Page 27 of Fake It 'til You Make It

Then the door is closed and laughter escapes me. Believe it or not, I’m laughing, again. So, I’ll admit, behaving like this self-assured Michael Thomas character makes the real me cringe at times.There’s a bed upstairs. Super fly. I’ll bump you up my waiting list– what was I thinking? That didn’t sound like a slick alpha male but a horny creep, the worst combination.

But I don’t think the real me would have shown up for a woman the way I did tonight. Maybe that’s the point. Guys like my brother and Rome can be arrogant but theyalwaysget the girl. They keep the girl. Guys like the old me don’t get a look in.

Tonight is case in point. I was horrible in places, yet Abbey stuck around.

Honestly, I can’t figure that woman out. Sometimes I look at her, remembering those ginormous panties, and I think she looks like a really hot girl next door. Other times, I look at her and I see exactly the kind of woman I’m not going to get mixed up with again. Like Fleur. Fancy clothes and salon-styled hair. And thenshe has this kind of sassy sensibility about her, which doesn’t fit with her ex having pulled the wool over her eyes.

I sit on the sofa and stare at the selection of baseballs on the wall. You don’t have to be stupid to get the wool pulled over your eyes; I’m stereotyping and it’s not right. I’m a smart guy – I have pieces of paper and a bank balance that say so – yet my fiancée still managed to do the dirty on me.

Therein lies the reason I helped out Abbey tonight. Her ex seemed like a complete idiot, and right now, whilst I’m avoiding both Fleur and Roman, I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for Abbey being forced to come face-to-face with her ex. For all intents and purposes, they’re living in the same apartment block. I genuinely hope for her sake that his relationship with a new woman is fleeting.

Here’s something, though, as I stare at the baseballs on the wall, I realize: this is the first night since I arrived in New York, almost a week ago, that I haven’t wanted to pick up one of those balls and bang it off the wall, over and over until monotony replaces anger and eventually has me ready to drop off to sleep.

The very last thing I need in my life right now is another designer-wearing woman, but Abbey was company tonight, however briefly. Whilst I was talking with her, I wasn’t mourning a life I had just a week ago, or at least a life I thought I had.

The fact is, store assistants aside, Abbey is the only person I know in New York. I’m going to need someone to talk to, someone in whom I have zero interest romantically and whom I can tolerate to be with for some sanity-preserving conversation.

So, I guess Abbey is staying.

Abbey and her sore feet.

I do my ablutions and head to bed, knowing that tonight, I’m finally going to be able to sleep – because my constant rage of the last days isn’t present.

As I lie back on the bed, blackout blinds drawn for the morning’s early sunrise, the final thought that enters my head is that Fleur would have never gone barefoot in public, no matter how badly her impractical shoes were rubbing her feet.

It’s Friday and the great thing about Fridays is that my assistant blocks out my calendar so that I can have a full day of R&D. I’m working on a new A.I. project, which I think has the potential to be the biggest product Vanguard has offered to date. Let’s face it, the hottest thing in the world right now is artificial intelligence.

In a random twist, I woke up with a modicum of energy, so at 5.30a.m. I went into my brother’s small home gym. I used his rowing machine, his treadmill, and his free weights, and have miraculously been left with even more energy. I’m now sitting at my new home office desk with a breakfast bundle from the local bakery Four, which has become my go-to place when I’m not using Uber Eats.

I’ve been sketching pages of an app by hand, in such a way that the pages map out a storyboard. This is why I love Fridays. I can get lost in a project and forget the noise of the business world, and more importantly today, real life.

As she does every Friday morning at nine-thirty, Mel video calls me and I answer with, ‘Hey, Mel.’ Her face has appeared on my large computer screen.

I hear it in her voice, the moment she says, ‘Hi Ted.’ I’ve known her long enough to pick up on the subtle undertone.

She has my full attention. ‘What’s up?’

Her smile isn’t as bright as usual. It’s forced. ‘Just the usual check in to see if there’s anything specific you want me to actiontoday or if I should just plod on doing my thing.’ There’s always a hint of feisty, kind of quirky city gal about Mel. Not today.

I interlock my fingers and bring my elbows to the desk, resting my chin on my hands.

‘There are a few things but first, what’s wrong?’ I’m near certain I know what this is about. Still, I ask, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Me?’ She shakes her head, as if exasperated. ‘Christ, Ted.I’mfine.’

It suddenly strikes me that she’s sitting in my desk chair, in my office. She wants privacy. And the way she saysI’mis the final convincing I need. ‘Level with me.’

‘People are talking in the office. Playing guessing games as to why you’ve done a runner.’

I sit back in my chair, putting some distance between us, uncomfortable. ‘What’s the best guess?’

‘That Fleur has been fu— having an affair with Roman.’

She’s right. And as far as I’m aware, I was the first person to know as much. Yet Mel’s words are like someone unplugged the power supply to my system. As if my body shut down and can no longer perform basic functions, like breathing. Like my heart beating.

‘It’s true, isn’t it? I can tell from your silence. I can see it on your face. That’s why you’re in New York.’ She whispers the location, leaning in to her screen, even though I know she’ll be alone in my office. I trust her unreservedly – though my judgment in that department is clearly way off the mark.

‘How many tongues are wagging? Give it to me in numbers.’

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