Page 50 of The Wedding Game

‘Hi, I’m here to see Max Riley,’ I say, taking off my thick winter coat.

But Max beats her to any spiel about signing in and, taking a badge and a lanyard, he bounds across the room and greets me so warmly, instantly putting me at ease. He’s larger than he appeared on our Zoom and younger, in his fifties. He’s dressed from head to toe in white, which is a brave move, but then he does work in design. He sort of blends in with the office, as if he’s wearing workwear camouflage.

I’m now doubting my choice of denim miniskirt and tights, an oversized blazer and a pair of suede ankle boots. I didn’t want to overdo it, but likewise I wasn’t sure jeans would cut it. Max is a whole other level of fashion, though, and, paired with his bright-red varifocal glasses, he’s giving off quite the Elton John vibe. I instantly warm to him and his infectious smile as he asks me about my flight and my hotel room, and tells me where I’ll be sitting in the office and what we’ll be doing for the next fortnight – including tours of the company’s New York hotels and going through the core plans for London and my role there.

He talks so fast and I already feel I should be writing everything down and, just when I’m about to say that, I feel someone watching me. Out of the corner of my eye I spyChris, who’s talking into his phone, but holding his gaze on me. I feel myself draw in a short, sharp breath and for a few seconds I can’t hear Max any more. I can’t hear anything.

Chris raises a hand in greeting and issues me a wide smile that turns into anI-can’t-believe-you’re-herekind of laugh. I smile back, trying to convey the same message, even though we’ve exchanged no words. Seeing him again is confusing, on so many levels. I wasn’t expecting to be jolted in such a way. When I look at my Fitbit stats later, I reckon my heart rate will have gone into the low hundreds. I can’t explain this feeling. I refocus on the conversation I’m supposed to be having.

‘Come on,’ Max says. ‘I’ll bet you could do with a coffee, after a long flight, and then we’ll go round and I’ll introduce you to everyone.’

Fully topped up with caffeine and having inhaled a giant cinnamon bun in a breakout area, we head back into the main office so I can meet the team. I’m a pro when it comes to meeting people and remembering names. I’ve been in and out of so many offices over the past few months, having to do this very thing on repeat through all my temp jobs. I know I’ll ace this bit. The rest of it I’m shit-scared about. Excited and totally, utterly shit-scared.

‘We’ll start with the owners,’ Max suggests as we climb the stairs to the next floor. ‘It’d be rude not to.’ He escorts me towards a large glassed-partitioned office and I’m briefly introduced to the joint partners, a woman and a man called Sybil and Jackson, who aren’t dressed quite as snappily asMax, with an easy attire of jeans and T-shirts all round. In among all my research I read that the two of them are siblings, inheriting their first property from their parents and turning it into something cooler and homelier. The hotels are more like apartment-hotels, each one curated to give a gentle nod to the location and the history of the original building, while fully embracing the new trend for working remotely and nomadic digital jobs. They’re all dog-friendly with shared workspaces, and the last one they opened in Berlin has its own coffee shop – an area they want to expand, or so the info Max sent me stated. I’m in awe of them and the brand they’ve built, and I tell them this, while trying not to be too sycophantic or overexcited, like a puppy that’s been shown its first real meal. This isn’t my first proper job, but it is my first proper job doing something I think I’m going to love.

We move around the upper office before circling back to the ground floor. I bookmark people’s names against their faces and where they’re sitting and hope, while I’m here, they don’t decide to have an office desk reshuffle, ruining my memorising system. Then we head back towards Max’s desk, which is near to where Chris is sitting.

Seeing him is so different from texting him. He’s really here. So am I. I’m surprised by how attractive Chris is. I hadn’t exactly forgotten what he’d looked like, but the wedding was three months ago and memories wane, exact details become sketchy. If anything, he looks better than I remember. When I picture him in my mind, he’s in that amazing wedding suit. But the black trousers and open-neck shirt he’s wearing now fit him just as well. Has he done somethingdifferent to his hair? It looks darker, like the summer sun isn’t lightening it, now autumn is fading to winter.

He stops typing on his computer, rises from his chair and my throat constricts in anticipation as he walks towards me, smiling widely and moving to kiss my cheek in greeting. That incredible scent of his aftershave and of … him hits me suddenly. I breathe slowly, inhale him.

‘Hi,’ Chris says as he pulls back and looks into my eyes.

I swallow. ‘Hi,’ I respond, totally unaware if the expression on my face is conveying what he’s just done to my insides. I feel giddy and I’m aware Max is watching the two of us as he exclaims, ‘Of course, you two already know each other.’

‘Yeah,’ Chris replies warmly. And then he explains, ‘Lexie and I met in the summer’ at the exact same time as I say, ‘Chris recommended the job to me.’

Max mutters something politely in the affirmative, as he knows all this.

‘Nice to have another Brit in the office,’ Chris says, moving away from me almost purposefully, leaning back against a desk. ‘What have you got planned while you’re here?’

‘Careful! That’s quite small-talky of you,’ I reply and he immediately laughs. I love the way his dark eyes crinkle like that. I picture Josh suddenly, his blue eyes bright against his tanned face.

Max looks confused at the way this conversation has gone, so I give him a brief rundown of how Chris and I met and refused to engage in small talk, only covering huge subjects and deep personal insights into each other’s lives. Max’s eyesswivel between us, even more confused, and so to cut that subject dead, I tell Chris I’ve got nothing planned because I wasn’t sure how much time I’d get to sightsee.

Max slides in with, ‘Well, we finish here at five-thirty, so your time’s your own after that. I’m not working you around the clock. You should go and check off all the sights you want to see.’

‘I could take you to some of my favourite haunts?’ Chris suggests.

‘OK, yeah, thanks,’ I reply excitedly, and then a beat later I immediately sense this is a bad idea. I shouldn’t spend time alone with Chris. It feels disloyal to Josh. Although Chris and I are now working together, so I’m not sure I can avoid him without causing trouble. It’s only a fortnight. And then he stays in New York and I go back to London. Nothing’s changing. We can be friends.

Max turns to get on with work, so I automatically go with him, waving a quick goodbye to Chris.

And then I begin the first day of the rest of my life.

It’s a light start to work, with a disturbingly empty inbox staring back at me on my new laptop, but Max assures me, ‘Don’t worry, that’ll soon fill up.’

And then we’re off, talking about upcoming projects, the vision for the London hotel, the kind of vibe the owners are looking for and how I’m going to help achieve it. I can see why they need someone on the ground. For a start, organising artisan samples to be sent from across the UK to New York is a waste of time and money. Max sends me over links,so I can access all the folders and immerse myself in the vision and the mood boards. I love a mood board, the way pieces of fabric sit against pictures of chairs and images of wallpaper and paint stripes. I’m in heaven as I help Max edit one onscreen for a presentation to the bosses, and I tell him this, making him smile fondly. I don’t want to look amateurish, but I’m honestly blown away by how much I’m already enjoying this.

We work together all afternoon, and then my jet lag gets the better of me at about four o’clock.

‘Off you go,’ Max tells me. ‘Get some rest. Thank you for coming in today.’

‘Of course,’ I tell him. ‘What else was I going to do?’

‘Sleep,’ he says. ‘Go and rest and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.’

‘Are you sure? I don’t want to slink off early when you’re still working.’

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