CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I stare at the article on Ryan’s wall, lost in a haze of memories.
I’ve spent the last eleven years convinced that Ryan’s betrayal proved that he was sneaky and conniving. But standing here, I’m realizing that we were just kids. Both of us were stumbling through the murky bit of real life that comes straight at you the minute you leave school or university—the moment where, suddenly, you’re on your own. We were trying to find our footing. When I think about it, I loved my experience at The Daily Bulletin, and I’m grateful that I eventually ended up at Flair, where I met Mimi and discovered that my interest in pop culture and celebrity could actually become my calling card. I’m glad things happened how they did.
I don’t want to be mad at Ryan anymore. I want …
“You’re smiling,” Ryan remarks, interrupting my thoughts. I realize that he’s been watching me with an expression of concern.
“I’m remembering,” I inform him, nodding to the article.
“I wouldn’t have thought that would make you smile.”
“You thought wrong, then. Who wouldn’t have fond memories of photocopying and hours of transcribing?”
He relaxes, a small laugh emitting from his lips. “God, the transcribing. It really is one of the worst parts of our job.”
“Which is why you’ll be doing it for our Max Sjöberg interview,” I say, prompting him to give me a look that says, Nice try. “Do you remember visiting all the picnic spots?”
“I’ll never forget it. I was so nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because I was going to be spending a whole day with you outside of work, and I didn’t really know how to be around you,” he admits coolly. “You weren’t my biggest fan.”
“We were in competition with each other for the job, and you were infuriating in the office.” I pause, adding with a mischievous smile, “Which hasn’t really changed.”
“I’m the infuriating one? Have you seen your desk?”
“Ryan, you’re a broken record. You have got to care less about the state of my desk.”
“I have to look on it every single day. You have no idea how much it stresses me out.”
“I know exactly how much it stresses you out,” I retort cheerily. “It’s written all over your face whenever you sit down.”
“And here I was thinking I was hard to read.”
“Not to me.”
He pauses, those ocean-blue eyes fixed on me, his expression softening and making a swarm of butterflies flutter in my stomach. I swallow, nervous under his intense gaze, the heat rising in my cheeks.
“What was it like in the office after I left?” I manage to ask, trying to keep things light. “It must have been nice for everyone to get the coffees they actually ordered.”
“It would have been, but the interns who came in after us were shit.”
I burst out laughing at his bluntness.
“Neither of them had anything like our drive,” he continues, a playful smile on his lips as he enjoys my reaction. “The problem was they actually got on well, so there was no motivation for them to beat the other one. They were slow with the research I assigned to them, took their time on the coffee runs, and talk about sloppy transcribing. The number of typos was laughable.”
“I suppose we did motivate each other. I should thank you for that—Celia never would have contacted me later to offer me the interview at Flair if I’d been a half-assed intern under her watch at The Daily Bulletin.”
“I don’t think you have it in you to be half-assed at anything,” Ryan comments. “Except punctuality, which you fully dedicate yourself to being terrible at, so I suppose that doesn’t count.”
I chuckle. “I mean it, though, Ryan. I know us going up against each other for that job wasn’t ideal, but in the end it was for the best that I didn’t get it. I wasn’t meant to be a reporter at The Daily Bulletin. I was much more at home at a magazine like Flair.”
He nods, saying quietly, “I felt so terrible when you left.”
I get a stab of guilt at his sincerity.
“You must have hated me,” he adds.
“I was angry at the situation,” I say quickly, not wanting to linger on the topic, because in all honesty, I did hate him at the time. “Maybe if I’d had a better relationship with my parents … Going home to them after was painful. Those next few weeks were pretty bad—I was so desperate to move out, but the job at the bar paid so little, and I knew I was lucky to have parents living in a house in London where I could stay. When Celia called, I cried with happiness. As soon as I was on the payroll, I moved to the other side of London, away from them. It all worked out in the end!” I smile up at him.
“I went to your parents’ house,” he says quietly.
“When?”
