Chapter Two

C A B L E T I E S

May 15th

"Hallelujah!" Louisa shouts, the moment I step back into the office. She's got her hands up in the air like a televangelist preacher during a donations whip round.

I take such an outburst to mean the internet's back up and that she's happy. It now means she can check in on Brett's whereabouts on Twitter, which she does almost religiously during the long slog between now and home time.

"I was beginning to panic you know?" she says as I clasp my hands together in fake prayer.

Louisa shadows me whilst I make a beeline straight for the kitchen to avoid passing by Norine's office, and as I internally groan because some lazybones' left a sugary spoon in the coffee tin again, I tell her I'm surprised it's been fixed so quickly.

"I know right? Thank God, well actually thank Jack. He's the one that came down and sorted it," she sighs. "He said it was something to do with the new firewall they've installed. You know what he's like through, really good with computers."

For a second my brain corrects her, changing words just as quick as I process them - "You know what he's like though, really good with lady parts" - the fake Louisa of my mind repeats, until I can just about stomach saying his name aloud without gagging.

"Jack?"

She grins. "Yeah, he's currently under Millie's desk tidying up her loose cables."

"Oh good God."

It's not that I'm at all bothered at the slight sound of an innuendo or that there's a bunch of cables on the loose, because we all know how awful Millie, our features editor is at keeping an organised workspace. None of that matters right now. What's worrying is that my desks only two down from hers, and I really have to finish my overdue Top Ten list within the next hour.

The option of making a U-turn back to ladies toilets, to hide out alongside Ruby is one I seriously consider, but Louisa's all up in my space. Oh boy does she love to talk.

"Thought that might be your reaction." Again she grins, pairs it with a wink and bumps my arm. "I swear they must put something different in the water up there because he's looking real fit. Even though it seriously pains me to say it."

Pouring a heap of coffee into my mug, I ignore her winks, nudges and continue to search for a clean teaspoon which is akin to an Olympic sport in our tiny shared kitchen.

"Earth to Jemima," Louisa mumbles waving a perfectly manicured hand close to my face. "You okay?"

"Uh huh." It's not at all convincing. I'm fooling no one. Knocking the spoon round furiously, I create a mini whirlpool that I hope might suck me in so I won't have to even start to think about speaking to him again.

Louisa just stands there and folds her arms, waiting for me to say something snarky or worse - that I might pour my heart out to her and create a little more balance between us. So she won't feel as bad next time she relays all of Brett's cryptically vague emails to me whilst I try and eat lunch.

"We can go for a cigarette if you want to avoid him," she whispers, still standing far too close for my liking.

"Gave up in the summer last year remember?"

"Oh yeah course. Me too, it's just I thought we could pretend," she replies, still over using air quotes. "As an excuse."

I mull it over, though eventually I want to spit out the bad taste it leaves - a catch 22 of epic proportions. The probability of a good outcome from coming face to face with Jack Harding - the fourth floor Mens magazine resident gadget and tech bad boy is about as likely as me turning down a metaphorical 'cigarette'.

It's testament to my sheer lack of will power that not only had I managed to have a fling not once, not twice but four times over with him during the course of a turbulent three months, but that I'm also seriously considering nipping to the nearest open pub to ask someone if I can pinch a cheeky fag just to avoid all contact. Ready and willing to shatter my so-far nine months free from the clutches of the chaining smoking devil on my shoulder. Which doesn't seem quite seem so bad right now if it means I can skip the patronising small talk, and laddish behaviour that's given him, at least down here on the third floor the dishonourable title of Jack the Cad.

The stupidest part of it all isn't my snap disregard for my own sobriety, or the will to preserve the little pride or shred of dignity I still have but that two thirds of Aspire To Be is right now sat squirming by their desks too. Wondering if he'll give them the time of day or if he's already moved on, found a new target. Perhaps one of the interns, not quite clued up yet to the fact that Jack's relatively generic tall stature, broad shoulders, and rough good looks is a front for the saucy, slightly intoxicating womaniser he really is underneath. One whose name you won't hesitate to scream aloud all night long but one who'll forget yours even exists once he's got his fill.

If I sound bitter, it's because I am. We're a sour old bunch here at Aspire To Be, because for the vast majority we're all just notches on a twenty-something's bedpost.

We're all mad at ourselves for knowing better but ignoring intuition and rationality - the type that's already bolted out the door as you continue to stand by the vending machine near the lifts, twirling your hair in the hopes that you might just spark some intrigue in those wild, emerald city like eyes of his.

And just like poor old Dorothy once your in, lost in the giddy company of a slightly younger man with dodgy got-them-while-he-was drunk tattoos, and an impeccable, ripped-from-a-magazine physique, then there's really no easy way of escaping. There's no man behind the curtain who can save you from the eventual downfall or the spiral of self doubt, loathing, anger and of course bitterness that always follows.

