Page 7 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

In the elevator, I punch the button for the ground floor, spin around and look at myself in the mirror.

Huh.

I don’t look like my ticker is ticking down.

Not if you discount the paleness in my cheeks and the heaving in of oxygen.

The ‘ding’ of the elevator has me pushing at the doors to get out, even as I’m yanking my tie to the side and opening the buttons of my shirt collar in a move reminiscent of Clark Kent, except when he does it, he’s entering a telephone box not exiting the plush offices where the Harrison Richards Advertising Agency occupies space.

I sort of fall out of the elevator, regain my balance and look about me like a wild man. My only mission: to get out into the fresh air. The beautiful polluted fresh air.

I’m tempted to hurdle the security turnstiles in a single leap, yet even in the midst of a heart attack I fish around in my pocket for my pass and slide it over the little clear window with the infra-red laser inside before racing for the revolving doors.

My name is George Northcote.

I’m thirty-one years old.

And I am having a heart attack.

I absolutely cannot have a heart attack.

For a start, the hole that was found inside my heart was repaired nearly two decades ago and I have looked after it meticulously ever since.

Also, I’m British, so a thousand per cent will not want to draw attention to myself by asking for help!

Out on the street, the inevitability of my fate hits, the sound rushes in and the ground rises up to meet me.

Chapter Three

IT’S ALL GOOD

George

The sound of the apartment door closing jerks me awake.

It’s dark outside and I squint at the time on my phone.

9pm.

I’ve been asleep on my sofa for hours.

I test myself by sitting up.

Nope.

The overall feeling sitting on my chest and filling up my head is still one of exhaustion mixed with utter stupidity.

‘Anya?’ I call out, my voice pathetically groggy. ‘Is that you?’

A light comes on and she appears in front of me. ‘Who else would it be?’

‘Where have you been?’

‘Out celebrating the Forever Yeong deal with the client and the team.’

I detect the tiniest reprove in her tone and I’m not going to lie. It rankles. Call me old-fashioned but in the event of a heart attack you’d expect your girlfriend of three years to visit you in hospital, would you not?

She is the reason I upped sticks and came to New York, after all.

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