“A couple of days after you left The Daily Bulletin. I thought I’d give you some time to cool off, then try to get you to talk to me,” he admits. “But I couldn’t bring myself to ring that bloody doorbell. As usual, I didn’t have the confidence.”
His throat bobs as he swallows.
I stare at him, stunned by this admission. “I can’t believe you came to the house.”
“I didn’t linger like a weird stalker or anything, I promise.”
“No, it’s not … I wasn’t thinking that,” I stammer. “I’m just surprised you bothered.”
He frowns. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. I assumed you forgot all about me the second I was gone.”
He blinks at me. “Harper, are you being serious?”
“Well, you got the job we both wanted and what happened between us … it was a fling,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I figured that you were focused on your career and that weekend was a blip. God, I was so panicked when you got that job at The Correspondence. Did you know when you started there that I was the celebrity editor at Narrative?”
He nods, his eyes fixed on me. “Yeah, I did.”
“Well, at least you were prepared to bump into me, then. Must have been nice to have some warning,” I laugh nervously. “When I spotted you in the newsroom, I didn’t know what to do with myself. At first, I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me, and then when I realized you did, I thought it was easier to pretend we’d never met. Save ourselves the embarrassment of … well, thinking back to that time and everything that had happened.”
“Harper,” he groans, running a hand through his hair, “when you say stuff like that, it makes me … you thought that I might not remember you?”
“I suppose we did sit next to each other for eight weeks,” I admit.
His jaw tenses and he doesn’t say anything, breathing in deeply through his nose as though he’s steadying himself. He turns, taking a few paces away from me deep in thought before stopping still and spinning back to address me, his brow furrowed in what looks like a mixture of confusion and frustration.
“You honestly thought there was a chance I would have … forgotten?” he asks in disbelief, his cheeks flushed in anger.
I’m taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor, staring at him, startled.
“It was a long time ago,” I stammer. “Okay, so maybe I knew that you’d probably recognize me, but it wasn’t like it was a big thing that happened between us. It was just one weekend, it’s not like it was—” I search for the words, waving my hands through the air “—a grand affair. You know, I was just a fellow intern with you. A lot’s happened since then; you might not have been able to place me.”
He throws his head back and lets out a “Ha,” exasperation flooding his features.
“A fellow intern,” he repeats breathlessly, shaking his head as he paces back and forth in front of me, as though I’m not even there and he’s talking to himself. “That’s what you thought I saw you as. Just a fellow intern.”
“Ryan,” I begin, baffled by his agitated behavior, “what’s—”
“I was crazy about you,” he interrupts, his eyes flashing at me as he stops short.
My breath catches in my throat.
“I was crazy about you,” he emphasizes again, loudly and urgently, as though he can’t hold it in any longer. “I told you. Right from the moment we met, I was—” He throws his hands up, flustered as he searches for the right words. He sighs, lowering his voice. “That weekend eleven years ago, what happened between us, it was what I’d been waiting for that whole summer. I was such an idiot to lie to you, Harper. But I wanted you so badly and I knew that you wouldn’t go for that drink with me … not if you knew I had the job.”
He pauses, eyes closing, as if the memory pains him. “God, it was so shit. I tried to explain it to you the day you left, but you didn’t want to hear it. You have no idea what it was like without you in that office once you’d left. I couldn’t bear the idea that you were out there, hating me. I kept trying to call and message you—”
“I blocked you,” I whisper.
“I knew that.” He looks dejected. “I knew how much I’d fucked up. I’d lost the only person I’d ever really…”
I wait for him to finish his sentence, but he doesn’t, his eyes moving back to the framed article on the wall. He looks lost for a moment.
“You’d ever really what?” I prompt gently.
He sighs, but doesn’t say anything.
I can’t help myself. I reach out and brush my fingers against his so that he’ll look at me again, and when he does, his forehead creases and his eyes search mine.
Ever so slightly, I tilt my head up toward his.
It’s the permission he needs.
