CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“When I message Mimi to tell her about the breakup the next morning, she is over at my flat in a flash with some kind of gross green juice that she forces me to drink because, according to her, it is important that I look after myself “during this tumultuous time.”
She doesn’t know the half of it.
Once she’s sat down on my sofa and I’ve had a few gulps of the green sludge, I decide to tell her about the kiss with Ryan, too. I hold back on revealing our history—I’m not ready to go into all of that now, I don’t have the energy—but I tell her about the trip to Manchester and what happened when we got back to his London flat.
“What kind of kiss was it?” she asks, her eyes wide with excitement. “Was it like a tentative peck? Or was it passionate?”
“Wait,” I say, surprised by her reaction. “You’re not shocked that Ryan and I kissed in the first place?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. I told you there was chemistry there. I called it as soon as I saw the way you two looked at each other in Meeting Room Three! Now … I ask again, what kind of kiss are we talking about here?”
“I was up against the wall.”
She exhales. “Sounds hot.”
“It was hot. It was the best kiss of my life.”
Which is the absolute truth.
I tell Mimi about showing up at Liam’s place unannounced, and she swiftly agrees that it was a good thing I met the surprisingly delightful Bianca, because otherwise I might have never heard the truth. Knowing that Liam cheated has spared me excessive guilt over my kiss with Ryan.
“Have you told him?” Mimi asks when I conclude the saga.
“Told who what?”
“Have you told Ryan about the breakup?” Mimi says, looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind.
“Oh. No, not yet.”
She gasps. “Why the hell not?”
I bury my head in my hands. When I got home from Liam’s last night, I spent a long time drafting and redrafting a message to Ryan, but no matter how hard I tried, nothing sounded right and it looked too formal and stilted in writing. Then I realized what the problem was: I had no idea what I wanted to say. Was it enough to say I’d broken up with Liam? Or should I acknowledge what happened between us? And if I did, should I then say what I want to happen going forward? What do I want to happen going forward?!
It was all too overwhelming, and I got a terrible headache, so in the end I gave up and decided I’d message him in the morning. But today nothing seems clearer.
“What am I supposed to say?” I moan. “Send him a casual WhatsApp informing him I’ve broken up with my boyfriend?”
“Um. Yes?” She stares at me wide-eyed.
“Wouldn’t it be better to just … drop it into conversation when I see him? It doesn’t seem right putting anything in a message.”
“You left him mid-kiss,” Mimi says accusingly. “And now he hasn’t heard from you? Come on, he deserves more than that. We’re doing it now. I’ll help you compose it.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. So, together, we craft the following message, and I press Send before I can overthink it:
Hey Ryan, sorry again about yesterday. It would be great to chat everything through in person if that’s okay? X
I check my phone every thirty seconds until he finally replies a few minutes later: Sounds good x
I try to play it cool on Monday morning as I wander into the office, but when Ryan isn’t at his desk on my arrival as usual, my face must give me away. I notice Mimi watching me as I sit down.
“Are you wondering where Ryan is?” she teases, raising her eyebrows.
“I was thinking it’s unusual that he’s not at his desk on time,” I reply casually, keeping my voice down.
She grins at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nice dress.”
I’m wearing one of my favorite summer dresses—pale blue with lemons all over it—and I’m hoping to get a bit of color before I leave for Florence on Friday.
“Thanks. I thought it was right for such a sunny day.”
“Makes your boobs look good, I see.”
“Mimi!” I hiss, glancing round to make sure no one overheard. “That is very inappropriate.”
“Got the pins out, too,” she remarks, peering over the desk to look at my legs. “Did you fake tan last night after I left?”
“Yes, because it’s sunny, and I thought it might be nice to be a little bronzed.”
“Anyone you’re trying to impress?”
I glare at her, but she is unfazed, returning to her typing with an irritatingly smug smile on her lips.
We soon realize that Cosmo is in a foul mood today because he twisted his ankle golfing this weekend, so I pretend to be very busy until his booming voice on the phone to his podiatrist gets too much and Mimi and I both decide we should escape to Roasted.
“I can’t stop thinking about what Liam said to you,” Mimi admits while we wait for our coffees. “He really still thought you’d write a piece promoting his agency? What planet is that guy on?”
“And a feature on Halo Skewed,” I remind her. “I wasn’t even going to write one on them in the first place! Ryan was right about him.”
Mimi looks intrigued. “Oh?”
“He met Liam at the charity ball, and right away thought he was more interested in the networking opportunities my job provided than in me. He was spot on. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. It’s embarrassing.”
