Page 38 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

‘Back to mine?’

I grin. ‘That would be a hard yes.’

She laughs louder and as we’re exiting the restaurant, says, ‘So how about them Chelsea United’s?’

I try not to think about how my brother would die if anyone referred to his beloved football club, Chelsea FC, as Chelsea United. ‘You’re really getting the hang of this not talking about work,’ I whisper into her ear, telling her how creative I can be with taking both our minds off work when we get back to her apartment.

* * *

I’m not sure what it is that wakes me hours later, but it takes me a full minute to work out why my navy curtains have sprouted pink flamingos. I stretch contentedly. There’s an incredible looseness in my body and my headache’s disappeared. I remember I’m at Anya’s, but confess, I don’t remember flamingos. She must have redecorated.

It occurs to me she’s never going to be ready to move in with me if she’s still taking the time to redecorate her own apartment. The flamingos are an interesting choice for her, but then again, they’re probably more the on-trend decorator’s choice. I relax because redecorating to be on trend is very different to redecorating because you are turning your place into a home you don’t ever want to leave.

The bed beside me is empty, so I get up, not bothering with clothes, to go and search for her.

I find her working at her desk. No working on the sofa for Anya. She looks perfect as she types away on her laptop. Her soft, silky blonde hair is tucked neatly behind her ears and she looks utterly absorbed in her work.

Work.

Bit of a blow to the ego, if I’m honest. Really thought after tearing up the sheets for an hour she’d be feeling as sated as me.

‘Hey,’ I whisper.

She jumps but then turns and smiles at me. ‘Hey you, I’m feeling, I don’t know’—she gives a sexy little shimmy and the shoulder of her silk nightgown falls enticingly off of one shoulder— ‘rejuvenated.’

Okay. So this is better. Ego restored, I walk towards her. ‘What are you working on?’

Immediately she goes to close the laptop screen but a logo catches my eye and I already know.

‘I was playing around with a few ideas…’ she explains.

‘A few ideas for one of my accounts?’ There’s a creeping gathering in the centre of my gut, spreading up and outwards like a dust cloud enveloping a city.

‘It’s not a big deal.’

It is a big deal.

I try and make my tone casual because flying off the handle when I don’t have all the facts, isn’t me. ‘Why are you fleshing out ideas for Perfect Pies?’ I ask quietly.

‘You mentioned you were struggling with it.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You must have.’

I don’t want to highlight that there’s no way I would ever have told my boss’s daughter I was struggling with the first account handed to me after promotion so that leaves one person who could have talked to her about the campaign and I’m now going to need her to say it. ‘Who told you I was having trouble with the pitch, Anya?’

‘You did.’

My voice is gravelly now when I repeat my question, ‘Who told you?’

‘Okay. Tim may have mentioned it.’

Tim Bloody Duggins. I nod. Breathe in. Breathe out. Decide breathing is over-rated as it’s doing nothing to calm the indescribable anger expanding from the base of my belly. ‘So the reason you put Tim on my team is that you had zero faith in me?’ I bite out the words. ‘Tim is a spy? Your spy?’ Jesus, what if it was worse? ‘Or your father’s spy?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He is neither. I put Tim on your team because he deserved the chance to be on accounts that would challenge him. I have never once expected you to not come up with a big idea. Neither has Tim. You know he looks up to you.’

I can’t believe this. I could have been at home. Working on my big idea. I could have come up with the big idea this very evening. Instead, I’m in the beginnings of an argument … in the nude. Feels weird. Feels … nope. No way am I going to acknowledge feeling vulnerable. This is ridiculous. I have this. I start to pace. ‘I still have a week left before pitching.’

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