It's Complicated (The Agency Book 2) Page 17

  I’m seated next to Jadine and opposite Tom and Ruby. Lucky, lucky me. Thankfully, I’m also next to the window, so I’ve spent all evening gazing at the sights. I wish I could enjoy this more, but I can’t think of anywhere I want to be less. Battle of the Somme, 1916? Pompeii, August AD 79? Middle-Ages Europe at the height of the Black Death? Call me overdramatic, but I’d quite like to zoom back in a time machine and hide out in any of those places for an hour or five.

  “Hey, Jadine,” Ruby whispers over my head for the fiftieth time tonight. I blank the pair of them out. We’re about to sail past the Musée d’Orsay, so I fix my eyes on it like it’s the mothership calling me home and try not to let their inane chatter spoil the beautiful moment.

  I hear Jadine giggle in her seat next to me. “Do you think?”

  “Totally.” Ruby leans forward and her long chain necklace falls into a mound of whipped cream left over from her half-eaten dessert. She mirrors Jadine’s giggle. “He’s totally hot for you.”

  Oh god, not again. What have I done to deserve this? Please let her be talking about our waiter. Or the cellist. Or the guy from the French call centre who looks like Robert Pattinson and has been leering at us all evening.

  “Who are you talking about?” whispers Tom. This alerts Max, who’s been in a foul mood all night because his beloved Amélie turned down his invitation to join us. I don’t blame her. I love Max, but he clearly terrifies the poor girl.

  “We’re just . . . theorising,” Jadine says. They both giggle, then take a sip of champagne in unison.

  I hear someone further down the table tap their glass with a spoon. “Can I have everyone’s attention?” says Georgie. She stands up and wobbles on her heels.

  “Careful, Tally,” Max says. “You’re shitting in the wind.” The entire table breaks out in laughter.

  “What on earth does that mean?” Georgie’s been drinking all night, so her hyper-posh accent is even more pronounced. “And for the millionth time, will you stop calling me Tally?”

  “It means you’re pissed,” says Max.

  “I think we can safely say she’s pissed at you,” Ethan chimes in. “As for ‘shitting in the wind’, I think you may mean ‘three sheets to the wind’.”

  “Three sheets?” Max’s sozzled eyes pop. “That makes absolutely no sense at all.”

  “And you thought ‘shitting in the wind’ made perfect sense in this scenario?” Everybody laughs again. I do too, and for a brief fraction of a moment it feels like old times. Then I remember, and all the bitter feelings flood back, making my stomach fall flat.

  Georgie hits her glass with her spoon again, then she raises her arms and calls for everyone’s attention. “I just want to say something.” She clears her throat, wobbles and hiccups. “Friends, colleagues and co-workers . . . I don’t know what the difference is between colleague and co-worker, actually. Is there a difference? Anyway, anyway, anyway . . . the past few days have been absolutely bloody terribly stressful for all of us and I just wanted to apologise. I know I can be an old bossyboots and maybe I’m also a little bit intrusive and I’m sorry for it all. I do try not to take over – nobody notices, but I do. You probably don’t realise—”

  “Get on with it,” Max says with an almighty yawn.

  Freja shushes him and reaches over to give Georgie an encouraging pat on the back.

  “I was just about to say how much I’ve enjoyed working with you, Mr Wolf.” Georgie sniffs, then hiccups again. “And whilst that is true for the most part, you’re still an unspeakable shit.” Max opens his mouth to protest. Tamara shushes him this time. I make a mental note to make sure I sit next to Max at all work nights out in the future. If he’s in nipping distance of me he’s more likely to behave.

  Georgie continues. “So, I know I’m not terribly easy to work with. I’ve made some mistakes with this campaign, but who is easy?”

  “I am,” says Max. The table groans.

  “Only when you’re high,” says Ethan, to a chorus of laughter.

  “Absolutely,” says Max.

  “Can I finish, please?” Georgie raises her voice and her cut-glass accent commands everyone’s attention once more. “I just wanted to say . . . I’m going to try harder.”

  She sits back down. Jadine gives her a hug. “You didn’t need to apologise. You did a great job today.”

