Hot Desk Read online

  Insta might not be a good idea right now. There’s another photo of Soph. This time in my favourite jumpsuit.

  The woman next to me shifts about and nearly knocks my mobile phone out of my hand. Okay, so looking at emails is a bad idea, looking at Insta is a bad idea.

  I text Soph. Do you want to buy that dress off me? I think I’m about to be sacked, so I’ll need the money.

  Her reply pings back almost instantly. What do you mean you’re about to be sacked? You don’t get sacked for being late! S xxx

  I might not be, it’s just a daft email. We’ve got a meeting at 9, ignore me. A x

  Don’t worry, it’ll be fine! S xxx Soph never worries, she thrives on chaos.

  Yeah, sure you’re right. A x. Okay, so Soph can be annoying, but she’s good at knowing the right thing to say to me.

  You are kidding though, aren’t you? S xxx She can also tell when I’m worried. We’re close (and not just because she wears my clothes); we grew up sharing secrets as well as a room – well the secrets bit happened after I found her reading my diary and realized that it was impossible to keep things from her.

  If I kept a diary now, which I don’t, I’d keep it at work. My Sophie-free zone.

  I slip the phone into my pocket, lean my head against the damp, condensation-ridden window and try and be calm about this.

  I can’t make the bus go faster, and I can’t do anything about the email. This meeting is going to happen. What can I do? I think I’ll just close my eyes and rehearse my leaving speech.

  And I can’t stop the flutter of anticipation in my chest.

  Is this what a heart attack feels like?

  Why are they doing this on a Thursday? Is it so they’ve got Friday to clean up the office and burn our desks?

  Chapter Two

  I am a hot, sweaty, soggy mess, and I’m pretty sure my hair is plastered against my head from leaning against the damp window of the bus.

  If my career is about to end, this is not the final impression I want to make. I want to look professional, cool and calm. Not like some disorganised mess that nobody would have ever wanted to employ in the first place.

  I glance at my watch – aha, things aren’t as bad as I thought! I’m not actually late, I’ve got nine minutes, plenty of time to go to the ladies and sort myself out. If the stupid idiot in front of me will hurry up and swipe his pass so that I can get out of reception and into the lifts.

  He searches through his pockets again. Then balances his bag on the barrier and opens it up, oh so carefully.

  It’s too late to say, ‘Excuse me, shift out of my way, I’m in a hurry!’ I mean, why aren’t people organized, why don’t they have their pass in their hand? They do this every day!

  He clicks the case shut, mis-swipes, swipes again and finally plods through. I resist the urge to give him a shove, and instead reach up for my pass, which is dangling round my neck.

  ‘Oh shit.’ Why is my office pass not hanging around my neck? ‘Shit!’ I clutch lower down, as though it might have dived between my boobs. I open the neck of my jacket wider and peer inside.

  Somebody behind me coughs. So rude! Can’t they wait? Why is everybody so bloody impatient these days?

  ‘Do you mind if…’ A woman in ridiculously high heels and hair that is far too sleek to be real waves her pass in the air in a very pointed, rude way.

  Oh my God, I can’t step aside. I’m going to be late! ‘I’ve got to get to the ladies!’

  She raises an eyebrow.

  ‘My hair, my coat,’ I wave an all-encompassing hand. ‘I need to sort my make-up, I might get sacked!’

  A mini-queue forms as I shove my hand into my stupidly big tote bag and delve around blindly as though it’s a game of hunt the prize in a box full of shredded paper.

  Oh no! This is so not fair. I stare at the solid barrier. When I started work here it was one of those turnstile affairs that you could climb over the top of in an emergency. Now it is stupid glass sliding doors that aren’t sliding. The gap between them is way too narrow even for a stick insect type of girl – which I am not.

  It’s never done this before. It has never refused my entry. I’ve never forgotten my pass before.

  This is because I was talking to Soph about stupid, stupid clothes that don’t matter at all. When I grab my keys, I always pick up my pass at the same time. The keys go in my bag, the pass round my neck. I have a routine. Or I did.

  Feeling like an idiot I slope over to the main reception desk.

