Page 59 of A Lot to Unpack
Get into his room under the pretence of biting him. Leave by excusing myself to have diarrhoea. Forgive me for not feeling great about this.
‘I can’t believe this is my job,’ I blurt.
‘Well, it won’t be any more, if you don’t succeed,’ she replies. ‘We’ll all be out of work – do you know how many people work here?’
‘All right, all right, I’ll do my best,’ I tell her.
It’s bad enough worrying about my own job. I don’t want other people’s livelihoods on my conscience.
We say our goodbyes and hang up. I let my phone drop onto the pillow next to me.
She wants me to woo him. I have to woo him, to keep my job, to save everyone’s job. I’m really not up to this, in any sense. I don’t feel good about it and I won’t be good at it.
How would I even go about it? I suppose I could get all dressed up, make an effort with my hair and makeup, invite him out to dinner, hope he says yes, spend the evening with him, see where it goes…
If I’m being honest with you – and I would never admit this to anyone else – the thought of having dinner with Jordan isn’t something I hate the sound of. I’m enjoying his company, I’m fascinated by him, I have a bit of a crush on him in the traditional sense of finding him charming and attractive (so long as I forget everything Paige told me).
I want to get to know him more and, if I could do anything this evening, it probably would be hang out with him, especially since hearing his speech earlier, I’m just so intrigued. I want to hear what he thinks about things – I want to tell him what I think about things and see what he says. I like the idea of a oneto one, my own personal TED Talk, getting into that brain of his and see what else is lurking in there.
Yeah, okay, I’ll ask him if he wants to have dinner with me. Maybe I’ll even flirt a bit, but not because Paige told me to, but because it’s on the tip of my tongue anyway.
If it comes up, if I end up in his room, then maybe I’ll make the switch. That way it’s done and dusted and I can go back to being myself. No harm done.
At least that’s what I’m hoping…
23
Dress for the job you want, not the job you have – that’s what they say, right? Do you think that applies to men, too? Well, not literally, I’m not saying dress for the boyfriend you wish you had, rather than the one you do, I just mean that if you’re inviting someone out for dinner, and you want it to be a date, dress like it’s a date.
So, I’m dashing around the shops, weaving in and out of Christmas shoppers, trying to find a dress to disarm Jordan Bill.
I’m after a little black dress, something he’s never seen me in before, which will hopefully make him lower his defences, take me out somewhere, and then give me access to his room.
It is absolutely not because I want him to think I’m attractive. And if you believe that, I believe there’s a bridge somewhere nearby I could sell you…
It’s so lovely to see the city decked out like a department store window display. Twinkly Christmas lights hang between skyscrapers like constellations. Wreaths and garlands grace almost everything that’s grace-able (I just saw a dog wearing a wreath around its neck). And there’s even a brass band playing‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’, infecting everyone with festive cheer.
I start at Bloomingdale’s, because: when in New York, right? There’s an entire section of designer dresses on the second floor, most of which cost more than my flight here – and I googled it, my flight here was eye-wateringly expensive. A very chic assistant with icy blonde hair and a designer dress of her own follows me, probably because she’s ready to assist me, but I’ve seenPretty Woman. Not that I’m giving escort today, I don’t think. I’m saving that for tonight, once I’ve found the right dress, but believe me, I’ll be looking like an incredibly expensive one.
‘Just browsing,’ I mumble, in case she does think I seem a little sus.
She gives me a reassuring smile and floats away, presumably to help someone who isn’t dressed head to toe in the UK high street’s finest.
I do pick out and try a few things on. One dress is so tight I nearly crack a rib trying to zip it up at the back. Another has cut-outs that suggest the designer has never met anyone with more than 8 per cent body fat – I try it on, of course, in the privacy of the fitting room, but the holes look more accidental than fabulous. Sort of like I just Hulked out of it.
I have some time to kill, so I try a few places, before ending up in SoHo, where I find a little boutique sandwiched between a bakery and an art gallery, and inside, things are a lot more me. Unique, funky, relatively inexpensive (despite the escort comment I made earlier).
And then I find it, the little black dress of my dreams. It’s short and fitted – strapless, but it will look great with my boots and my leather jacket. So long as it fits…
I take it into the changing room and peel off my coat, my jumper and my jeans before carefully stepping into the dress and, yep, this is the one. It fits like it was made for me.
Hopefully I don’t look like a spy, or a Bond girl, just a normal woman, going on a date… even if it’s not a real date. I need to keep reminding myself of that.
I stare at my reflection for a little too long and notice that my cheeks are flushed. Great, I’m embarrassing myself in front of myself. I hadn’t even realised that was possible.
Wouldn’t it be even more tragic, being this deluded, only for him to say no, he doesn’t want to go out with me? Well, why would he? And I don’t mean that in a self-deprecating way, I mean he’s a busy and popular man and I’m an employee that he doesn’t entirely trust.
But Paige did say he would date anyone, so with a bar that low, how could I fail?
