CHAPTER SEVEN
It’s official: Ryan Jansson is impossible.
I don’t know how long I’ll be able to work in these conditions. He’s only been here a couple of weeks and already he’s driving me crazy. His first day, he waltzed in with a box of—get this—homemade cookies. What kind of person does that? A sneaky, arrogant, manipulative one, that’s who. Of course, the whole team flocked around him and his stupid cookies, praising his baking skills and saying he must share the recipe.
Please.
I wasn’t fooled for one moment. I saw him nervously take out the Tupperware and slide it onto the treat shelf, where we put out edible items sent in for the food and drink review pages. Then he stalked back to his desk without announcing the cookies to anyone, obviously waiting for Mimi to call out, “Hey, where did these cookies come from?” when she passed a little later, so that he could look modest as he admitted that he baked them over the weekend.
What a performance.
I did not fawn over his cookies, no matter how delicious they smelled. I would never give him that kind of satisfaction. When he noticed me staring at them, an amused smile played on his lips and he casually said, “You can help yourself, Harper.”
“No, thank you,” I replied civilly, as was required.
“They’ve got extra chocolate chips.”
“I’ll pass,” I said, cool as a cucumber. “I don’t like cookies.”
Mimi then had to ruin everything by saying, “What? You love cookies! Last Thursday you ate four of those Millie’s Cookies that were sent in. Wow, Ryan, these are delicious!”
“Thanks,” he said, before leaning toward me and muttering, “I promise you they’re not poisonous.”
“I never said they were.”
“You shouldn’t not eat them just because I made them.”
“I told you, I don’t like cookies.”
“Suit yourself,” he grumbled.
I ignored him and got on with my day, successfully avoiding the temptation to eat any of those cookies, despite having to walk past the treat shelf several times.
If only it was as easy to avoid Ryan.
All week he’s made snide comments about the state of my desk and how my “mess” is encroaching on his character-less space. He started small, passive-aggressively pushing back any papers that slid over onto his desk, but on the third or fourth time, he began clearing his throat pointedly as he did so. I decided not to acknowledge him at all. If anything, I might have ensured that a couple of things made it over to his side.
A few days later, I arrived to discover that three piles of books had been neatly stacked along the line between our desks, creating a makeshift divider.
“Hope this doesn’t bother you,” he said breezily as he marked up a layout and I sat in my chair. “I appreciate it gives you less space to spread out.”
“I’m very happy with this arrangement,” I replied, before noticing that he had cunningly snaffled my multicolored biro before erecting his book fortress. “Although, that pen you’re using is on the wrong side of the barrier.”
He had the audacity to look confused. “Excuse me?”
“That’s my pen. And if you’re so intent on making sure there’s no cross-contamination of our things, then please give it back.”
“This is not your pen,” he said, twirling it round in his fingers.
“I think you’ll find it is.”
“Harper,” he said wearily, “I got this from the stationery cupboard.”
“They don’t stock those kind of pens in the stationery cupboard. You plucked it from my desk and hoped I wouldn’t notice.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to find anything on your desk, even if I’d wanted to!”
“Uh, Harper?” Mimi squeaked from across the way, holding up a biro. “I have a spare pen if you need one.”
“I don’t need one, thanks Mimi, I already have one. Ryan is using it.”
“Maybe if you tidied up, you’d find the pen you’re referring to buried underneath all the stuff strewn across your desk,” he said haughtily.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that you’re so bothered by a few bits of paper on someone else’s desk?” I remarked, crossing my arms. “I’m not bothered by anyone else’s desk. Mimi isn’t bothered by anyone else’s desk—”
“Don’t bring me into this,” Mimi muttered.
“Maybe there’s an underlying issue here that you need to address, Ryan,” I continued brazenly. “I think your obsession with the state of my desk has something to do with feeling out of control in other areas of your life.”
He narrowed his eyes at me before standing up and holding out the pen.
“Here,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Just take it.”
“Thank you,” I said crisply as he placed it in my hand and marched away toward the stationery cupboard. “If you want to borrow anything, Ryan, next time just ask. We’re very pleasant this side of the book fort.”
It was a deeply satisfying conclusion to the discussion.
When I later found my multicolored retractable biro folded into an old issue of the magazine lying next to my computer, while simultaneously holding the one I’d demanded back from Ryan, I quickly closed the magazine, determined to get rid of the evidence when no one was looking.