If you're stupid like me you might even let a little hope squat alongside the part of your brain that's resolute it'll never happen again. Because he's bad news, and a bit of an egotistical twat once you wipe off the layers of Lynx body spray and delete the fact he's phenomenally gifted in bed from your internal memory.

It's a total waste of time to also entertain the notion that you just might be the exception to the rule. A no brainer really yet I still do it, sometimes when his name gets a mention or when he appears back in my third floor world.

And of all the places my mind could wander at such a time, it stumbles back to the ladies toilets, and to Ruby. Because even though Jacks not quite the arsonist of my heart, he gave it a damn good try. And I start to feel guilty that I didn't give her more of my time or compassion.

"So, are you going to stay here then until he's gone?' Louisa asks, which brings me back to the kitchen, my strong coffee and reality. "It's just that I need to get to my laptop and check my emails, now that it's all working again."

"Yeah sure," I mumble back.

"You're going to hide in here?"

"Oh right. Sorry, my mind went blank for second." It's a lie, I just don't have an answer for her. "Maybe, or I could just hope that he's too preoccupied with Millie's cables to notice me."

Louisa laughs. "Nah they're over. Months ago. She told Rachel it was just a one night thing. Apparently he's dating one of the new freelancers - that Astrid chick."

I want to start by protesting that Astrid's clearly not her real name, totally made up and that referring to Jack's bed hopping now as dating is an improbable stretch, even by office gossip standards but she interrupts, puts her hand on my shoulder.

"Look, I understand that he's like freaking catnip in these quarters, and that you two had a bit of a longer lasting thing than most here but he's just a guy, and he's a shit one at that."

"You're right. One hundred percent but it's still awkward," I reply allowing the trading of feelings, and her hand on my shoulder to continue. "If he completely ignored me it might be easier but he doesn't. He'll come over, call me by the wrong name and then make some joke that almost always alludes to something sexual or our fucking age gap. It's game over after that, back to square bloody one."

"Amen sister! I hate his stupid jokes. It's like he thinks we're all old, washed up hags until he wants a go. He's what - six years younger than us, at best? Big bloody deal. Put me right off him."

I nod. "You dodged a bullet there."

"Well he's not my type at all," she says before trailing off to list Brett's finest qualities, which ends with a mental image I thought I'd already scrubbed clean since the last time she spilled the details.

"Louisa..." I groan, rubbing the thought of her quasi American boyfriends big, thick 'above average' penis away from my temples. "I've heard enough about his wondrous, miraculous dick to last me a life time!"

She replies with a big, toothy grin,"You wouldn't be saying that if you actually saw-" Until I cut her off and pretend to gag on a mouthful of coffee. Her eyes sink and she shrugs, backs away finally.

I try and smooth over the damage of stopping her so rudely. "Really though, I am happy for you, big dick and all. For finding such a rare specimen of a man." It's tactile, I say it all with a smile, and after a pause Louisa's back to best.

"I know right! He's coming over in a few weeks or so. Maybe. I don't know. It's not for definite but I'm sure he will." She smiles, hands crossed over her heart.

"I'm sure he will Lou."

Opening the fridge to retrieve her afternoon snack - greek yogurt and a handful of grapes - she nods towards the office floor.

"I'll walk you back to your desk if you want. Strength in numbers and all that." She offers out her arm but I choose to walk along side her instead, it feels less conspicuous that way.

"Thanks."

"Looks like the coast is clear," Louisa whispers as we round the corner to see Millie's vacant desk and Jack nowhere in sight. "They're probably off having a quickie in the toilets."

I laugh, she's probably right. "Well, if it means I don't have to see him then I'm all for it."

"So, I'll meet outside at five thirty yeah?"

"Of course."

Striding back to her desk on the far side three rows down, I watch as she scans the room before logging into her emails and Twitter. Ready to stalk Brett no doubt, catch up on all she's missed in the thirty minutes since the internet went down.

Logging back in myself, I put my earphones in and sync up a playlist that'll drown out any distractions, and get me though the last few hours. But it doesn't load, the brightly coloured spinning wheel of death on constant rotation. My email crashes and it locks me out. So much for it all being fixed.

I roll my chair one desk over to see if Millie's computers working whilst she's away only God knows where, and that's when I hear a distinct chorus of laughter - specifically hers, high pitched and shrill. I've got my back to the room but I can still feel them approaching closer. I sense him before the scent of his cheap aftershave catches up.

Quickly and abruptly I push myself back, making a racket across the vinyl wood flooring as I scuttle to slip in the headphones, to pretend like I'm much too busy to have noticed them. Millie appears beside me first and she's still giggling like a loon, pushing out her chest so he can get a proper eyeful.

