It's Complicated (The Agency Book 2) Page 28

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  Oh shit, he’s losing the plot. Amy, Priyanka, the tight-shirt guy and the rest of their group scurry past us under a cloud of giggles and whispers, and I lead him to a quieter corner next to the car park ramp.

  “Ethan, I don’t want to leave my home or London or Max or you . . . I definitely don’t want to leave you, but I can’t go on like this. I’m struggling in a job I should love, Stella hates me and . . .” I smile at him and try to ignore the chill that has settled into my bones. “Our relationship is so fucking complicated. I thought I could pretend to everyone that I’m not in love with you, but I can’t.”

  “I promised you I’d sort that out and I will.” He shakes his head and laughs glibly. “I know I’ve been a useless prick. I should have had the balls to tell Stella from day one.” He heaves a sigh and tightens his grip on my hands. “You’re freezing. Why don’t we get out of here? I’ll take you home, or you could come back to my place.”

  “You’re a partner. You can’t leave your agency’s Christmas party early.”

  “I don’t care about Tribe. You think for one second I wouldn’t cash in my miserable one per cent if it meant I could keep on working with you every day and loving you every night?”

  I reach up and caress his face. Amazingly, his skin is still warm. “We can’t go back.”

  “No, but we could go forward . . . together.”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s up to us, Vi. We have the power to stop our story ending here. We deserve our happy ever after.”

  My hand falls from his face and my stomach sinks with it. We’ve repeatedly ripped each other’s hearts out of our chests ever since we complicated our friendship with love, and he keeps letting me down. He doesn’t want to keep breaking my heart, and I don’t want to break his, but I don’t think either of us know how to stop.

  “We should go back inside. We can talk tomorrow.”

  “When do you have to let Stella and Dylan know? I need to know how long I’ve got to persuade you not to leave me.”

  “Stella said I have until tomorrow night, but that was before I saved the day. I’m guessing the board doesn’t want to roast my head, stuff it and serve it up for Christmas dinner anymore. I hope I’m not under pressure to resign.”

  “If you resign, I’ll follow you.”

  I smile at his newfound rebelliousness. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Now, please can we get back to the party? My arms feel like they belong to Frosty the fucking Snowman.”

  Once we’re inside the hotel, I notice a roaring fire has been lit in the lobby. All the sofas surrounding the fireplace are filled with partygoers, but the warmth calls to me. I tell Ethan to give me a minute. I walk over, stick out my hands and rub my arms back to life.

  I assume Ethan has gone back to the party, but when I turn around to follow, I see he’s standing at the foot of the stairs waiting for me. We share a smile. I walk towards him, but the moment is interrupted by the unwelcome appearance of Jadine. She’s wearing a backless halter-neck dress which barely covers her bottom, and, not for the first time, I envy her unfeasibly long legs.

  Do I just walk past them? Do I acknowledge her? Would it be at all reasonable to rip into her? I really don’t know what to do, so I stand against the wall and wait. She doesn’t seem to have noticed me.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” I hear her say. She wipes a stray tear from her eye. “I don’t know what to say about my dad. I didn’t know, Ethan, I promise I didn’t.”

  He doesn’t look at her. His eyes remain fixed on me. “It’s fine, Jadine.”

  “I needed to see you . . . to tell you . . . I want to apologise . . .”

  “No need.” I see the abruptness of his tone register in her eyes and her shoulders slump.

  I press my back against the flocked wallpaper. I wish I could escape.

  “I can tell you’re upset with me. I know Dad has behaved badly, but I promise I didn’t know what he was planning. If I stay here, I need to feel safe. I want your assurances that you’ll square things with Violet for me. She’s always been jealous of me. She knows about our connection—”

  “Are you for real?” he says. Jadine falls back, clutching her hands to her chest as a giant tear rolls down her cheek. “We don’t have a connection. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s obvious she was jealous from the start. She knows we were lovers . . .”

  “We were never lovers, Jadine. You want me to guarantee your safety? Have you lost your mind? You’re lucky you’ve still got a job after what you’ve done to Violet. I know about the posters and the messages and the rumours you’ve spread about her. And what the hell was that fake bloody check-in about last night, huh?” He glares at her as she stands trembling before him. “You’re disturbed – and you’re a bully.”

  “And what about her?” she says with a sob, her tears flowing freely now. “She has been horrible to me from day one. She hates that we were together.”

  “I hate that we were together. And if you want the truth, here it is.” He inhales a breath of courage as half the lobby full of guests stop to listen. Maybe we should have gone back to his place to talk. I’ve a feeling tonight isn’t going to end well. “I can’t remember one thing about dating you, Jadine. Did we even have a date, or was it just sex? I honestly have no recollection, but ever since Tribe launched, I’ve tried to be professional. Maybe I felt guilty. Maybe that’s why I’ve been kind to you despite everything you’ve done. I should have told you weeks ago that there’s absolutely zero chance of us rekindling anything, but it was awkward. Know this though – you overstepped the mark with me when you went after Violet.”

  “But she started it. She—”

  “Bullshit she started it! You’re a bully, Jadine. A spoilt, shallow bully. You’re nothing to me.” His eyes meet mine again. Jadine follows his gaze this time and sees me. She looks like she’s fit to collapse. “You’re nothing and Violet is everything.”

  He turns away from her and walks back up the stairs to the party. Jadine draws back her crocodile tears and disappears into a crowd of people.

