet he looks good in a tux, too.
I haven’t drunk enough wine to say any of that to him, though.
“I’d rather just go to the pub with a friend,” he concludes.
“Like right now?”
He smiles. “Like right now.”
“I’m glad you’re happy, then. But for the record, black-tie events would be absolutely fine if you threw yourself into them. It’s about attitude. You’ve got to forget what everyone else thinks, believe you belong, and shimmy about.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I will never have that confidence. You have this amazing aura about you, Harper, like you can just walk into any room and be completely comfortable. You can talk to anyone.”
“So can you.”
“We both know that’s not true,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “I’ve never been … brave in that way. I’m so self-conscious.”
“Everyone feels that way.”
He smiles at me. “My brother used to say that to try to make me feel better, too.”
“You have a brother?”
He nods, a sadness shrouding his eyes as he turns the stem of his wine glass round and round. “Yeah. Adam. He died when we were younger. He had leukemia.”
My heart sinks. “Ryan, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s been a while now. I mean, I miss him all the time, but … you know.” He shrugs. “He was always the confident one.”
“You say that like every family has one.”
He chuckles. “Mine certainly does. You have any siblings?”
“Yes. I have an older sister, Juliet. We don’t really speak. She’s a lawyer here in the city, but I never see her. I try to be out of the house when she comes home to visit. Sorry, that sounds ungrateful when you’ve lost your brother,” I add guiltily.
“Don’t be silly. Families are complicated.” He hesitates. “I get the feeling you’re not close to your parents, either.”
I let out a long sigh. “An understatement.”
He grimaces. “I’m sorry. That can’t be easy.”
“It is what it is. You close to yours?”
“Yeah. Although they weren’t thrilled about me moving to London. They live in Manchester.”
“Who do you live with here, then?”
“I have a flatmate, a friend from uni.” He pauses. “He’s actually away this weekend, though, so I’ve got the place to myself.”
The atmosphere feels instantly charged. I have no idea if it’s just me. He likely said that as a throw-away comment; of course he just said that as a throwaway comment, Harper, you think he was saying it so that you would know you could go back to his tonight, no problem?! Don’t be stupid.
Although.
It’s kind of a weird throwaway comment, isn’t it? I didn’t ask if his housemate was there or not. He voluntarily offered that information. Was it a hint? But why would he do that? We don’t get on! We can barely have a conversation without it becoming a full-on argument! I think he’s an irritating know-it-all! He thinks I’m a vapid, reality-TV-show-loving, hideous mess of a person! There’s no way he wants to sleep with me!
Although.
He did hang around for ages after his interview to wait for me to invite me for a drink. We did have that moment in Greenwich. And we’re currently having a very pleasant conversation without any arguing whatsoever, so it’s not like we’re always at each other’s throats. Maybe we do get on after all. Maybe there’s some kind of … spark here.
I feel overly excited and terrifyingly nervous at the same time.
My hands are getting all sweaty.
You know what I blame?
His eyes. They’re earnest and gentle and piercing, all at the same time. How does he get away with them? They don’t belong to someone like him, they belong to Claudia Schiffer! He has no right to have such eyes!
“Are you okay?” Ryan asks suddenly. “You look … vexed.”
“Me? I’m fine! Absolutely fine,” I repeat, picking up my glass and draining it. “I’m going to go wee.”
I hop off my stool and scurry away from him toward the loo, instantly regretting saying the word “wee” in front of him. When I finish washing my hands, I lean on the basin to stare at my reflection. Thankfully, none of my makeup has smudged (yet). I’m glad I took particular care over my appearance for my interview today.
“Sleeping with him would be a bad idea,” I tell my reflection.
“Sex is never a bad idea!” replies a drunken voice from another cubicle, giving me a fright. I dash out of the toilets, absolutely mortified. Thank god whoever it is didn’t see me come into the bathroom and won’t be able to identify me in the pub.
As I make my way back over to Ryan, he glances up from his phone and smiles at me. It’s that secretive one he does sometimes, like he knows something I don’t. It usually annoys me in the office, but now it brings me to a swift realization.
It’s like the phantom girl in the cubicle said: sex is never a bad idea.