  “Thank you, Jadine, but we all know the Les Misérables fiasco was down to me. I pushed for it. I’ve wasted everyone’s time and I’ve cost the agency money.”

  “It absolutely wasn’t down to you,” says Jadine.

  Two weeks’ worth of pent-up hate, jealousy, anger and betrayal bubbles up from my gut and the words leap from my mouth. “You’re simply dying to voice what everyone is thinking, aren’t you, Jadine?”

  “Hmm?” She turns to face me, her green eyes wide with fake innocence.

  “If you have something to say, say it.”

  “I don’t have anything else to say. I was just telling Georgie she wasn’t to blame. It’s called being kind.” Jadine delivers a barely disguised smirk that only I can see. Does she have a fucking death wish?

  “I think we all need to put this behind us,” Freja says, assuming the diplomatic stance that comes so naturally to her. “We’re a new team and a new agency. There’s bound to be some teething trouble.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think anybody expected the teething trouble to cost us thousands of pounds,” says Tom.

  “Lesson learned.” Tamara hoists her rodent-like nose high in the air and takes a sip of champagne. “Here’s to hoping nobody makes the same mistakes again.”

  “Indeed,” Ethan says. He takes a drink, and I can practically taste his animosity at the back of my throat. “But you all worked hard to overcome the initial bad choices that were made.”

  My skin starts to burn. I take a deep breath and force my eyes to remain dry. Why is he doing this?

  “Yes, we all worked hard, and we all made mistakes.” Freja speaks as if she’s reminding Ethan of something other than the Les Misérables fiasco. Maybe she is.

  Ethan stares at her intently. The skin of his neck flushes pink and I wonder . . . does he know that she knows? “Well, I certainly made a big mistake earlier this year,” he says, glaring coldly in my direction.

  I swear the entire boatload of passengers can hear my heart break. I inhale deeply, willing my mouth to stay shut. Nobody says anything. Half of the team will no doubt be oblivious to what’s going on, and the other half embarrassed.

  “What on earth do you mean?” says Georgie. Freja, sitting beside her, clears her throat.

  A high-pitched squawk emanates from Max. He looks at his watch. “An hour to go and, thanks to Tally, we’ve entered the Twilight Zone.”

  “For the billionth time, stop calling me Tally, you horrid little man,” Georgie snaps.

  “I’m not little, I’m six foot four.”

  Georgie narrows her eyes at him. “You’re little in other ways.”

  I fill up my glass and practically down it in one. Ruby mouths “Are you okay?” at me. I nod and have another drink. I feel my dead, obliterated heart attempt to beat itself back to life and I’m struck by a surge of sheer panic. There’s no way out. I’m stuck on a boat with these people and the only available escape route is to throw myself into the Seine.

  Suddenly, the lights on the boat dim and French pop music blares out. I hadn’t even noticed the string quartet had stopped playing. The team of telemarketers are the first on their feet. With high spirits, and some bouncy dance moves, they head for the small dance floor at the front of the boat. The American tourists remain seated, watching them with bemused expressions on their faces.

  Freja stands up and downs what’s left of her champagne. “I don’t know what the hell music this is, but I’d rather dance to a funeral dirge than sit here. Who’s with me?”

  Georgie, Tamara, Tom and Ruby get up to dance with her. Jadine hangs back for reasons I don’t wish to consider. I never dance
, so I remain rooted to the spot. Max scoots up the table to sit opposite me, and my gaze lands on the view outside as the glittering lights decorating the Eiffel Tower flash and sparkle. How utterly, painfully, grotesquely romantic.

  Ethan stands and walks around the table, holding his hand out for Jadine. “Would you give me the honour of this dance?” he says in an almost comically grandiose manner.

  She stands up so fast she nearly knocks her chair over. “I’d be delighted,” she says with a flirtatious giggle.

  I close my eyes and let my body adjust to the sudden influx of hate endorphins. I breathe slowly, acutely aware that the only emotion I’m feeling is pain.

  “Ignore them,” says Max.

  I don’t respond. I can’t. I look out on the dancefloor and watch everyone have a great time, and I have no idea how I got here. I fucked up an ad and I let someone kiss me for one second. That’s literally fucking it.