Listen, I get that if you’re an organized neat freak, I’m not going to be your number one desk buddy. But apart from that, I am an excellent colleague. I’m cheerful and enthusiastic in the office, and supportive and thoughtful toward other people’s work.
Ryan, on the other hand, may be neat and occasionally bring in baked goods, but he brings down the mood with his aloof, unapproachable demeanor. He also seems to go out of his way to piss me off.
First, he gave Gabby, the editorial assistant, some transcriptions to do for him, and when she mentioned that she was doing one for me, I overheard him saying that his was more important. I jumped to my feet and called out across the office, “Excuse me, but why are your transcriptions more important than mine? You’re not being dismissive of celebrity pieces, are you, Ryan?”
“No, of course not, Harper,” he replied with a fixed smile, blushing furiously as the rest of the office jerked their heads up to pay attention. Poor Gabby looked panicked. “I was merely suggesting to Gabby that she prioritize my task as my deadline is tomorrow and I know that the interview she’s transcribing for you isn’t due until the end of next week.”
“Actually, I’m planning on writing up that interview this afternoon because the art desk needs to start working on the layout tomorrow,” I informed him, not missing the opportunity to add bitterly, “and the reason art wants to get started on it is because it’s going to be a difficult one to fit in, now that it’s gone from a three-pager to a double spread, thanks to your insistence that your piece celebrating con artists needs more pages.”
“It’s not a piece celebrating con artists. It’s a psychological exploration of why we seem to have an obsession with watching TV series and films about them,” he said impatiently. “Which I already explained to you this morning. And while the art desk may need to start working on your piece soon, they need to mock up my article first to meet the deadline, so I think it’s more important that my transcriptions are done as soon as possible. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Before I could answer, he continued: “Or is there an underlying issue that you need to address here, Harper? Maybe your need to go first here has something to do with feeling out of control in other areas of your life.”
How dare he use my own excellent words against me?!
I was furious and I’d have liked to have told him where to go, but instead I had to smile sweetly (because everyone was looking) and say, “All right, then. Gabby, please do go ahead and transcribe Ryan’s interviews. Of course, if you’d have come to me first, Ryan, and asked whether it was okay for your transcription to take priority with your reasonable explanation, I wouldn’t have minded in the least. That’s usually how we do it around here.”
“My apologies. I’ll know for next time,” he said.
I sat back down and glanced across at Mimi, who whispered, “Awkward,” and then quickly pretended to be working when Ryan came back to his desk.
That was Strike One. (I haven’t included the book fort in the strikes because I’m feeling generous.)
Strike Two occurred during the editorial meeting when Cosmo casually dropped the bomb that Ryan would be writing up a profile piece on the MP whose book launch we both attended.
“Excuse me,” I said, raising my hand as Cosmo waffled on about how it was sure to be a thrilling article.
“Yes, Harper, we’re all aware that you’re here on time today,” Cosmo said with a chuckle to himself. “You don’t need to draw attention to the fact.”
“Ha, no,” I said impatiently, causing Cosmo to scowl. “I wanted to ask why Ryan is writing that piece and not me?”
Cosmo raised his eyebrows, heartily amused at the question. “You think you should be writing that article?”
“Yes, you may remember I mentioned to you that I’d been to that book launch and thought that it would make an interesting profile piece. You said you weren’t sure it was a good fit but that you’d think about it.”
Ryan shifted in his seat, as though he was embarrassed. I wasn’t buying it. He saw me at that book launch, so he must have known I’d already pitched this idea. He was playing dumb in the knowledge that if it’s between him and me, Cosmo is always going to pick a fellow member of the “lads’ club.”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember that conversation,” Cosmo said. “Ryan came to me with a fully formed pitch and, though I’m sure you’d do a nice job of it, he has experience writing articles of this nature, so I think he’s probably the best person to take this one on.”
“I’ve written articles about politicians,” I reminded Cosmo.
“Yes, you did that piece last year on the former education secretary,” Ryan recalled.
I waited for him to add something dismissive, but he didn’t expand, and instead looked surprised that everyone was staring at him, as though he hadn’t realized he’d been speaking out loud.
“Yes, but this pitch is a little more specific than speaking to a politician about their lifestyle,” Cosmo continued. “As Ryan has prior knowledge of the issue, since he’s written about it for the main paper in the past, it makes sense for him to write this.”
“Cosmo, I should be the one writing this piece! We both went to the same book launch—I know as much about this issue as Ryan does!”
“You know a lot about land mines?” Cosmo asked, surprised.