  ‘Can you let me in please?’

  The receptionist smiles in that professional way that means it is not a smile at all. Where do they learn to do that? ‘You need a pass.’

  Don’t sigh, do not sigh, you’ll make it worse. Smile. I smile and talk through gritted teeth. ‘I know I need a pass, but I think I’ve left it at home and…’

  ‘You need your pass. I can’t just let you in or what would be the point of having a barrier?’

  Normally this wouldn’t matter. Normally I would humour her. Today is different. ‘But can’t you give me a visitor pass?’

  ‘I can’t just hand out passes to everybody, can I? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the whole object of the barriers?’ She rolls her eyes.

  ‘But you know me,’ I hesitate, ‘Melissa!’ At least I think that’s what her name badge says. Melissa hasn’t been here long; they have a big turnover on reception, but I’m sure she must recognise me. I’ve said hello to her, I shared a sympathy eye-roll when she was being verbally abused by somebody she wouldn’t let in the building. Ha. Last time I do that.

  ‘I need to get in quick, please.’ I have my hands together, I am begging. Melissa is filing her nails. ‘It’s urgent. I’m going to be late for an important meeting. Just this once, please.’

  ‘You can’t just have a visitor pass; you need to be signed in.’

  ‘Fine.’ It is not fine. It is humiliating. I never forget my pass. I never have to be signed in. But I am desperate.

  She taps her nails on the keyboard. ‘Company?’

  ‘We Got Designs,’ I say glumly, peering into my bag again. Maybe I dropped my pass in there with my keys.

  ‘Name?’

  I glance up at her and frown. ‘We Got…oh, you mean me, Alice. Alice Dixon.’

  I cannot believe this is happening to me.

  She sighs heavily as though I am a massive inconvenience. ‘I’ll call your office and get somebody to come down and sign you in.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll call.’ I’m clicking on Lou’s name in my phone as I speak.

  Mel glares. ‘It’s my job. Take a seat.’

  Oh pur-lease, as though I’ve got time to sit down. ‘I’ll stand, I’m sure they won’t be long.’ I try not to jiggle on the spot. I’ve already wasted two whole minutes, well three now. Why can’t she call them faster? Why wouldn’t she let me? I glance at my watch. Four. Nearly four minutes.

  ‘Problem, Mel?’

  I freeze at the sound of a deep voice, stare fixedly ahead at the sign behind Mel’s head. The only part of me that is moving is the nervous flutter in the base of the stomach, and I really wish it would stop. Great. This is all I need. This day has just got even worse, if that is possible.

  I’d know that voice anywhere. Why does it have to be Jamie, who has been sent down to sign me in?

  I force myself to relax and smile. It’s probably more of a grimace. Not that Melissa would notice. She’s too busy grinning and batting her supersized eyelashes.

  ‘Not anymore, Jamie!’ Yep, Jamie Lowe. She sighs and rests her chin on her hand. ‘You’re such a hero.’

  ‘Causing trouble again, Alice?’ His warm hand comes down on my shoulder and I can’t help it. I jump. Even though I know he’s there, even though it’s like I can feel the warmth of his body. The flutter inside me spreads. The back of my neck prickles. I feel all shaky.

  ‘Nope!’ I squeak out. ‘Just forgot my pass.’

  I daren’t turn around and look at him until I�
�ve got my face in order, which isn’t going to happen while he’s touching me, while I’ve got palpitations and am wishing the ground would swallow me up.

  Dealing with the humiliation of forgetting my pass and having to grovel to Mel is nothing compared to this.

  Jamie is the one who will tease me about this, he is the most annoying person who works for We Got Designs.

  Oh yeah, and he is also the one I snogged on some wild drunken impulse in my first year of uni and didn’t even swap names with, and never thought I’d see again.

  It was at the Reading Festival. The one and only time I’ve been, and it was a-ma-zing. I went with a couple of mates. We were high on the whole buzz of the place, magnified by the lager we’d been knocking back from plastic pint glasses all day. It was crazy, exhilarating, the freedom, the music, the singing and swaying to any act that came on whether they were out of this world or a bit crap. It didn’t matter. We were elated – adrenalin, alcohol and burgers keeping us going until the early hours.

