Page 18 of The Love Hack

I half-turned, shy of meeting his eyes but at the same time longing to gaze into his face. ‘Kieren?’

‘You know – people here might not tell you this. But I’m going to,’ he said.

I felt my heart hammering in my chest. Either he was about to tell me I was going to be sacked, or I had a terrible body odour problem – or it was something good.

The look on his face – his lips turned up at the edges – told me it was something good.

‘You’ve got talent,’ he went on. ‘Real potential. A woman like you – smart, hard-working, driven, beautiful – you’ll go far in this industry. I don’t think you know it yet, but you will.’

No one except my mum and my sister had ever told me I was beautiful before. And that he thought I had a future in journalism was like rich, velvety buttercream on top of a particularly decadent cake.

‘Thank you,’ I stammered. ‘That means a lot. It really does.’

‘Now, that doesn’t mean you should pull an all-nighter here on your own,’ he chided gently. ‘Come on – home time. Get some rest.’

I logged off hastily, got up and fetched my coat from my own desk on the other side of the room, then followed him to the lift and waited while he set the alarm.

Maybe he would ask me out for a drink. Or just thank me for my help and the late night I’d put in. Or something else.

As it turned out, it was something else. He pressed the button for the lift and then, while we waited for it to inch its way up from the ground floor to the ninth, he turned to me, put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me.

I couldn’t have been more taken by surprise if he’d slapped me. For a second I stood still, frozen in the circle of his arms, and then I responded. I couldn’t help it. It was like weeks – even years – of pent-up desire was exploding inside me. His mouth on mine was the best thing I’d ever felt; the smell of his skin was intoxicating. I wanted to press my body hard against his, feel every bone of him pressing against me, never let him go.

But I had to, when the low ping of the lift ordered me to.

He looked at me, that crooked half-smile on his face, and asked, ‘You liked that?’

I nodded dumbly and stepped ahead of him into the lift. On the way down, he kissed me again and I responded just as eagerly. Then we stepped out on the ground floor and I followed him out into the street.

‘So did I,’ he said. ‘Talented, beautiful and as sexy as hell. Wow.’

He smiled at me again, his face transformed like a Christmas tree when the lights switch on, then he turned and walked away. I must have walked away too, but it felt more like I was floating, born away towards the Tube station on a cloud of happiness and excitement.

‘Stupid, Lucy,’ I said aloud now, throwing the envelope back into the drawer and slamming it shut. ‘Stupid, stupid. No crushes on work colleagues again, ever. Remember that.’

It was almost eleven o’clock before I’d managed to shower, pull on tracksuit bottoms and a jumper and make my way back to the kitchen with my phone. Amelie’s Instagram story from the previous day was almost fifteen minutes long, and I watched it all – a mixture of group selfies, videos, close-ups of cocktails and, towards the end, blurry shots of the dance floor and the street outside the club.

I carried on scrolling. As yesterday segued into today, the messages because less coherent and the photos less carefully staged. But there were a couple of candid shots of that kiss – Bryony’s back and Ross’s front, a streetlamp illuminating them like something off CCTV, or a crime scene photo.

‘Now you can’t say pics or it didn’t happen!’ Eve had posted, with a load of laughing emojis and the devil for good measure.

I scrolled rapidly past, knowing that if I allowed myself, I’d return to the photo again and again, torturing myself with it although I knew I had no right to find it painful. My sister’s friends didn’t even know who Ross was. They had no idea I worked with him. I hadn’t mentioned it; he and I hadn’t spoken or even made eye contact.

Rapidly, I scrolled to the end of the chat. About a dozen posts up from the final one, Nush had posted, ‘Has anyone heard from Lucy? She was absolutely sparko when I left her place last night.’

Amelie: Nope. I tried calling but there was no reply.

True. There had been a couple of missed calls on my phone, but I was too deep in the Fear to check who from, or listen to the messages.

Miranda: @Lucy? Are you there? Are you okay?

Nush: I fed the cat and I thought about crashing on the couch but I didn’t want to be a pain, so I got an Uber home.

Amelie: If I don’t hear from her I’ll go round there. I’m sure she’s fine.

Elspeth: I bet she’s feeling better than me. I’m legit dying. I’ve had two bacon rolls and they’re not even touching the sides.

Elspeth? One of the interchangeable blondes, I guessed.

---