Page 34 of The Worst Guy Ever
Hattie finds her shoes and her bag, stumbling as she puts them on, her head swinging in all directions as she figures out her next move. I don’t know where she thinks she’s going to go.
All our friends are on the boat, we’re pretty far out west, and we don’t have a change of clothes. Clearly she doesn’t think that’s a problem, and storms off towards the car-park.
“Hattie, wait,” I call out, finally managing to swing my leg up and heave myself out of the river. Water pours off me, and I pull away a clump of reeds from where they’ve wrapped themselves around my shoulders. Thank fuck I’ve barely had anything to drink, this is exactly the sort of drunken behaviour that lands people in my unit for neurological assessment. What if she’d hit her head?
“Are you alright, love?” one of the men asks, sticking close to Hattie and putting himself between the two of us. Behind him, I see two women doing a shit job of pretending they aren’t filming this total fiasco on their phones. “Is this guy harassing you?”
“I’m not harassing her,” I pant, bending over to shake the water out of my hair. “She’s my friend.”
“We’re not friends!” she screams at me, shivering from head to toe in her now very see-through dress. I know I only saw them five minutes ago, but her nipples look even better underneath the wet fabric. I’m sure I’d be turned on if I wasn’t boiling with rage.
“We are friends, we know each other,” I say to the men, who are understandably confused. “She’s just not my biggest fan.”
I peel my jacket off, wring it out as best I can, and drape it round her shoulders. It’s still soaking, but it’s better than her losing even more of her dignity.
Her jaw is locked, mouth pressed into a tight pout, and she glares up at me, chest heaving. She looks like she could breathe fire, and I wonder why I’m getting the brunt of it since none of this is my fault.
I can’t wonder for long though, as the sound of sirens snaps us out of our stand-off.
Half an hour later, we’re wrapped in blankets on opposite sides of the beer garden being questioned by members of the police. I’m mortified, but apparently some busybody called them when they saw us go overboard, even though we couldn’t have been in there for more than a few minutes.
Why did I jump in? What was she doing in the water? Who are we to each other? Their questions are ones I’d like to know the answers to myself.
“Technically, you’ve committed an offence here today, Sir. There’s no swimming on this stretch of the river, as you can see.” He points to a massive sign that saysNo Swimming, and I have to laugh. I definitely hadn’t seen that. “However, on this occasion, since you were trying to come to the aid of the young lady, we won’t take this any further and waste any more of your time or ours. Will you manage to get yourselves home?”
“Yes, of course. Sorry again for wasting your time.”
I wait for the officers speaking with Hattie to leave and approach her the way you might approach an injured animal. Unsure whether she’ll want my help or rip my arm off. She looks as miserable as I feel. How has it come to this?
“Can I sit down?” I ask. She looks up at me through her eyelashes, pulls her blankets tighter, and nods. I take a seat and we sit for a while, staring out at the river. A few people in kayaks pootle past, and I wonder where our friends got to.
“You hate me so much you’d risk your life to get away from me?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, bursting into tears. I’ve never seen her like this, so lost and vulnerable. Shuffling closer, I reach my arm around her shoulders, and she folds into my chest. I wrap the other arm around her too, holding her close.
This is all my fault. I should never have said those things, should never have laid a finger on her. Flirting and teasing is one thing, but if my behaviour is going to make her put herself in danger, then this has to stop. After the wedding, I’ll keep my distance. She can do all the friend things, and I’ll see Luke some other time.
Against my chest, she begins to shiver and I don’t know if it’s the tears or the cold, but we need to get out of these wet clothes. I doubt there’s anywhere to buy anything near here, but I dig my phone out of my pocket and, by some miracle, it still works.
“I’m calling us an Uber. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 14
Hattie
Fridaysareusuallyquietin the office, with some of the team working remotely, and some taking advantage of our flexible working policy to have a long weekend. Today it’s like a ghost town, and when I arrived, part of me wondered if I’d come in on the weekend by mistake.
I pull up my team’s shared calendar to check everyone’s status and my stomach roils when I read the wordsOut of Office: Spirited Reset Away Dayin diary after diary. What the hell is this and how did I miss it? Am I sitting here like a mug when I’m supposed to be somewhere else?
I frantically search my emails, and my deleted ones, for mention of an away day, but there’s nothing to be found. Which leads to only one conclusion.
Lawrence is running a coup.
Every part of me wants to kick Andrew’s door off the hinges, but I’ve been told in the past that my communication style can seem a little aggressive at times, so I knock politely and wait to be called in.
“Morning, Hattie. What can I do for you?” he says, sucking down some green juice concoction I think his wife makes him drink.
“Good morning, Andrew,” I say, sweetly. “Just a quick one, it will only take a second. Would you like to explain to me why my entire team is at a…” I pause to look at the shared calendar on my phone for effect, “A‘Spirited reset away day’? And follow up question, what the fuck is going on?”