  Thinking about it now still sends a shiver through me. The roar as they announced the headline act on the main stage. We’d been waiting all day for this moment. The whole crowd surged forward, people colliding good-naturedly, jostling for position, and before I could react, we were body-slammed together. Me and this gorgeous guy I’d never seen before.

  Our gazes locked, and something bubbled up inside me as I stared into those blue-grey eyes. He grinned and I found myself grinning back, and the world around us stopped moving. My whole body tingled at the touch of his hand on the bare skin at my waist and our lips met as though it was meant to be.

  Then the band hit the opening note of the track, and the crowd surged again, tearing us apart.

  He was gone. Swallowed up by the swaying bodies. Lost for ever.

  I danced with my mates until way beyond when the band packed up, we danced round the tents, sat by fires, talked to strangers, made new friends. But I never found the stranger I’d snogged.

  Until I started my new job at We Got Designs. The same day that Jamie did.

  I walked into the meeting room for our introductory chat, jittery as hell, and my eyes were kind of drawn to this one guy. There were four of us, but he was the one with this quiet confidence, and his genuine smile as I sat down kind of reassured me. I had this instant slight crush on him – because he was dishy. And nice.

  And I had this instant feeling that we’d met before.

  He was gorgeous in a casual, laid-back, cheeky kind of way, so I couldn’t help myself – I kept glancing his way. Taking in the cute dimples, the way his mouth lifted at the corner, the mussed-up hair that was strangely familiar. He was, is, everything my boyfriend at the time, Dave, wasn’t. You’d never have called Dave devil-may-care, or fun-loving.

  I didn’t recognize him that first day. I guess part of the reason was that he was dressed in a smart first-day-at-work suit, that his hair was shorter, neater. I’d never heard that deep voice of his before, and I was full of first-day nerves, trying to impress, and another part of the reason was that there was absolutely no sign of recognition on his side. Not even a flicker.

  When it did finally dawn on me where I thought I’d seen him before I decided I must have got it wrong. He must just look like that other guy (okay, I admit, I only looked at him fleetingly before the kiss and in my inebriated state my memory might not match reality). It was a bit disappointing, to be honest. A doppelganger. But, hey, I was rather proud of the fact that although I’d been drunk, that guy must actually have been quite dishy if Jamie reminds me of him.

  So I reckoned it couldn’t be my festival guy, I didn’t think I was being snubbed – or at least I convinced myself it wasn’t true.

  I was wrong. It was true, Jamie had been my drunken snog.

  Snogging a complete stranger is not the type of thing I normally do; I had never, ever done it in my life before, or since. So that bit is mortifying, but what is worse is that he was so drunk HE DOESN’T REMEMBER ME.

  Which I realized at about the time things got even worse.

  Not long after we started working together, two years ago, there was a staff party and we came into very close contact and IT NEARLY HAPPENED AGAIN!

  I was tipsy again but, hey, don’t judge.

  That was when the first time really came flooding back, to me, though obviously not to him.

  Second time round wasn’t much different to first time, if I’m honest, so you’d think that would bloody jog his memory! I was a bit merry, he was definitely at least two pints down, and we crossed paths when I was weaving my way back from the ladies, and he was staggering to the gents. We did that silly excuse-me dance trying to get past each other in the narrow corridor and ended up both going for it at the same time, and our bodies collided. And he touched me. And his gorgeous blue-grey eyes stared straight into mine. And I knew IT WAS HIM. I was also sure he recognized me. I was sure he remembered. It was as if we both knew this would happen one day. He tilted his head and his mouth was so bloody close to mine, that it was like the first time all over again. Oh my God, it was déjà vu.

  We were going to kiss, and this time there was no crowd to drag us apart.

  ‘Hey, you.’ The hairs on my arms prickled as the deep, soft tone sent a shiver through my body.

  ‘Hey.’ It came out all breathless. My breath quickened; my pulse practically jumped out of my wrist. Wow, he smelled good. Even better than the first time. I leaned in even closer. His fingers danced on my waist and sent a very indecent tremor right to my knickers.