“But isn’t it sweet that Ryan was looking out for you?” Mimi says, nudging my arm. “I think he really likes you, Harper. And clearly he’s a good judge of character.”
We take our time strolling back to the office. It’s nice to make the most of this warm weather and neither of us is in any rush to get back to our desks.
But when we return, Ryan is there. As soon as I lay eyes on him, I’m flooded with nerves, my stomach turning to mush as I try to walk as normally as possible. It doesn’t help that Mimi is watching me like a hawk and will no doubt listen in on any interaction we have.
“Morning,” I say brightly as I sit down.
“Morning,” he replies, giving me a polite smile before returning his attention to his screen.
It’s an unsatisfactory exchange, but I suppose we are in the office. The trouble is, Ryan is very good at masking his feelings. I can’t decipher if his “morning” was layered with undertones of resentment that I’d abandoned him after that kiss, or whether there was a hint of hope that I might be back on the market.
Or maybe he was just saying “morning” without any kind of meaning behind it at all and, in fact, he is fully focused on whatever article he’s editing.
We can hardly talk about things here. Should I have replied and suggested an exact date and time for our chat? Or should I ask him for a casual drink after work? Am I supposed to wait for him to ask me for a chat? Who makes the first move here?
I suddenly feel very hot and flustered.
Determined to remain professional, I start thinking about how to begin the Max Sjöberg article. I always like my features to launch with something punchy—a surprising, out-there quote from the subject, or a little-known fact about them that might catch the reader’s attention. I lean down to grab my bag and start rummaging about for my notebook.
“Damn it,” I whisper when it’s nowhere to be found. I start looking around my desk, in case it’s hiding under a stack of papers, sending a pot of pens flying onto the floor. I feel tears pricking my eyes. What is wrong with me?
Before I can start picking them up, Ryan has swiveled his chair round and leaned over to help, dropping the pens back into their pot, one by one.
“Thank you,” I say, offering him a nervous smile.
“What have you lost?” he asks.
“My notebook. I know it’s here somewhere. I remember seeing it this morning, so it’s in the office. I got it out when I was going through a feature earlier and then … I don’t know, I must have put it down somewhere.”
“Give me a second,” Ryan says, pushing himself up off the chair and walking off.
A minute later, he returns, holding up my notebook triumphantly. My jaw drops.
“Where did you—?”
“It was by the kettle in the kitchen,” he explains, looking amused as he passes it over to me and sits back down. “You left it there last week, too, remember? You study it sometimes while you’re walking about.”
I stare at him in amazement. “I’m impressed by your sleuthing skills.”
“It was a lucky guess,” he insists, turning back to his work.
Thanking him again, I catch Mimi giving me a pointed look and trying to mouth something at me, but I can’t work it out. Eventually she gives up and starts typing quickly on her keyboard. An email from her pops up in my inbox.
He knows you so well, it reads.
Deleting it, I roll my eyes at her and focus on reviewing my notes on Max Sjöberg, but it takes every effort not to smile because I’d been thinking exactly the same thing.
All morning, I pretend to be engrossed in my work when in fact I’m stealthily watching Ryan, mesmerized by the way his fingers swiftly and effortlessly dart around the keyboard as he types, remembering the warmth of his strong hands around my waist, and noticing how when he’s reading intently, he rests his right elbow on his desk and presses the knuckle of his forefinger into his lips, his forehead creased in deep concentration. It’s an unbelievably sexy pose, magnified by the fact that he has no idea just how sexy he looks when he’s doing it.
I’m secretly studying his bottom lip when I hear someone calling my name, causing me to jump.
“Harper, it’s so rubbish about Artistry! Have you spoken to their agent yet?” Gabby moans.
“Sorry, I’ve been … uh … busy,” I stammer, trying to bring myself back down to earth. “What are you talking about?”
“Artistry,” she emphasizes. “The band? I thought you said a few weeks ago that there might be a reunion tour.”
I nod. “That was in the cards, yes.”
“Not anymore. Apparently the band had this huge falling-out and they’re not speaking. The tour plans have been canceled.” She tilts her head. “I would have thought you’d have been the first to know! I was hoping for the inside scoop.”
“Oh! Oh no, that’s so … I better ring their agent, you’re right. I haven’t seen any of this yet,” I say, fumbling around my desk to find my mouse and, having located it, bringing up Twitter, where I see the news is trending. “Shit. How did I miss this?”
“Like you said, you’ve been busy,” Mimi comments in a sickly sweet tone. “What with your breakup and everything.”
Gabby gasps, placing a hand on her heart. “You broke up with Liam? I’m so sorry!”