His fingers sweep softly along my cheekbone before cupping my face as he moves to close the gap between us, bowing his head, his eyelashes lowering as his nose softly nudges the side of mine. My lips part and as he brushes his lips against mine, I close my eyes, my hands reaching round the back of his neck as his slide down to my waist, pulling me closer to him. He presses his mouth to mine, soft and tentative at first as though to savor it, but I kiss him back harder, and he immediately reciprocates, deepening the kiss, moving me back against the wall. I inhale sharply as he moves his mouth to my neck, running his lips down to my collarbone, his warm hands finding their way beneath the fabric of my top, warm against my bare skin. I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want this to stop.
But the tiniest niggle at the back of my brain makes me reach down and wrap my fingers around his wrists.
“We can’t,” I hear myself whispering.
“Harper,” he growls, his warm breath tickling my neck.
“I can’t,” I say, firmer this time. “I have a boyfriend.”
Ryan exhales shakily and then abruptly pulls away, leaving me flat against the wall and feeling suddenly vulnerable. I cross my arms, watching as he turns from me. He goes to the table by the sofa, where the two glasses of wine have been left untouched. He picks one up and swigs from it before daring to look at me.
“You want to be with him,” he states coldly.
“No!” I exclaim, my eyes widening in horror at him mistaking my meaning. “No, but cheating isn’t my style. I’m pretty sure it isn’t yours, either. I need to go see him and … talk.”
Ryan shakes his head. “Please don’t go to him tonight, Harper.”
“I have to. This isn’t fair.”
He doesn’t say anything, his jaw clenching, and after a moment he takes another large gulp of wine. My head spinning from the whirlwind of tonight, I go to pick up my bag.
“Let me sort everything with him and then…”
“And then?” he asks, as I falter.
“Then we’ll go from there,” is all I can think of to say.
He gives a sharp nod, his lips pressing together into a thin line until they’ve all but disappeared. I walk over to him and reach up to give him a kiss on the cheek. I linger there and he angles his face toward mine as though daring me to make a move.
While I still have any willpower left, I break away from him and walk over to his door, opening it and stepping out into the evening air without looking back.
Everything is pulling me toward Ryan, every inch of my body screaming to return to his arms. But my moral compass has clawed its way back to lead the charge, and I know that as terrible as I feel about leaving this way, I’m doing the right thing. I’ve already kissed someone else and—worse than that—I know I have feelings for him. Strong feelings that I can’t suppress. Not after that kiss, anyway.
Bloody hell, what a kiss.
Sitting on the tube, I can’t stop thinking about Ryan, almost missing the stop where I change onto the Northern Line to get to Liam’s flat. That kiss was amazing. It was more than that. It was mind-blowing. No one has ever kissed me like that before. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that wanted. That needed.
Everything about Ryan makes me dizzy with excitement: the way he smiles; the clean, fresh masculine scent of his cologne; his broad shoulders and strong arms; those dazzling blue eyes. But also the way he makes me feel; the way he notices things about me; the way he looks at me …
I can’t believe he came to my parents’ house after our fight. I’d felt so humiliated and betrayed that it was easier to write those few days off as a stupid mistake—I had lost myself for a weekend in a silly fairytale romance that wasn’t real. As far as I was concerned, Ryan had played his part as the devilishly handsome adversary-turned-lover with perfect finesse. He had said all the right things to have his fun for a weekend, and then he was right back to focusing on his own ends come Monday morning. I’d told myself I was stupid for being so naïve as to think that a guy like him would put a girl like me first.
It was easier to think that way because I was so angry and embarrassed. And it was plausible, too—Ryan is the sort of handsome that makes people do a double take. The only reason anyone would look twice at me is if I fell over because I was in a rush, late for wherever I needed to be.
But now, as I walk to Liam’s flat from the tube station, I consider what I’d have done if I had been in Ryan’s shoes—if we’d gone for that drink and then it had been me who got the phone call to say I’d got the job. Would I have told him, knowing I’d ruin the night? Especially if, as he claims, there were feelings already there in the mix? Would it even be my place to tell him he hadn’t gotten the job?
Turning the corner onto Liam’s road, I force myself to focus on what’s coming next.
I’ll break up with Liam, kindly and respectfully, and then I will go home and have a bath and get my head sorted. Once I’ve worked out exactly what I want to say to Ryan, I’ll pop him a message and go round to see him to talk things through.