I blinked at him in confusion. “Land mines?”
Ryan’s expression shifted to pure delight.
“Yes, Harper,” he said, watching me curiously. “I was planning on talking to the politician about his fierce and passionate campaigning to raise awareness of the humanitarian crisis caused by leftover land mines. You remember, he read a chapter regarding the issue at his launch.”
“Right.” I nodded. “Of course. I knew that.”
“And you were saying that you know a lot about the issue?”
“Yes,” I lied, my face growing even hotter than before.
“Well, then you should write the piece,” Ryan offered, causing Cosmo to look alarmed. “As you know so much about land mines.”
“I do know a lot about land mines,” I said, with no idea why I was digging myself into a bigger hole except that I wasn’t about to lose face in front of my work nemesis. “Princess Diana walked through that minefield, for example.”
That secretive, amused, mocking smile of Ryan’s appeared on his lips. The one he seems to always reserve for me.
God, he’s the worst.
I cleared my throat. “But actually, I have a lot on this week, so if you’ve already assigned it to Ryan, Cosmo, then I’m happy to let him write that one.”
Cosmo looked relieved.
“Thanks, Harper, that’s really good of you,” Ryan said graciously.
Mimi’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.
Strike Number Three happens on a dreary Tuesday morning after an evening spent at a Leicester Square premiere, at which I managed to make many excellent notes in my notebook about the film and the stars attending it, but then lost said notebook by Wednesday morning.
While I’m busy excavating the contents of my bag, Ryan appears with a carrot cake he whipped up last night.
I don’t know why this impresses everyone.
Carrot cake isn’t even the best sponge.
“Harper, is Liam looking forward to taking part in my annual birthday sports day?” Mimi says, taking a small bite of Ryan’s cake and swooning. “I hope he’s been practicing his beer-pong skills because I will be entirely judging his character on those.”
I pause, looking at her guiltily. “Liam can’t come.”
“Oh no! I thought you said he could?”
That’s because he had told me he could. But we’d spoken about it over the weekend and things had changed. We were at a restaurant near my place and I had been ranting about Ryan while Liam nodded loyally, saying “hmm” in all the right places. Then I’d mentioned a charity ball that was coming up in my diary.
“I don’t understand why Ryan, of all people, got an invite too,” I huffed, tearing off a chunk of sourdough bread as we waited to order. “He’s not interested in stuff like that. It will be full of celebrities, and it’s not like he even bothers to talk to people at these events. He stands in the corner, acting all high and mighty.”
“Do you remember we talked about me accompanying you to a work event?” Liam asked, leaning forward across the table.
“Yeah, course.”
“How about this ball you’re talking about?”
I hesitated. “You want to come?”
“Harper,” he said, looking at me in disbelief, “of course I want to come! It would be so fun to be your plus-one. It would be nice to spend time together at a posh event. And I could meet your friends in the business.”
I paused to consider. “I guess. Although I’m not sure how many people going are my friends per se. Some of them are, but others are really just work—”
“I want to be a part of your life, Harper, and this stuff is important to you, I know it is. So I’d really like to go with you to this event.” His eyes were expectant.
I smiled at him. “That’s really sweet. Okay, I’ll ask for a plus-one.”
“Amazing!” He sat back and slapped his knee. “Man, this is going to be so cool. Is it black tie?”
“Yes, but don’t get too excited. I have to get you an invitation first.”
“You’ll get one,” he said confidently, beaming at me. “If anyone can, you can. This will be such a great opportunity to meet clients. And I get to be your arm candy. Win-win!”
I laughed. “Speaking of being my arm candy, are you excited to meet everyone at Mimi’s birthday? It’s next weekend.”
“Oh, right,” he nodded, looking pensive. “Mimi’s birthday party.”
“Don’t worry, I know I’ve made a big deal out of these games, but they’re really just silly ones. It doesn’t matter if you’re not very good at them.”
Liam grimaced. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it anymore.”
“What? Really?”
“I have so much work to do. I really need to focus on expanding the business at the moment. It’s all very exciting, but it means that my weekends are taken up with work unfortunately.”
“But … if you wanted to get to know my friends, then Mimi’s party is better than the charity ball.”
“I know it’s a shame, but I can meet them another time. There will be other weekends.”
I felt slightly taken aback but said, “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m sad you won’t be able to come.”
“Me too,” he said, perusing the menu. “Ooh—” he glanced up excitedly “—shall we get the arancini balls and buffalo mozzarella to start?”