"Thanks sooooo much for sorting out my cables Jack, and for helping Kelly with hers," she drawls like a pouting baby learning to speak for the first time. "You're a total lifesaver. What would we ever do without you..."

Mentally I race through a shortened list of reasons why we'd all be so much happier if he just buggered off or got handed his P45.

"No worries. Glad to help," Jack replies and hearing his voice again makes me cringe so hard I don't realise I'm squeezing the life out of the ergonomic mouse mat I received for last years Secret Santa until my knuckles turn white.

Millie meanwhile might as well just fall into his arms and swoon for all of eternity. "You're real good with your hands aren't you? Got them cables tied like you've done it a thousand times before."

Again, I have a conversation with my myself, taking her words and twisting them to suggest something else entirely. My dirty mind working overtime, all the while hoping I've finally achieved the art of being invisible. That if I sit still for long enough, without blinking I'll somehow cease to exists thus solving the impending crisis.

"Alright Jem."

Bollocks. So much for that.

I avoid eye contact until I've got no real choice. Jack appears on my other side, arm stretched out across the flimsy partition wall that separates my desk from the noisy copier and printers. I'm sure Millie will make good use of them both soon, if only so she'll have a reason to stand close by and listen in.

Unfortunately my silence and ignorance to his presence doesn't deter him in the slightest.

"You done something with your hair?" His voice is deep, raspy. There's still a hint of cockney cab driver to it but it's slightly less prominent than when we'd last spoken over a month ago.

Millie sits down finally, and I side eye her shuffling through paperwork and how she pretends to sort through old neon post it notes, with a few serious clicks of her mouse thrown in for good measure. I can't see under her desk but I'd hazard a guess that she's busy un-tying all the cables with her pointy heels too. Anything to get his attention back.

Jack continues. "Just looks a bit different. Was longer before." What he actually means is since the last time we slept together two months ago.

"Had it cut." My reply is short and to the point. I hope he takes it as a cue to sod off.

"Nice. Suits you," he says, man of simple compliments. "I'm in need of a trip to the barbers soon, don't ya think?"

Tricky little bastard. I have to acknowledge him now. Glancing up slowly, like I've no real pressing interest, totally blasé about him being a foot away, I nod and look back down again. But the damage is done, his eyes have sealed my fate.

And he's right. He probably does need a hair cut. It's noticeably a lot messier, longer than last time, as is the stubble that frames his jaw and creeps underneath it, daring me to steal another quick look, which is annoying. It actually suits him better than the short back and sides in the early days of his arrival and I hate myself for liking it, and how the black polo t-shirt he's wearing highlights his toned biceps, broad chest.

My mind trips out - 404 error. I can't picture anything else but what's underneath it.

"You're gonna have to update your desktop soon, to the newer version," Jack suggests when the wheel on my screen continues to spin.

"I actually prefer this one, thanks." I sound just like an automated drone.

He laughs, comes a little closer to subject me to the potent whiff of all too familiar cologne. "Same but you gotta give other stuff a try once in a while. Test out a new model, see how it feels."

It's probably not a deliberate dig, but I take it as one. He doesn't deserve to have my benefit of the doubt.

Then the printer starts up, sounds like it might over-heat or take off. Millie's obviously making good use of it's proximity to my desk. When she slinks by she's all smiles and Jack flashes her one too, but he still keeps his arm on the partition, eyes locked down on to me as I squirm in my chair.

"Read your Top Ten last week. Was a good one."

This time I tilt my head to the side and sigh at another one of his little jokes. "Oh really, did you?"

He grins, adjusts his shirt collar and pops open the second button. "Me and the boys upstairs sometimes go on the site for a laugh. Think I'm gonna try out one of those secret clubs you mentioned."

"Great."

"Tim's stag do is coming up soon, so was thinking we could take him there. Get him rat-arsed drunk."

So charming.

It's cringeworthy actually, to hear him talk like that but it's different when he's whispering naughty words in your ear, or when he doesn't actually speak because he's too busy going down on you for half an hour. Coincidentally it's also when he's at his most tolerable.

Safe to say my patience isn't faring well.

"I really need to get on with some work, if you don't mind."

"Oh yeah sure," Jack replies scratching at his thick stubble. "Sometimes forget we're here to do work."

I want to say I'm not here for fun, working nine to five in a stuffy office. How the risk of bumping into the likes of him isn't my idea of a good time. I'm not paid nearly enough to make small talk.

As he moves his arm away, I breathe a sigh of utter relief, almost a little too loudly. Millie, hand stuck in the comically full printer paper tray raises her eyebrows, then frowns. Jack can't see her pull faces at me but I'm pretty sure he can hear her gasps when he moves behind my chair and leans in. I can feel his breathe tickle my neck.