My face feels like it’s on fire as I shoot daggers at Mimi for bringing it up before I was prepared. She doesn’t seem the least bit regretful, instead stealing glances at Ryan, who has—it must be noted—looked up from his work.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I say to Gabby, flustered and squirming in my seat. “It was my decision.”
“Still, breakups suck,” she states. “Are you really okay?”
“Yes, definitely,” I insist. “We weren’t right for each other. At all.”
“You are so strong. I’m such a mess after breakups! Did he take it well?”
“Um.” I think back on Bianca lounging across the sofa in her lacy underwear. “He took it pretty well, yeah.”
“If there’s anything I can do for you today, please just say,” Gabby says, coming over to give me a hug. “In fact, let me go make you a cup of tea.”
“You don’t need to do that; I’m honestly fine.”
“Hot drinks are comforting. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she insists, hurrying off.
“She is such a sweetheart,” Mimi remarks, watching her go.
“Now I feel bad for giving her all that Max Sjöberg transcribing to do this morning,” I admit.
“You broke up with Liam,” Ryan says, his eyes fixed on me.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice shaking as I meet his gaze.
“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice even.
“Yes,” I repeat, not breaking eye contact.
He nods. “Good.”
His expression gives nothing away, and he resumes his typing. Biting her lip, Mimi witnesses the exchange and then gives me a baffled, wide-eyed look.
He doesn’t seem particularly happy about the news. Which isn’t good.
Although, he doesn’t seem unhappy, either.
Everything he said on Saturday night had led me to think he’d be pleased that Liam and I have broken up. But what if he doesn’t like the idea of being a rebound? Or maybe he’s still angry at me for leaving so abruptly? Maybe he’s having second thoughts now that we’re here in the office, and he’s realizing it could be unprofessional to embark on a romantic relationship with a colleague? Which is actually a very good point that should be taken into consideration.
That sort of thing does seem less important the more I sneakily obsess over his lips, though.
Can’t he show one ounce of emotion?! What are you thinking, Ryan?
I consider asking if he wants to talk now, but I tell myself it’s not the right time or place. And yet sitting next to him with no idea what is going on is unbearable.
Gabby’s tea turns out to be a lifesaver as it gives me something else to concentrate on. I sip it gratefully, accepting that today is going to be one of those days that I get little to no work done.
“Everyone, I have an announcement!” Mimi declares a little later after receiving a phone call, spinning in her chair so she can address the whole team. “I have just spoken to Sadie, the publicist heading up the Florence press trip this weekend, and she has had a last-minute drop-out and there is a place up for grabs. Thanks to a lovely piece I wrote about another of the hotels on her books recently, she has very kindly offered that space to someone at Narrative. We already have the fabulous Harper going on the trip, but now there is room for one more of our journalists. Before you all start showering me in compliments to get the spot—” she holds up her hands as a ripple of excitement spreads through the office “—I am going to make this as fair as possible by putting everyone’s name in a hat and pulling one out, and that person will get to go. If you aren’t free this weekend or don’t want to go, just let me know and I won’t put your name in the mix. End of announcement!”
As she swivels back round, I lean across my desk to berate her.
“Why did you offer it to the whole team?” I whisper crossly. “I should have some say in who goes with me on the trip.”
“Oh, really, Harper? You think you should decide instead of the travel editor?”
“If you pick Cosmo’s name out, then I’m not going.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; he won’t be able to go,” she assures me. “His weekends are jam-packed with golfing trips at the moment.”
“Don’t forget to put my name in, Mimi!” Cosmo calls out from his office, appearing in the doorway and hobbling forward. “How fortunate, the one weekend I don’t have any plans. And my foot will be healed by then, I’m certain.”
“Of course!” Mimi replies with a fixed smile.
When he retreats back to his desk, I narrow my eyes at her.
“I’m going to kill you.”
The hours pass, and Ryan and I barely speak.
When Mimi loudly declares that the moment has come for her to pick a name, I’ve just sent a stiff email to my dad, confirming a date for our dinner in two weeks. I’m not in the best of moods, so if Mimi is about to announce that I’m heading off to Florence with Cosmo Chambers-Smyth, I’m going to storm right out of here, go home, climb into bed, and not emerge for a month.
“The moment of truth,” Mimi says, relishing her position of power. She swirls her hand around the multiple scraps of paper filling a hat that she borrowed from the fashion cupboard and eventually selects one, holding it above her head for everyone to witness.
