Page 61 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

‘And how exactly is that leading by example?’ I ask.

‘You have to trust your team to bring in business now.’

‘Like Tim?’ I blurt out. ‘You must be joking.’

She looks at me like she doesn’t know this version of me.

And why would she?

I’ve always been secure in my work.

Confident.

It’s what she needs to see now, I realise.

‘Look,’ I say, determinedly. ‘I wanted to let you know the initial decision they gave me because it was your idea and I thought you’d want to know. I am going to go ahead and give them the opportunity to hear my idea. I believe in it that much. I want the account that much. I want to succeed in this job that much.’

‘And there’s nothing I can say to persuade you otherwise?’

‘There isn’t.’ I’m so disappointed in how this meeting has gone, I don’t know where to begin, except with why she would even think she had to persuade me otherwise. You don’t give up on something just because it didn’t work. You just don’t. If I’d done that when I was younger then, no way would I be here now. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’

‘Okay.’

I stand up to leave but hesitate as she gently calls my name. When I turn to face her, she asks, ‘Shall I stay over tonight?’

It’s asked as if she’s sensed the way to tidy this all conveniently away and I find myself sighing. ‘I don’t know, Anya, I’m really tired.’

‘We can’t allow a little work disagreement to come between us.’

I should agree.

Compromise.

‘I thought we were a team?’ she adds.

Right up until we lose an account and then it’s my fault but I’m supposed to just chalk it up to experience and move on? What if it happens again?

So far, this promotion isn’t working out at all how I thought. Instead of feeling invigorated and inspired and inspiring, I feel quiet and off my game.

‘If you come over tonight,’ I tell her, ‘there’s an embargo on talking about work.’

She licks her lips and I see the flash of panic before she nods her head, and says, ‘Good plan. We’ll make it about us. A romantic night in.’

* * *

At the knock on my office door, I look up to find Anya and automatically glance at my watch. It’s gone six o’clock. How did that happen? Oh yeah, a series of phone calls to my contact at Perfect Pies, followed by a couple of hours studying the projected revenue for the quarter, followed by crafting at least ten iterations of the perfect team-building email.

Anya making the effort to purposely stop by my office to collect me for our evening makes me ashamed I even felt a twinge of paranoia over her and Tim. Some of the tension of the day lifts from my shoulders. We can chill over a glass of wine and make that pasta arrabbiata. Hmmm, actually not sure that’s vegan? And now I feel a bit guilty that my cleaner has shopped for things I’m, once again, going to waste, thus perpetuating the myth that I don’t give ‘a damn’ about it. Hmmm again I’m slightly disconcerted to find myself thinking about my cleaner when my girlfriend is standing in front of me. I grin warmly at Anya, right up until I take proper note of her expression.

‘Please don’t hate me,’ she begins.

My happy heart performs a handbrake turn, crashing into my chest wall and you know what? I’m getting tired of the endless workout it’s getting lately. ‘Anya?—’

‘My meeting’s been rescheduled,’ she states with a hurried step across the threshold. ‘It’s in Tribeca so it’ll take me ages this time of day and I have to go. I have to.’

‘Anya—’

‘Say you understand.’ Her voice has a plaintive note I haven’t heard before. ‘I really was looking forward to us spending some time together.’

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