  “I’m not putting up with this, Max.” I say the words and my brain instantly hauls me out of my guilt and back into fight mode. If giving Ethan space means he gets to treat me like shit, then I’m terminating that plan of attack right now and to hell with the consequences.

  I look back to the dancefloor just as Ethan twirls Jadine around, then catches her by the waist. She tosses her mane of flaxen waves over her shoulder and starts to move to the music whilst straddling his left leg. And that’s it. Enough is fucking enough.

  “Wait! What are you going to do?” I block out Max’s frantic voice as I march over to Ethan.

  “Can I have a word, please?” My hands ball into fists at my side and my heart is beating faster than a hummingbird’s.

  “I’m kinda busy right now,” he scoffs, giving Jadine another twirl.

  “Let me rephrase that.” I raise my voice several decibels. “Can I have a word now?”

  Jadine stops dead and stares at me. Ethan rolls his eyes. “Give me a minute,” he says to her. She turns back to him and slides her hand gracefully, but possessively, down the lapel of his jacket, then she joins the other dancers. A heart-warming vision of headbutting her and busting her nose invades my mind. I’m not proud of how good it makes me feel.

  When we’re alone, I take him to the side of the boat. “Can we stop doing this?”

  “Doing what? Fucking up my creative department? Pissing off my clients? Kissing ex-boyfriends?” His tone has more than a grain of a sneer to it, but at least he’s keeping his voice low.

  “And what about you, huh? This is supposed to be your agency; you’re supposed to be my manager.” I bite down on my lip for a moment. Please don’t let me cry. “You’re also supposed to be my friend. Yes, I made a mistake, but I don’t deserve . . . I never expected you to throw me under the bus.”

  He leans back against a cracked-painted window ledge, his gaze darting uncomfortably around the boat. When his eyes return to meet mine, they’re unfocused. “Well, there are a few things I never expected you to do, so I guess we’re even.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. Someone kissed me for a second. I know that hurt you, but can’t we get past this?”

  He looks past me, throwing a wink in Jadine’s direction. I’ve never seen him behave like such a child.

  “Okay, fine. If this is how you want to play it, I’m going to sit back down over there and you can continue being a dick. Oh, and if you need to flirt with Jadine Clark to work through all your absurd male-ego stuff, then be my guest.”

  I return to my seat next to Max.

  “Shit, Violet. What did you say to Ethan? He looks like he’s going to throw up.”

  I daren’t look at him. Ruby, Jadine and Tamara look over in my direction, then resume gossiping in a corner of the dance floor. I take some pleasure in the fact they’re as curious about what just happened as three unneutered cats in heat.

  Ethan doesn’t return to the dance floor. The bateau mouche arrives at its port next to the Pont de l’Alma half an hour later, and we have the choice to either disembark or remain onboard until midnight with an endless supply of drinks and dancing.

  I can’t wait to get off the boat, and I don’t think anybody notices when I do. Every single one of them is – to borrow Max’s eloquent phrase – shitting in the wind.

  I should be climbing the stairs up to the road and hailing a taxi, but there’s something about today, tonight, this week and my entire wretched existence that compels me to take a walk along the river instead. After a week of snow and rain, the temperature has risen to a few degrees above zero, so it’s the warmest night we’ve had for a while, but I still need to button my coat up to my neck and dig my hands into my pockets.

  I walk along the banks of the Seine and find a seating platform artistically composed of different-sized concrete blocks. I sit down and admire the view: the Eiffel Tower behind me and tree-lined boulevards over the river ahead. It would be picture-postcard perfection if it weren’t for the cold. I think back to Ethan’s behaviour on the boat and a rush of anger bubbles up inside me.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  I jump to my feet so fast it takes my skin several seconds to catch up. “Ethan, for fuck’s sake! I’m a woman alone in a foreign city in the middle of the night. If you have to jump out of the shadows unannounced, can you find a way to send a signal first? Preferably with a loudhailer.”

  “Uhm, I don’t think a loudhailer would make it less scary.”