“We have a winner!” she declares, before carefully unfolding it. “And the person joining Harper in Florence this weekend will be…”
She takes a dramatic pause. I hold my breath and pray: Not Cosmo, not Cosmo, not Cosmo, anyone but Cos—
“Ryan!”
Oh, shit.
I’m not going to lie, it’s been a strange week.
Ryan and I have still not had a chance to have the talk we agreed to. We’ve both been so busy, and when I finally mustered the courage to suggest an after-work drink, we couldn’t seem to coordinate our diaries.
I’ve been trying not to read into it, but Ryan has also seemed even more tense and serious than usual.
Everyone in the office, of course, finds the Florence trip extremely amusing. As far as they are concerned, Ryan and I don’t like each other, so they’re all finding it hilarious that we’ll be alone on an intimate, luxury trip abroad.
Ryan’s quiet and pensive mood made me nervous to approach him about the Max Sjöberg article. I was still trying to figure out the best way of writing the piece together when he suggested we go to a meeting room one afternoon to discuss it.
Once the door was closed behind us, he pulled his chair close to examine what I’d already written on my laptop screen. I could hardly concentrate on a word he was saying, especially when he shifted in his seat and our knees knocked together. He smelled so good, all clean with a hint of his woody cologne, not so much that was overpowering, but enough that it made me want to lean in closer. He was wearing the top few buttons of his blue shirt undone, and I had to force myself not to become fixated on the way his Adam’s apple moved as he spoke.
Dragging my eyes away from him and looking at the table instead seemed like a safe bet, but I was wrong there because he was resting his arms on it, and with his shirt sleeves rolled up, his strong forearms were on full display.
“This is really good,” he said after reading through the document. “Do you want to send it to me and I’ll add in some paragraphs about his childhood and his connection to Sweden? Then you can go over those and tweak them however you like.”
I tore my eyes away from his forearms and stammered, “Great. That sounds great. Perfect.”
He nodded, watching me. “All these years later, we’ll have our names together again in the byline.”
“Yeah. Who would have thought?”
I smiled and I could see him instantly relax, his expression softening. I was about to ask then and there if we could talk about what happened, but Cosmo barreled in and demanded that Ryan come to his office. The moment was stolen.
Then, that very evening, right before we went home for the day, we got in an argument. I promptly forgot that he smelled really good and had been so lovely about my writing, and I got angry at him for being a prick.
Cosmo, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to let Ryan take charge of the “My Little Luxuries” column, which had been my domain ever since I started at Narrative, and had “forgotten” to let me know. When I sent my copy over to art for the next issue, they replied that they already had copy from Ryan.
“That has always been my column!” I cried as Ryan explained to me the new order of things on Cosmo’s behalf—he’d conveniently left early for a dinner. “You can’t just take it away from me!”
“Once again, I’m sorry that Cosmo didn’t talk to you about this like he promised he would,” Ryan replied calmly, trying to keep things civil, blushing as the rest of the team turned to look at us. “But when you think about it, it makes sense that the features editor would do that column.”
“It does not make sense! It’s a celebrity every week saying what their little luxuries would be,” I countered angrily.
“It’s on the weekly round-up double spread that I head up,” he responded, growing impatient. “I edit everything else on those pages. My name is literally on the header across the top.”
“And my name is at the bottom of the ‘My Little Luxuries’ column, see?” I grabbed a previous copy of the magazine, flicked to the correct page, and jabbed my finger at it, reading out loud, “as told to Harper Jenkins.”
“Harper,” he said, rubbing his temples, “I don’t understand. You were literally complaining about having to always write this column the other day. Surely you’re happy to let someone else take over the hassle of doing it.”
“Just because I complain about something, doesn’t mean I want you—” I jabbed my finger at him accusingly “—to come along and steal it from me in an underhanded and unprofessional manner.”
“Cosmo said he would speak to you about it!”
“Well, he didn’t! You are both completely out of order!”
“This is ridiculous,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “This column bores you to death. You’re just angry that I’m doing it now!”
“That is not true! I’ve put a lot of work into that column! I’ve got lots of great names lined up for it, all of the interviews scheduled—”
“That’s funny,” he interrupted, crossing his arms, “because I checked the schedule for that column on the server and there were zero names listed.”
“I don’t update the schedule on the server, Ryan,” I seethed. “I have it all in my head!”
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose, attempting to regain composure.
“How I schedule things is not even relevant,” I continued. “The point is that you and Cosmo made a big change and didn’t tell me. I should have been involved in that conversation!”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry again for that,” he said as calmly as he could muster, “but I do also think this column should fall under the remit of the editor of these pages, and, honestly, I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“Oh, so you agree with Cosmo, do you?”
