I make my way toward the door. “I know, I really should stop being so lazy.”
“Do you think I should cook Daniel dinner tonight?” she asks.
I screw up my face. “Why are you breaking your neck to be so nice to this guy?”
“I’m not.”
“Do you fancy him or something?” I widen my eyes. “I didn’t see you going to all these lengths for our last flatmate.”
“Yeah, because she was a pain in my ass, and besides, Daniel is new in town, just arriving today, and he knows nobody. I feel sorry for him.”
“He’s a personal stylist, I’m pretty sure he has his own wanky friends to hang out with,” I mutter dryly.
“Correction, he’s a fashion graduate who has moved to London because he wants to be a stylist, there’s a big difference.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, see you tonight.”
I take the stairs and three flights later I’m in the street and walking toward the train station. It’s only three stops until the Central line but still, too far to walk.
I wait on the platform, and right on schedule along comes my train. I climb on and take a seat.
I’ve come to the realization that this is the weirdest twenty minutes of my day. It’s like a time tunnel; I take a seat, I look around, and the next minute I’m miraculously there. I must fall into this catatonic state—I don’t know what I think about, I don’t know where the time goes. I just know that somehow, every day I lose twenty minutes thinking about subjects that I can’t remember.
I get off the train and make my way to the office. I work in central London, and there’s a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Miles Media building; it’s busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work.
“Hey, beautiful girl,” says Mike.
“Hi.” I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he’s had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He’s sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me.
It sucks, because he’s a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life.
“The usual?” Mike asks.
I take a seat by the window. “Yes please.” I look around.
Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. “What’s new?” he asks.
“Not much.” I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. “I’m thinking of joining the gym at work.”
“Yeah?” Mike’s gaze looks over to the building across the street. “You have a gym in there?”
“A huge one, on level fourteen.”
“Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?”
“No, it’s free for employees.” I take a sip of my coffee.
Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I’m sitting.
“I can come with you,” he offers with a cute wink.
“Sorry, it’s for employees only and I can’t afford to go to another gym.”
Mike rolls his eyes.
Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Miles Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Elliot Miles climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he’s wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fucked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant.
Arrogance personified.
I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he’s gorgeous.
It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it.
Although I’d never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates.
I know more about Elliot Miles than I care to admit.
I mean, I should—I’ve hated the man for the whole seven years that I’ve worked for him.
I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Miles Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise.
Elliot Miles, the epitome of a rich bastard . . . pisses me off.
It’s just three in the afternoon and my email pings.
I open it.
Elliot Miles.
CEO Miles Media UK.
Kathryn,
Have you finalized the tracking report?
Asshole.
I clench my jaw and type my reply.
Dear Mr. Miles,
Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you.
Your manners are as impeccable as ever.
The report isn’t due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then.
Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule.
Enjoy the rest of your day.
Sincerely,
Kathryn.
I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Elliot Miles is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in.
Good afternoon Kathryn,
As always, your dramatics are unappreciated.
I didn’t ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it.
Please pay attention to detail, I don’t want to constantly repeat myself.
Have you finished the report or not?
I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fucking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I’m surprised I don’t break a finger.
Mr. Miles,
Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines.
Thankfully, one of us is a professional.
Please find the attached report.
If you have trouble understanding it, I’m happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board.
I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it.
Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure.
Kathryn Landon.
I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that.
My email pings again and I open it.
Miss Landon.
Thank you.
Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don’t walk in front of a bus or anything.
I smile to myself. Stupid twat . . . you wish.
I stand and watch Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive.
“Don’t just stand there,” she snaps.
“What do you want me to do?” I look around the spotless apartment. “There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?” I ask. “You’re hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he’s gorgeous wouldn’t have anything to do with it, would it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps again. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”
“Oh, I remember, but do you?”
“Shut up,” she huffs.
The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. “He’s here,” she whispers.
“Well.” I gesture to the front door. “Go and let him in.”