  I sigh and sit back down. Ethan sits down next to me. He has a dark-grey scarf wrapped around his neck, and leather gloves cover his hands. He looks gorgeous.

  “So, I’ll come straight out and say it. I don’t know why, but I have been deliberately trying to hurt you.”

  I bow my head and plunge my chin into the fur collar of my coat. “I know.”

  “When Tamara called me about the ad, my instincts were to defend you, and I did, but when I got here, I don’t know what happened. I’ve never felt like this before. I admit I’m mad at you. I know he kissed you, but I’m mad you let it happen.”

  I stare out over the river as another boat filled with revellers passes by. “I told you how sorry I was, Ethan, but it was only a second or two. I wasn’t thinking straight. I told him to go.”

  “I know that . . . I know.” He removes his gloves and stuffs them in his pocket. “You’re just so . . . Why do you have to be so you all of the time?”

  I bite my lip as tears sting my eyes. His words remind me of my father’s. “It’s not like I want to be me.”

  He sighs and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I fell in love with you because you were different, but I didn’t realise how hard ‘different’ would be. Since we got together it’s like we’ve got so much closer, but we’ve also drifted apart. Everything is so complicated. I don’t know how a person can be as strong and fearless as you are, yet so fucking fragile at the same time. All I want is to wrap you up, hold on to you and protect you. I’ve needed to protect you for so bloody long.”

  I turn around and catch his profile. His jaw is clenched tight and his eyes are fixed to the ground. “What do you think I need protecting from?”

  “From me!” His head snaps up, and the air gets knocked from my lungs when I see the anguish embedded in his face.

  My mind races for a moment, but I’m drawing blanks. “What do you mean? Talk to me.”

  “I loved you first, but for three years I loved you without telling you.” A short, breathy laugh escapes his body and he scoots closer to me, reaching for my hand. “Those years were tough. I’m a confident guy – I’m always out there talking to people, sharing ideas, putting myself forward. I can sell myself better than anyone, but I couldn’t tell you how I felt.”

  “I know this, Ethan. You told me you were afraid I wouldn’t love you back and that our friendship was too important to risk.”

  His jaw clenches again and he shakes his head. “That’s not all of it. You see, I was convinced – certain, even – that I would hurt you. I may have killer confidence in every other
area of my life, but let’s get real here – my history with women consists of more one-night-stands than any guy can be proud of. Every time I’ve tried to have a relationship I’ve been abysmal at it. So I was scared I’d hurt you, and that fear kept me as your best friend.”

  I let out a huff. “Well, I have to say, if you were afraid of hurting me you’ve certainly done everything you could to do precisely that.” He grips my hand tighter and I feel my anger melt away. “I deserved some of it, of course, but—”

  “Vi, please listen to what I’m saying. I know I’ve been a stubborn self-righteous prick since you told me about Ryan, but I spent so long convinced I was going to hurt you that the last thing I expected was you hurting me. When you told me about kissing him, I lost it. It was like everything I knew suddenly wasn’t real anymore. You weren’t that person I needed to protect. You weren’t even the person I fell in love with.”

  My hand shoots to my chest. “You’re making it sound as though you need to be protected from me.”

  “No, of course not.” He pauses, then he grips my hand again, holding it between both of his. “I waited three years for something I thought would never happen. Then, when it did, I couldn’t enjoy it because I felt I didn’t deserve you. When you told me you wanted to cool things I was baffled and angry. But you were right. Working together, the secrecy – it was always going to put too much pressure on us.”

  I welcome his honesty – and his clarity. It seems he’s finally caught up in understanding all the things I’ve been worried sick about. The complexity of what we have behind us is muddying what we could have in front of us. And I wonder if two complicated people can ever un-complicate each other’s lives.

  “So, where do we go from here?” I ask.

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Back to ambiguity? Waiting for the right time?” I swallow hard and speak the unthinkable. “Back to just friends?”

  He stands and pulls me to my feet, his hand still clutching mine. “How about back to waiting to see what happens?” My body deflates. I can’t hide my disappointment. He catches my chin and raises my face until I meet his gaze. “I need a bit of time. I’ve been battered about over the last week. I need to get my shit together.”