“Yes, I do,” he stated firmly.
“Well … you’re both wrong.”
Turning away from him, I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the office. I was late anyway for the launch of a TV presenter’s new self-tanning range.
The next morning, I’d cooled slightly. Over coffee, Mimi and I discussed that, although I should have absolutely been informed, it might be nice to no longer worry about “My Little Luxuries.” I often threw it together at the last minute in a whirlwind panic anyway.
When Ryan repeated his apology, I graciously accepted it.
“Thank you, Harper. I really am sorry about you not being told,” he said, swiveling to face me in his chair. “I only hope you won’t miss it too much.”
I noticed he was suppressing a smile as he said this. Glowering at him, I turned my attention back to my screen.
“Oh, and you’ll send me over the list of people you have scheduled, yes?” he added.
“I’m sorry?” I replied.
“The celebrities you have scheduled for the column,” he explained breezily. “You know, the ones you had lined up in your head.”
I noticed Mimi across the way pressing her lips together as she tried not to laugh. He had me and he knew it.
“If you can send those over along with the dates of when you’ve scheduled them in for an interview,” Ryan continued, “I can get in touch to explain I’ll be doing the column now. You shouldn’t have to deal with all that hassle. You’ve already gone to all the work of organizing them.”
“Yes. Right. Thank you,” I said, my cheeks flushing.
I waited a bit before speaking again, my voice slightly higher pitched than I would have liked.
“Actually, Ryan, I think it’s best if you just start fresh.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? But won’t all of those celebrities be annoyed?”
“No, I’ll speak to their agents and explain,” I said hurriedly, refusing to look at his smug expression.
“Okay, sure. I’ll start afresh. Thank you, Harper.”
We fell into silence, both of us tapping away at our keyboards, and then a few moments later, I stole a glance at him. He was looking at me. As our eyes met, he broke into a knowing smile and I couldn’t help but smile back at him. He shook his head at me and we both got back to work.
It really has been a strange week.
Embroiled in a mixture of excitement and nerves, I’ve spent a lot of time stressing over what to pack for Florence. My flat is messier than usual—and that’s saying something—because I have been trawling through the depths of my wardrobe in the hope of discovering a new collection of holiday clothes, even though I haven’t been on holiday in … well … forever.
On Wednesday evening, in the midst of lobbing shoes across my room in a desperate hunt for a suitable wedge that makes me look elegant but I can also manage to stay upright in, the doorbell rang.
My first, thrilling thought? Ryan.
But it was Liam, dropping by to “talk things through” and pick up some of his belongings that he’d left. I told him it wasn’t a good time because I was packing for Italy, but he sighed heavily and retorted, “It will never be a good time, Harper,” in the voice of an old wizened wizard, so I thought it best to let him in and get it over and done with.
It was much less awkward than the original breakup, largely because it wasn’t witnessed by his naked lover, but it was still mildly painful. He felt the need to reassure me that I was a wonderful person and, that having spent some time analyzing what went wrong, he’d come to the conclusion that we were both “too focused on our career paths” right now to “really let someone in.”
I dryly pointed out that he’d had no trouble “letting Bianca in.”
He winced. I regretted it immediately, because even though it was a rather witty comeback, it did prompt him to launch into a detailed explanation about the “purely physical” nature of their relationship—something I very much did not need to hear about. But I didn’t want things between us to end badly, so I wished him the best. We hugged it out and I ushered him away.
If anything, seeing Liam was confirmation that any feelings for him had well and truly petered out. I needed to use our time in Florence to let Ryan know that, and to work out how he felt about me. That decided, I did loads of online shopping and spent Thursday evening trying on countless outfits and sending pictures of myself to Mimi to gather her opinion on each one.
Bring sexy underwear, she messaged, just in case.
I blushed as I read the message. They were already in my bag.
On Friday morning, I wake up to a WhatsApp from Ryan. I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart in my throat as I scroll the preview down to read it:
See you at the airport. Don’t forget your passport. x
My face breaks into a wide, goofy, unrestrained grin. It’s just so him. Sensible, practical, but also kind of cute because, like Mimi said the other day, he knows me.
And he put a kiss on the end.
I throw my duvet back and swing my legs out of bed, before skipping to the bathroom to shower. I’m well aware that I should be playing it cool, that I should not get my hopes up, and it would be smart to be cautious and pragmatic about what might or might not happen. For goodness’ sake, it was one message and it had a kiss on the end. That could mean nothing.
But screw it. I’m singing in the shower.
And today, I’m wearing sexy underwear. Just in case.