I struggled to get to sleep, slept badly and, as if that wasn't enough, woke up at the crack of dawn. To avoid any further attempts to 'make me see reason', I very wisely decided to come to the office earlier than usual. And it was definitely a great idea.
I’ve been here since six thirty and I don’t look as perky and relaxed as I usually do when I get here. George is with me near the coffee machine, and I’m already on my third of the day.
“Good morning,” he says, sounding serious, “if it actually is for you. You look a bit scary,” he adds, confirming what I was already suspecting.
“Remind me exactly why I usually appreciate your honesty, please,” I say, taking my cup of coffee out of the machine.
“Because you love honesty,” he says, ignoring my bad mood.
“Not this morning though,” I admit tiredly. I thought the lad was more perceptive.
“You should get out more often, darling. Have some fun, meet some men… you’re single, aren’t you?”
I nod in resignation. “Yes, I am single—”
“Even though the press might disagree,” he says with snigger that's loaded with innuendo.
“Well, they write bollocks,” I say, to cut short the conversation while I sip my steaming coffee. It’s really bad, but I have other things to complain about today.
“You know, people in this office are always gossiping about totally made up stories, but this one about you and Ian—” He pauses, theatrically. “It’s as though there were some truth in it… something real.”
I turn visibly pale.
“Not that you would ever tell me—” he continues, trying to work out what I’m thinking, “but if you ever do need someone to confide in… remember that I can keep a secret. And if you ask me not to talk about it, well, I won’t.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely.
“I know you live with your best friends, but sometimes a male perspective can be helpful,” he says kindly.
I must look really look desperate if everyone is offering me their psychological support.
“And anyway, you'd be doing me a favour,” he says with a wink.
“How so?” I ask, astonished.
“Simple: I've got my eye on Tamara,” he explains, “but she's got a crush on Ian. So if you were to start seeing him, I'd be forever in your debt.”
“George!” I exclaim indignantly. “What the hell are you on about? I've no intention of starting to see Ian!” I'm actually trying to push him out of my mind, since he seems to have wormed his way in.
Sometimes I really don’t understand George – how has he got the nerve to come out with such stuff?
“Why, what would be wrong with it?” he asks.
“Oh come off it!” I reply in annoyance. “Instead of wasting time with me, why don’t you check those balance sheets that have just come in?”
He gives me a pleading look. “But there are loads of them!”
“That’s why you should get onto them as soon as possible,” I reply, not moved to pity at all by his expression.
“On my own? I'll need help to get through them all,” he implores.
“All the others are already working on the stuff you dumped on them,” I point out, “but if you really need some help, I could ask Ian if Tamara can give you a hand.”
Who’s the best boss in the world now?
George looks at me ecstatically. “Would you?” he asks, hopefully.
“Only if you promise to keep your mouth shut forthwith about my private life.”
“Deal!” he agrees happily.
“But don't count your eggs just yet. Ian might not agree to my proposal,” I remind him. In the past, I would have bet that St John would never have agreed to any request coming from me, but lately things have got weird. So never say never.
“I expect you will do your best to convince him,” he says, sniggering.
“What did I just say?” I rumble, threateningly. “And anyway, I really don’t understand how anyone could believe such a thing. Ian and me? Are you all out of your minds? I’m even older than him! He probably only goes out with twenty year olds – ones without functioning neurons in their brains!”
And to be quite honest, we could also lose that ‘probably’, I think to myself.
“Completely wrong,” says a deep, irritated voice behind me. My usual good luck.
“Hello, Ian,” says George sheepishly.
Ian waves ‘hello’ to him, then walks over to me. “Have you got a minute?” he asks, sounding serious. He looks angry, but strangely more vulnerable than usual. I wish that I could answer that I don’t. Instead I answer, “Yes,” without even knowing why.
“I'll leave you to it,” says George, adding, “Remember to ask him!” before disappearing. “Ask me what?” asks Ian, positioning himself right in front of me.
“Ah, yes – is there any chance you could ask Tamara to give George a hand with some balance sheets we've received? He says he can’t manage on his own because there are too many.”
He is visibly disappointed for an instant, but Ian is an old hand at pretending, so he quickly pulls himself back together and looks at me calmly. “Ok, I’ll ask her.”
“Thank you,” I answer, trying to maintain a professional tone. “Did you want to talk to me? Is it about Beverly?”
Ian's face is inscrutable. “Beverly did indeed get in touch, to ask for a lunch meeting with both of us next week.”
“No problem,” I re-assure him, happy to change the subject and talk business.
“But I wanted to talk to you about something else,” he says, lowering his voice. “Do you have time for a drink after work?” he asks, staring at me with his blue eyes. He definitely knows how to make them work for him. If he starts fluttering his eyelashes too, I'm done for.
“No,” I answer curtly and frightened.
“No?” he asks doubtfully.
“No.” This time my tone is even more determined. I could make up a lie or an excuse, but I don't feel that I owe him one.
“How about dinner then?” he asks, starting to show signs of being slightly irritated.
“No,” I say in the same determined tone.
He looks at me in astonishment. “Just ‘no’?” he asks, looking almost offended.
“Exactly.” I haven’t had enough sleep to make conversation with him today.
“Why not?” he asks, grabbing my arm. His grip isn't tight, but he clearly doesn’t want to let me go.
I break free though. “Have you lost your mind?” I say, looking worriedly over his shoulder at Colin’s secretary, who is spying on us. Doesn’t that woman have anything better to do? Hasn't she got a job?
Ian snaps out of his daze. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but you’re making me lose my patience.”
So it's my fault now? I'd like to tell him everything that’s on my mind, but somehow I manage to keep my mouth shut. I've got a feeling that our relationship will remain this tense until we find a way to manage our problematic mutual attraction.
“I need to talk to you, I really do. I won’t bother you any more after this.” His expression is determined, and I realise I'll never be able to talk him out of it.
“Ok, then,” I say, unwillingly giving up, “let’s have dinner together.” At the end of the day, I think, this is probably the lesser evil.
“Friday evening at my place,” he proposes, “since I owe you an invitation anyway.”
“But let’s get one thing clear,” I say, “this will be our first and last dinner date.” He nods. “Fine, great,” I say nervously, trying to find a way to escape.
“Jenny, there’s someone for you on the phone,” a girl in the open space calls over. “Put them through to my office! I’m coming!”
I’ve never been happier to have an excuse for disappearing!