It’s a sensible, grown-up plan.
Nearing Liam’s building, I start to feel sick with nerves. Breakups are horrible and I hate the idea of hurting him. None of this is his fault, it’s completely on me, and I can only hope that he realizes sooner rather than later that we’re not meant to be. Even if Ryan hadn’t come into my life, Liam and I would not have worked out. The charity ball had been an eye-opener, and honestly, I really didn’t like the way he kept trying to mix our business lives. This breakup is for the best.
Someone is exiting his block of flats as I arrive, and I catch the door, so there’s no need for me to ring the bell for him to let me up. I start climbing the stairs apprehensively, wondering if he’ll even be home. He did say he was working on something with Halo Skewed tonight, but he might be back from his meeting with them by now. And if not, his flatmate might be in, so I can always wait until he’s back.
I reach his floor and walk slowly along the landing, my heart pounding against my chest as I try to focus on what I’m going to say exactly. There’s no easy way to break up with someone. I just have to keep it simple and calm.
Approaching his door, I hear music coming from inside and instantly feel awash with dread. He’s probably home. That’s what I want, I tell myself, it’s a good thing he’s home. It’s like pulling off a Band-Aid. It’s unpleasant and painful, but it’s a necessity.
I lift my hand to knock on the door but pause when I hear a voice in there floating above the music. It’s someone laughing, but not Liam, nor his male flatmate.
It’s a woman.
Her shrill giggles are soon accompanied by Liam’s booming laugh that I recognize immediately. I wait for a bit longer to knock, turning my head and pressing my ear up against the door. Listening to their muffled conversation, largely obscured by the guitar-led crooning music, I’m almost certain that there’s just the two of them in there. Their voices stop after a while and all I can hear is the music, their conversation obviously coming to an end for one reason or another.
Interesting.
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door.
There are footsteps and then it swings open. Liam stands in the doorway wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. His hair is tousled, sticking up in an unruly manner, and he has a telltale tint of pink across his lips, the kind left behind from lipstick. His eyes widen in horror when he sees me standing there.
“H-Harper,” he stutters.
He begins to say something else, but I push past him into the flat to find a raven-haired woman sitting on his sofa in a gorgeous set of lacy teal underwear and one of his shirts thrown over the top. She’s clutching a half-drunk bottle of beer and sits bolt upright as I march in, wrapping the shirt across her chest as quickly as possible. I recognize her from the charity ball—she was the woman that Liam left with that night.
“Harper, it’s not what it looks like,” Liam claims, appearing next to me, his bare feet sliding across the floor. “This is Bianca, the lead singer of Halo Skewed. Like I told you, we were working tonight on band stuff and then … uh … we thought … we thought we would—”
“Have sex?” I finish for him.
He winces. “No! No, no, no, no, no.”
“Yes,” Bianca corrects with a sigh. I turn to her, impressed.
“Bianca!” he hisses.
“Liam, she’s not an idiot,” she reasons before looking up at me. “Are you an idiot?”
“No, I’m not.”
“There you go.” Bianca shrugs. “I’m in my underwear, Liam. Might as well be honest.”
“Yes, Liam, might as well be honest,” I say, crossing my arms.
He deflates, scrunching up his eyes and burying his face in his hands. After emitting an irritated groan, he jerks his head back up and drops his arms, inhaling deeply.
“I’m so sorry, Harper. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Was it just tonight?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies firmly.
“No,” Bianca says.
“Seriously!” Liam cries, looking at her aghast.
“Sorry, but I’ve been cheated on before and the truth always comes out anyway, so it’s better she knows the whole story!”
“Thank you, Bianca, I’d appreciate that,” I say, really warming to her despite the circumstances. “Liam, could you expand?”
“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth, before looking at me pleadingly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I promise, Harper. When Bianca and I met at the charity ball, it was completely innocent, and I went to see the band play and then we went for drinks afterward and … there was an undeniable spark between us. I’m so sorry.”
“So it was that night and then tonight?” I ask.
