His blue eyes were fixed on mine in a way that I’ve dreamed of for years. I didn’t overreact—I just smiled back and said, “Hope so!” But inside, I felt a kind of explosion of love. After so much yearning, here was Ryan, with me. Relying on me. In partnership with me. All the things I’ve so desperately wished for.
As I walk along, peering up at the office buildings, my mind rewinds over the last few days. I’ve seen Ryan every day, round at our house—and something’s really changed between us, in a good way. Our vibe. Our connection. He’s confided in me. Asked my advice. He always gravitates toward me—putting an arm along my shoulders or pulling me onto his knee. It feels as if we’re closer than we ever have been before.
But the question that circles my mind constantly is: Do we have a viable future together? And the answer lies right here, in the office of Sebastian Marlowe.
I push the door open, take the stairs to the first floor, and there it is. A reception desk with ESIM printed in green letters on white. I can see an open-plan space with people sitting at computers and hear the hum of conversation coming from behind a door. The receptionist is a motherly middle-aged woman, and she smiles at me in a warm, friendly way.
“Hello,” I begin, as confidently as I can. “I’m Fixie Farr. I have an appointment with Sebastian Marlowe.”
“Of course,” she says. “He’s expecting you. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, please. That would be lovely.”
I’m expecting to be directed to a seating area, when a door straight ahead of me flies open—and there he is. Taller than I remember. Frondy hair shining in a little shaft of sunshine. Woodland eyes gleaming at me. An open, friendly smile.
“Hello,” he says. “You came.”
“I did.” I can’t help smiling back.
“Well, come on in!” He gestures at his door and I follow him into an office which instantly makes me feel relaxed. I don’t know if it’s the bright modern art or the battered leather sofa, but it feels human, despite the three computers. There’s a bookshelf lining a wall and a couple of plants and a worn antique rug. The whole place feels homey.
“I’ll get us some coffee,” says Sebastian. “If you’d like coffee?” His brow creases. “Or I think we can run to herbal tea.…”
“Coffee would be great,” I say. “But your receptionist said she’d get me some.”
“I’m sure she did.” He smiles again in that friendly way. “But she’s twisted her ankle and she’s supposed to be taking it easy, not that she ever obeys orders. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not.”
As he strides out of the room, I wander over to the bookshelf. Like the rest of the room, it’s pretty characterful, with books on business, novels, and ethnic-looking sculptures. The top shelf is empty apart from two modern vases, and as I survey them, I feel a familiar sensation creeping over me. The left-hand one is crooked, and I’m already itching to straighten it.
It’s not my business, I tell myself firmly. Not my vases. Not my problem. Look away.
Oh God. But I can’t look away. My fingers have started doing their thing, drumming against each other. How can you live with crooked vases? Doesn’t he notice? Doesn’t it irritate him? As I gaze at the offending vases, my feet start their stepping motion: forward-across-back, forward-across-back. It would be so easy to fix. It would only take a moment. In fact—
I can’t bear it anymore. I have to straighten it. I step forward and raise a hand, and as I’m pushing it into place, I hear Sebastian’s voice behind me: “Those vases haven’t been touched since my grandmother placed them there, just before she died.”
What? What?
I whip round, aghast, to see Sebastian behind me, holding two cups of coffee.
“Oh my God. Sebastian, I’m so sorry!” I say in a flurry. “I should never have— It’s just, it was crooked and driving me mad, and I had to fix it. That’s my flaw,” I add shamefacedly. “I always have to fix things, and then I end up making everything worse, but—”
“I may not have been entirely serious,” he cuts me off, midstream. “My flaw is: I like to wind people up. Sorry. And by the way, do call me Seb.” He shoots me a mischievous grin and I can’t help laughing, even though my heart is still thudding in delayed panic. What if that had been true, about the grandmother?
Or what if it had been the grandmother’s ashes? I flinch as the horrifying thought strikes me. What if I’d come into his office, a total stranger, and messed with a memorial to a beloved relative?
“You seem worried,” says Seb, eyeing me curiously.