"You still got my number?"

"Uh, I don't know," I reply quietly, trying to keep my so far calm and measured resolve from crumbling. "Got a new phone. Lost some numbers."

Jack keeps on grinning. He's knows it's a lie. Nothing's ever truly lost in our digital age. I might have 'mistakenly' deleted it from my phone but it's still here somewhere in my emails.

"Shame," he says, still close. It's shocking just how no one round here has any real concept of person space.

"Is it?" It's not so much a question. More of a statement.

"Well, I was gonna see if you fancied coming for a drink after work, maybe finish it off with a nightcap at mine but if you're busy..."

"I am."

He backs off, runs a hand through his hair and ignores Millie as she passes by, a wad of print outs tight against her chest. I'd feel sorry for her if she didn't always tear apart my Top Ten lists in our weekly meetings like a PitBull on a poodle. I'm sure one day I'll find the burner account she uses to write the scathing online comments I seem to receive like clockwork every Friday afternoon.

"Hot date?" He enquires mockingly.

"Seeing a friend."

"Nice. Good for you."

Thankfully the spinning wheel on my computer screen disappears and so I start the search for the so far elusive circus themed bar's website. As far as I'm concerned the conversations over but Jacks clearly stalling.

"The big three zero next then?" He nods towards the mini cork board propped up against the back wall. The twenty-ninth birthday card I'd received from Rachel still pinned to it. I'm surprised he can count that far.

"Is there anything else you need?" I say, not playing into his hands. It's not like I've failed to notice, it hangs round my neck like the onerous milestone it is. "Because I'm actually rather busy, so."

Jack takes another step back, puts his hands up like I'm gonna shoot him if he doesn't. "Course. I'll let you get on."

"Wonderful."

Millie's still intently eavesdropping as he gives her a limp wave, before he slowly walks backwards. Hands in his pockets, head low. I count the amount of steps he needs to take before I can breathe normally again. On the the sixth I can still hear him all too clearly.

"Offer still stands."

Burning holes into my screen, I wait until Millie spins her chair round and diverts her attention back to work. Then I peer over my shoulder and wait for Louisa to do the same. When she does her eyes are wide and she mouths 'what was all that about?' I shake my head to mouth back the words 'tell you later' before miming the action of making tea, which I'm getting pretty good at.

The sharp ring of the telephone going off however halts any further mimicking. It's a sound I'm not familiar with. No one calls unless it's a wrong number or for a different extension line. And I'm hesitant to pick up but the noise is too loud to ignore, as is Norine's voice coming through on the line. Distinct. Cutting. Annoyed.

"Where are you?"

I stutter 'at my desk', which apparently is a big mistake.

She sighs heavily, "Well, I suggest you leave it. Now. You were supposed to be in here ten minutes ago."

"Do we have a something scheduled in?" I cross my fingers in the hopes we don't.

"My assistant emailed you a reminder," she says and I know she's already giving Lara stern glances through the glass window panels of her office. "We have a meeting. How do you not know this?"

I don't want to get anyone in trouble, least not myself so I feign ignorance. "Oh you mean that meeting. Sure, I know about it. Just been tied up with some technical issues."

"Is that so?"

"Yes but I'm on my way now," I reply cheerfully, so she can't sense my growing dread. Norine briskly hangs up, and I scramble to check my email. There's a ton in my junk folder where most of my menial correspondence goes, and there's one of course from Lara. It's vague and gives me no clues as to what's so important but it does exist. Damn it.

Scraping my shoes across the wood floor, I pretend to slit my own throat as Louisa spins round to stare like she's watching me take my last steps up to the guillotine. I start to believe that this time it's for real. That I'm about to get given my marching orders. Norine's going to haul my arse in and fire me.

A lot of conflicting and unhelpful thoughts races through my mind as I approach her office. Like how I should instruct Louisa to delete my browsing history, wipe all my emails and bin the folder full of half-naked men. And ask her to take the plant that's gone limp on my desk through neglect and give it a better life. Make sure all my stationery doesn't end up in the hands of Millie but someone more deserving of my small but impressive collection.

Because this time I've made a big error. I'm sure of it. My Top Ten feature's still waiting to be sent to copy and the last didn't exactly set any fires alight with originality.

My time has ultimately come. All the little errors accumulating - the late starts, sick days, and lack of passion, leading me into this very moment. Norine ready to crack the whip for the final time. It's me who'll be getting their P45.

I've really messed it up for good this time. And when I knock on the heavy glass door separating me from my impending fate and she beckons me in without a second glance, I'm certain of it.

. . .