“And a few other nights in between,” he mumbles.
“Ah.”
“Harper,” he begins, “I really like you! I’m confused! I’m completely torn about this!”
“That wasn’t what you were saying to me earlier,” Bianca seethes, her expression darkening.
“My head is all over the place,” Liam says, appealing to both of us.
I hold up my hand. “Let me stop you there, Liam. As horrible as it is to walk in on this … scenario, I appreciate your honesty. Even if it was really Bianca’s candor that aided yours. But I need to be honest myself—I came here tonight to break up with you.”
He recoils, looking insulted. “You did?”
“Yes. For a while now I haven’t felt quite right about us, and I don’t think we … mesh well.”
“We mesh perfectly!” he claims, and I wonder if Bianca is as stumped as I am about why he’s bothering to defend our shattered relationship.
“Liam, we went to a black-tie ball together and barely acknowledged each other. Don’t you think that says quite a lot? And on top of all that—” I hesitate, taking a breath “—I’ve had feelings for someone else. Tonight, we kissed.”
Liam gasps. “You kissed? Who?”
“Ryan.”
He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “That guy you hate?”
“It’s complicated. Anyway, we kissed—only kissed—but then I stopped him because I said it was wrong when I had a boyfriend, so I came straight here to end things with you.” I gesture to Bianca. “But I realize now that I’m not the worst person in this relationship—you’ve earned that particular accolade, Liam.”
“I thought it was one mistake with Bianca,” he says hurriedly, “but then it happened again and again and … I should have told you.”
“Yeah.” I nod, putting my hands on my hips. “Clearly we’re not meant to be.”
We fall into silence, the music still playing in the background. I clear my throat.
“Right, I should go. This has been … enlightening. For everyone involved. Bianca, I don’t love that you were sleeping with a guy that you knew had a girlfriend, but I want to thank you for encouraging Liam to be honest and for telling me the truth.”
“No problem,” she says, with a nod in solidarity. “And if it helps, I think you’re a wicked writer, with a very entertaining style.”
“That shouldn’t help, but it really does. Thank you. Liam, you’ve been a total dickhead, but saying that, I think this relationship was fizzling out anyway, and I did kiss someone else behind your back. That was wrong and I’m sorry. Anyway, please could I have my key back?”
He plods off toward the bedroom and Bianca and I wait in silence until he returns, placing my flat key into the palm of my hand.
“Great, well, I should go.”
“Wait, Harper,” Liam says, grabbing my arm, “are you sure you don’t want to talk things through? It feels sad to break up in this way.”
“I’m not sure there’s much to talk about, Liam, because there’s a half-naked girl on your sofa. I think we can agree this is over and the best thing to do is to wish each other luck and move on.”
He looks downcast. “Can I call or message you? I have things I want to say.”
I glance at Bianca. She shrugs, looking as bewildered as I feel.
“Um … maybe message, if you’d really like.”
“Thank you,” he says in a gratingly austere manner.
He holds his arms out to me, and I realize he wants a hug, which I guess is appropriate if we want to end this amicably. And even though I’m disgusted that he’s been shagging Bianca, I want out of this relationship, and there’s no need to make this even more excruciatingly awkward than it already is. I hug him back and he holds me tighter than I was expecting, causing me to stumble as he pulls me closer.
“Thanks for everything,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m so sorry this didn’t work out.”
“Me too,” I reply, hoping he’ll release me soon. “Goodbye, Liam.”
He squeezes me once more, before giving me a forceful kiss on the cheek and then letting me go from his grasp. I step back, smile at him, and then head toward the door, desperate to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
I’m moments from freedom when he calls out, “Harper, wait!” causing me to stop in the doorway, forced to turn around again.
“Yes?”
“I just want to check,” he says, his expression brightening, “you’ll still write a profile piece on Halo Skewed, right? They really are fantastic. I think they’re a great fit for the magazine. Oh, and don’t forget about that hot new talent agencies article I pitched.”
I stare at him. “I … I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Great.” He gives me a thumbs-up.
And on that note, I leave, never more grateful to hear a door slam shut behind me.