Page 95 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

Or that it was never going to make any difference anyway?

I don’t even know how I feel about this.

Why don’t I know how I feel about this?

Harrison thanks me for my apology and then tells me that obviously I can’t work at his agency anymore. Maybe in the future, blah blah… Door’s not completely shut, blah blah… But best all round if I leave today. It’s a testament to our past working relationship that he’s prepared to offer me a couple of months’ salary if I go today.

Out of respect for the relationship I had with his daughter he’ll ensure I’m not precluded from getting another job in advertising before my work permit expires and any new prospective employer would need to fill out the relevant forms, but obviously, I’d need to be mindful… Not approach any competitors. Although, and this is only well-meaning advice, I probably should look for something outside the sector given how I responded to the promotion.

There’s a pregnant pause, presumably while I get a few moments to process. To decide.

I say nothing.

Probably due to feeling numb.

And then Harrison’s thanking me for all the hard work I put in up until my regrettable outburst, blah blah. He wishes me the best for the future, blah blah…

Let’s face it, I’m not surprised. I think it’s why I piled all my work files into a bag and brought them with me to hand over today but even so, now the over-breathing starts as I think one thought and one thought only…

Please do not give my promotion to Tim bloody Duggins.

‘Of course not,’ Harrison responds, making it fact that I uttered the words aloud. ‘Anya’s going to be taking on the role you were doing alongside the one she already has.’

While this news sinks in, I wait for him to say something – anything else. Specifically, about Anya and me. About how only a few weeks ago he’d been giving me his blessing about joining the Richards family.

But he doesn’t say anything and the next thing I know I’m in my office to collect my personal belongings.

I plonk myself down on the desk chair and swivel around for one last look at the view from a corner office. When the back of my neck starts prickling, I swivel back around.

Anya is poised in the doorway.

‘Of all the offices, in all the world,’ I say in a fairly atrocious Bogart impression.

With a ghost of a smile, she says, ‘I know I have no right to ask this, but please don’t make things difficult.’

‘No drama. Right. I remember.’

‘I meant don’t make things difficult for yourself. Take the deal, George.’

I flashback to where I think this all started. The meeting with Yeong Cosmetics.

What’s the deal, George?

Make the deal, George.

‘You thought I was sitting here weighing my options?’ I ask.

‘Weren’t you?’

Some of the numbness turns into the creeping realisation there were never really any options to weigh up. My position became untenable the moment I did what I did. Anya’s probably wondering why I’m not hightailing it out of here, tail between my legs. I don’t want to disclose that discombobulation has a tendency to slow a person down.

Suddenly I want to ask her why she’s always in such a hurry – at work at any rate. Because she certainly wasn’t in a hurry to marry me. The insight slams into me. How when I spoke about career progression it was always as a prelude to getting married. Having kids. When she spoke about it, it was simply to run the agency. All the important things that I considered standard like marriage and kids, she considered extras to be tacked on after.

Am I glad the scales have fallen from my eyes? Considering I can see nothing ahead of me, not really.

‘You can relax,’ I say, tiredly. ‘I took the deal.’

‘Will you be going back to England?’ She swallows like she’s worried she’s shown her hand and quickly follows up with, ‘That is – what are you going to do now?’

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