  But it felt so right. So natural. So meant to be. This was it. This was the moment I’d been waiting for.

  I wanted that kiss so much my whole body was aching for it. Even though it was wrong for so many reasons. Like, for one I had a boyfriend, two, I’ve always thought dating people you work with has to be the worst idea ever (what happens when you split up? Or you feel all hot and randy for each other while you’re at the water cooler, and somebody notices, or you both just feel smug because you’ve had the most romantic weekend ever, or you hate each other because you’ve argued over something stupid. Awkward with a capital A, hey?), and, three, I had absolutely no idea if Jamie was single or not. Oh, and I should have also been pissed about the fact that he hadn’t remembered me until now. But hey, you can forgive some things. I hadn’t been a hundred per cent sure myself until now.

  I was going to kiss him even if there were a zillion reasons why I shouldn’t, because he was so bloody hot, this whole situation was so bloody sexy. I wanted him. I couldn’t help myself as that first time came flooding back to me.

  Even now, just remembering, I am gooey inside and want to close my eyes to help me taste it, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a silly grin on my face.

  Anyway, we were millimetres away from some serious lip-mashing, in fact our mouths might have touched – it’s a bit hazy – and some drunken idiot barged into us shouting, ‘Hey, Jamie, waddya fucking about at? It’s your round, dipshit!’ and sent him staggering away.

  What is wrong with people?

  He wasn’t exactly swallowed up by the crowd this time, but he did lurch off into the gents, with the other guy draped all over him, which amounted to pretty much the same thing.

  I went back to the people I’d been chatting to but watched out for him coming back from the gents. My heart was pounding in anticipation, a smile ready to break across my face. He would come over. We’d do this. This time it would happen.

  I’d find out if that amazing kiss was just my imagination, or for real.

  But he didn’t even glance my way, just headed straight across the bar and was waylaid by some girl who I vaguely recognised.

  Git.

  It was horrible. Gutting. Even worse because I’d had a few drinks. I felt a total idiot and torn between tearful and wanting to go and tip a pint over his head. But even as my stomach twisted, I told myself I was being stupid.

  I’d got a boyfriend now. That first time was just a drunken snog,
and this time it was just a drunken nearly snog. We’d just bumped into each other and I’d thought about doing it without thinking. Obviously, a bad habit on both our sides.

  Gah, what was wrong with me?

  The first time was only a two-second lip mash, not some romantic, full-on ‘I fancy the fuck out of you’ kiss and this was even less. I should be glad he didn’t come back looking for me. That would have been wrong, stupid.

  Next time I saw him he was in a corner with the girl – Claire from HR, so I turned my back and tuned back into Lou and one of her outrageous stories, and was very, very careful not to look over there again.

  He’d left the bar by the time I plucked up the courage to casually glance his way again – so I spent the rest of the evening imagining him and Claire in a lip-clinch. Or worse: a leg-lock.

  I shouldn’t have looked; I know I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t help it.

  I shouldn’t have hated him either. But I did.

  The next time I saw him at work the anger had gone. Instead I was burning up with awkwardness and nervous as hell about what to say. I did toy with ‘remember Reading Festival?’ Then I’d considered an ‘is that what they call speed dating’ approach, then I decided he might think I was having a go at him for talking to another girl after me. So I moved on to a ‘that could have been a hot snog’ yuk, that sounded leery and like it should be accompanied by a wink. So not me. I even thought about an apology, adding that I didn’t normally do that kind of thing, and I had a boyfriend, and I didn’t think you should date workmates, but I know he wasn’t suggesting we date or anything. Obviously. It all got pretty complicated in my head, so who knows how bad it would have sounded out loud.

  So, I just plucked up enough courage to look him in the eye and say a breezy ‘morning’ when I walked in. And had to sit down opposite him.

  You have no idea how hard that was. I’d spent the whole journey in trying to work out what to say when I saw him, rehearsing my lines.

  I got a casual ‘hi’ back as though I was just anybody. Well, nobody.