“I was just thinking, what if that was your granny’s ashes?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“Ah.” He nods. “Yes, that would be awkward. Thankfully, my granny’s ashes are safely interred in a churchyard.”
It’s my cue to sit down, but somehow I can’t stop talking. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
“We scattered my dad’s ashes at sea,” I hear myself saying. “It was a disaster. We threw them toward the waves, but it was so windy, they blew back in our faces, and Mum was batting at them, saying, ‘You get in the sea, Mike, you obstinate sod; you know it’s where you want to be,’ and then this dog came running up—” I break off. “Sorry. Not relevant.”
His whole family died, I remember, in a horrifying rush. And I’m standing here talking about ashes. Shut up, Fixie.
“Well,” says Seb after a pause. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes! Sorry. Let’s … yes.”
Why did I even have to touch that vase? I’m thinking as he ushers me into a chair. I feel so angry with myself. Can’t I learn? Can’t I change?
Yes, I resolve. I can change. And I’m going to. The next time something bugs me, unless it’s super-important and vital, I’m leaving it. I am leaving it.
“I must hear, though,” Seb adds as he sits down. “What happened with the dog?”
“You don’t want to know.” I roll my eyes expressively and he laughs—the open, boyish laugh I remember from the coffee shop. Then silence falls and he regards me expectantly.
It’s time to say what I’m here to say. But I still feel rattled. I need a moment to compose myself.
“I like your office,” I say.
“Oh, good,” he says. “I’m glad.”
“Some offices seem to say, ‘Be afraid,’ ” I blabber on desperately. “But this one seems to say …” I cast around for inspiration. “It says, ‘Let’s get on with things; this is going to be great.’ ”
“Ha!” Seb seems delighted by my analysis. “I like that.”
I sip my coffee, playing for time, and Seb sips his too, and there’s one of those expectant, silent beats.
Come on, Fixie. Say it. Just say it.
“So anyway, I’m here to claim my IOU,” I say in the lightest manner that I can.
“Great!” He looks genuinely pleased. “I hoped you were.”
A tiny part of me relaxes. So he hasn’t forgotten about it. And he doesn’t seem offended. On the other hand, he hasn’t heard what I want yet.
“OK. So.” I take a sip of coffee, once more playing for time. “First of all … I have to ask you something. Were you serious?”
“Of course I was serious!” he says, sounding surprised. “I made you a genuine offer. I’m indebted to you and I want to pay you back for your kindness in any way that I can. Have you still got the coffee sleeve?” His mouth curves into an amused smile.
“Of course!” I produce it from my bag. “You’d better check it.”
He reaches over, takes it from me, and gives it a mock-serious examination. “Yes,” he says at last. “I hereby pronounce this to be authentic.” He pushes it back across the desk, then faces me squarely. “So, what can I do for you?” His eyes suddenly light up. “Did you want to take me up on the investment advice? Because—”
“No. Something else.” My stomach is churning hard, but I have to press on. “Something …” I swallow. “A different thing.”
Oh God, come on. Say it.
“Of course. Anything at all. What? Not a chocolate chip muffin, after all?” he adds with another laugh.
“No, not a chocolate chip muffin,” I say, digging my nails into my palm, willing myself to say it. “Not a chocolate chip muffin.” I force myself to look up and meet his gaze. “A job.”
“A job?” I see the shock pass over his face before he can dissemble. “Sorry,” he adds hastily as he notices my expression. “I don’t mean to sound … I just didn’t … A job. Wow. OK.”
As he’s speaking, I can see his brain working. I can see the cogs whirring. I don’t need to point out, “You said ‘anything at all.’ ” He’s pointing it out to himself.
“I know it’s big,” I say quickly. “I mean, it’s really big. But I thought … maybe we can help each other? I overheard you talking in the coffee shop, saying that you couldn’t find the right person to fill a junior position. You need someone dynamic, who’s been in the real world, who doesn’t mind working hard, someone who wants to learn, someone who isn’t the typical graduate … someone different.”