I feel guilty that I didn’t message Mimi then to let her know that Liam could no longer come, rather than dropping it on her now in the office, but I had been putting it off. I don’t want her thinking that he’s not making an effort with my friends. I’m sure he will when he has the time.
Still, I can’t help but compare his lack of enthusiasm for Mimi’s birthday with his intense eagerness for networking at the charity ball. Liam’s ambition is what attracted me to him in the first place, but it does make me doubt his intentions a little. To be fair, it’s not like I’ve prioritized getting to know his friends, either.
I’m not sure that’s a good sign.
“I’m really sorry, Mimi, he did want to come and was hoping he’d be able to make it,” I tell her hurriedly. “But he’s got so much work on at the moment, and it’s taking over his weekends, too. I hope this hasn’t ruined the rounders teams. I feel awful.”
“Don’t feel bad,” she tells me, brightening. “This actually works out quite nicely.”
I look at her in surprise. “It does?”
“Obviously, I’m sorry that Liam can’t come,” she says, taking another bite of the carrot cake. “But I was going to invite Ryan, too, which would have made the teams uneven numbers, but now without Liam, they’ll be the same.”
“I … sorry?”
Before she can address my baffled reaction, she calls out Ryan’s name, stopping him in his tracks as he returns to his desk.
“I wanted to invite you to my birthday party this Saturday,” Mimi says cheerily.
He looks puzzled. “Really?”
“Yeah, course! If you’re free?”
“Yes, I am. Thanks,” he says, his forehead creasing as though he’s trying to work out why she would possibly want him to come. He glances at me suspiciously.
“Great! It’s going to be a day of fun games in the park, so get your competitive hat on and pray for sunshine.”
He allows himself a small smile. “I definitely have a competitive streak.”
“I thought you might,” Mimi comments. “I’ll message you the details, but it’s Brockwell Park around lunchtime.”
“Brockwell—is that the one near Brixton?”
She nods. “Where do you live?”
“Finsbury Park.”
“Literally the other end of London. Bit of a pain for you, then,” Mimi remarks with a sympathetic look. “Although, it’s straight down the Victoria Line, which is nice and speedy.”
“I’ll be there, thanks for the invite,” he assures her.
“So pleased you can make it! And feel free to bake something for the occasion. That cake was incredible.” She pauses, adding, “Oh and you’re very welcome to bring your other half, too … if you have one?”
He blushes, shaking his head. “Just me at the moment.”
“Oh good,” she says, brightening. “I didn’t want to be rude, but it would have ruined the even numbers of the teams if you’d brought a plus-one, to be honest.”
“Mimi,” I say calmly, as Ryan sits down next to me and starts typing away, “would you mind accompanying me to the bathroom?”
“Sure,” she says, dropping her napkin in the paper basket next to her desk. “Let’s go.”
Once we’re in the safe haven of the toilets, I round on her.
“Why did you invite him to your party?” I demand.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Harper. Why are you so against this guy? I know there are a few things you don’t see eye to eye on in the office, but I’ve got to know him a bit and I want to give him a chance. He’s obviously a guarded person, and I think his baking is his way of making an effort with the team. It’s quite sweet.”
“Sweet? Ha!”
“Look, my party is a good way to chat to him outside of the office—a nice relaxed, informal setting where you won’t need to squabble over who’s in charge of what,” she says, leaning against the sinks. “If you gave him a chance, you might like him.”
“I doubt it.”
She hesitates. “You know he talks to you more than he talks to anyone else in the office.”
“That’s because he argues with me all the time.”
“True,” she acknowledges, “but he also seems different around you. When you’re in the conversation, he’s less reserved. You bring him out of his shell.”
“Mimi, what are you talking about? Him disagreeing with everything I say is not coming out of his shell!”
“I’m just saying that around everyone else he has a bit of a wall up, but he seems a lot more at ease around you. Like he forgets to be in his own head all the time. Sometimes I catch him looking at you. And, I don’t know, there’s something about the way he…”
“What?” I feel my cheeks growing hot as she scrutinizes my reaction. “Mimi, please do not make up ridiculous scenarios in your head. Ryan and I have nothing in common, and the only reason he may seem to talk to me more is because we both cover features in the magazine.”
“If you say so,” she sighs. “Just promise me you’ll play nice at my party. I’m the birthday girl, so you can’t say no.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Thank you, and don’t worry,” she says with a grin, “I’ll make sure you’re on opposite teams.”