Page 11 of Falling for You
He shoots me a look, but he’s grinning now. ‘It’s not every man,’ he says, picking up his phone. ‘Screw you. Oh! It’s Facebook Marketplace.’
I sit up. ‘Oh great, are you getting a new sofa? I’ll chip in.’
‘What? No,’ Stevie narrows his eyes at his phone screen. ‘I’ve found this amazing talking pumpkin for Halloween.’
I groan, sitting back down. ‘I hate Halloween.’
‘Yes …’ Stevie says, using his fingers to zoom in on the picture and turning his phone to show me. ‘But this should do the trick to annoy the cat upstairs – it’s due some bad karma.’
‘Why?’
‘It pissed on my rug.’
I take a final look at myself in the elevator mirror. My dark hair is pushed back, finally seeming to adjust to the sogginess of London, and (after a thorough talking to from Stevie) my beard is trimmed, and therefore slightly less unruly than yesterday.
It’s my first day in the London office ofTake the Time, the ‘best events magazine’ if you believe everything our marketing team is feeding you. I’ve spent the past eight years (and what was left of my twenties) working as their feature writer, covering events all over New York City and Manhattan. It’s a pretty cool gig. Or it was, until all of my mates who took turns to be my plus one would rather sit in with their other halves, and I realised that yeah, that actually sounded quite nice and I’d like to do the same. Except I didn’t have an other half. Sure, it’s pretty impressive to take a woman on a first date to a Broadway show or the launch of a new menu at a restaurant, but the novelty wears off. Usually about the time the ‘let’s sit in together instead’ conversation comes around and I reveal my true, introverted self and realise that they were far more interested in the fancy meals and elaborate dates than they ever were in me.
The elevator pulls up to the eighth floor and pings open. I step out dubiously.
‘Nathaniel?’
I look up as I hear my name bounce towards me in a clipped British accent. For a moment I’m half expecting to seeHugh Grant bumble over and offer me a cigarette. Instead, it’s a lanky guy with big teeth and even bigger hair, all quaffed above his head like the fifth member of ABBA.
‘Hi,’ I say, holding out my hand. ‘It’s Nate.’
‘Brian!’ the man says back happily, giving my hand a firm shake. ‘Welcome to London! Fancy a tea?’
‘Do you have coffee?’
Brian pulls a face. ‘The machine is broken. I make a good tea, though.’
I’m about to decline when I clock every other person in the office, holding a mug.
I feel like it’s an unwritten British rule: never turn down a cup of tea in a first meeting. It would be a sign of the utmost disrespect.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
I’ve managed to avoid cups of tea since being in London. It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just that … fuck it. I hate it. It tastes like dishwater and I have absolutely no idea why anyone drinks it.
I follow him as he wanders through the office, presumably towards the kitchen.
‘That’s Kat,’ Brian says, flicking his wrist towards a girl sitting behind a computer who nods at me, ‘accounts; Fernanda,’ another woman nods, ‘IT. Paul, Simon, Gary, Greg, socials,’ a set of men raise their eyebrows at me one by one, like meerkats popping up over the parapet.
‘Helen is HR but she’s not in yet aaaaaaaaaaand …’ he spins on his heel to face me and I stop walking to avoid crashing into him, ‘the lazy writers usually work from home,’ hegives me a knowing look and then laughs, ‘but you’ll meet them soon. Kayleigh, Scott and Jen.’
I nod, realising I’ve had the same grin pinned on my face since I stepped out of the elevator. I relax.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Great to meet you all.’ I offer my hand in a wave around the office. They all lift their heads in recognition and bob them back down, hiding behind their monitors. And plants.
‘How’s the jet lag?’ Brian asks, flicking the kettle on.
‘Yeah, all good … I’ve been here five days, so I think I’ve gotten over the worst of it.’
Brian laughs. ‘I hear you. I visited the Singapore office at the start of the year, it fucked me for days. But how is New York? I don’t know if we have quite the nightlife to compare, especially the events we get invited to.’ He leans back on the counter as the kettle sputters behind him. ‘But we still have some good ones. Do you like Cirque du Soleil?’
I tuck my hands in my pockets. ‘Sure. I could cover that.’
Brian pushes his lips together and shakes his head. ‘No, you can’t. Unless you want to fight Scott for it. He gets those tickets every year.’