  29

  I RETURN TO THE PARTY hoping to see Ethan before I go home, but I can’t find him. Has he left without saying goodnight? For want of anywhere else to go, I take my seat at table fourteen, at the edge of the dance floor. The table was assigned to my creative team, but only Pinkie and Neil are still seated. I assume the others are dancing. I’ve missed dinner but there’s still wine on the table, which is better than food when you’re an idiot who can’t control her life. I fill my glass to the tune of Pinkie giving Neil an in-depth analysis of Terry Pratchett’s novels. Neil – a razor-sharp art director who has interned at Hong Kong and New York’s top ad agencies – looks bored to tears. I consider rescuing him, but that demands effort, and I’d rather concentrate on consuming wine.

  The crooner, who had been working his way through Bing Crosby’s back catalogue of shit Christmas songs my grandmother loves, is now belting out more up-to-date classics such as “Mary’s Boy Child”. What I wouldn’t give for a burst eardrum.

  “You okay?” Freja sits down next to me, placing a glass of red wine on the table in front of her. I give her the once-over and – amazingly – I conclude she’s still sober.

  “I think I am.”

  “Hmmm,” she mumbles thoughtfully. “Not the best singer in London, is he?”

  “He’s fucking dreadful.”

  Freja laughs and takes a sip of wine. “If we drink enough maybe we can drown out the noise.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot,” I say as I top up my glass. “Are you going home for Christmas this year?”

  “No, I’m spending it with Georgie.” She scowls and the bridge of her nose wrinkles. “She’s still technically homeless, despite sleeping in a five-star hotel paid for by her father. Dumb-ass Mitchell is tobogganing in Austria and she’s fallen out with her sister Andi for probably the millionth time ever
, so she’s refusing to go home. Georgie’s family makes the Mitford sisters look like the Waltons – you have to meet them.”

  “I’d actually love to. I bet they’re a hoot.”

  “She has three sisters and they’re all as mad as a box of frogs. Come to think of it, Georgie is no exception to that rule, but Christmas should be fun. My dad always tries his hardest to get me back to Copenhagen, but London is my home now. It feels right to be here with my friends. I will make sure I fly home for Sankthansaften to make up for it.”

  “Sankt-a-wotsit?”

  “Midsummer. It’s my all-time favourite celebration: bonfires, witches, skinny-dipping and my dad’s home-baked snobrød. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “That sounds very amazing.” I sometimes forget Freja is Danish. Her accent is practically non-existent unless she’s angry or drunk.

  “You should come with me next year,” she says excitedly. “My dad loves having guests over for Midsummer. He lives in a little wooden house just outside the city centre, and he has fresh murals reflecting his mood painted on it each year. Last time I was there the house looked like a cross between a Hans Christian Andersen picture book and a temple dedicated to the gods of free love and pot.”

  “Your dad sounds incredible.” I feel a pang of envy. I wonder if I’d be a better person if I’d had a father like Freja’s instead of one who wishes I’d never been born.

  “He’s certainly a character.” She smiles and takes another drink, then her gaze returns to me. I can almost hear the cogs in her brain start to whirr.

  “You’re looking at me funny again, Freja. What have I done now?”

  “Ah, you got me.” Her face lights up with a mix of humour and guilt. “I was wondering when I was going to find out that you’d made the wrong choice about New York. I was also wondering how long it would take me to change your mind.”

  “What makes you think I’ll make the wrong . . .” She raises her eyebrows and gives me one of her trademark knowing looks. “Okay. I take your point, but I haven’t made my decision yet.”

  “What does Ethan say?”

  “Obviously he wants me to stay. He says we can make it work, but I don’t know. I used to think he’d be able to conquer the world for me, but I’m not sure he has any fight left. Wanting something to happen and making something happen are two very different things.”

  “Did I ever tell you I was married?”

  I’d like to say nothing about Freja shocks me, but I’m surprised I feel so close to her when I know so little about her. “No, you never told me that.”

  “I was very young, just nineteen. His name was Per and he was my best friend. We’d known each other since we were kids, and we both left home to study in Sweden together. I did love him, but over time our dreams changed. Per wanted us to settle back in Copenhagen when we graduated, but I wanted more. I wanted to see the world, live a big exciting life. I thought he’d get that. I thought he was the one, but he wasn’t.”

  I’m confused. “Are you telling me Ethan isn’t the one because we want different things?”

  “No, I’m telling you Per wasn’t the one for me. I thought he was, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t give me what I needed, because he didn’t understand why I needed it.” She exhales a heavy breath full of sad memories. Is she trying to make a connection between my life and hers? “I found my soulmate years later . . . but I lost him. I let other people take him – and my dreams – away from me.”

  Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and I want to know more. I want to know everything. “How? What happened?”

  “It’s a long and complicated story and there isn’t enough time to tell you now, but I want you to understand something. I lost my soulmate for completely different reasons to why I lost Per. I thought he wasn’t ready, but I realised too late that it was me who wasn’t ready. I didn’t believe I deserved him, so I let him go.”

  Not for the first time, Freja’s extraordinary ability to see right through my defences knocks the air from my lungs. The blood rushes to my head, knotting in a giant ball of tension at my temple. “Are you saying . . . I’m the one who isn’t ready?”

  She smiles and her face glows with kindness. “I’m saying you found someone who truly gets you. Ethan was never just a friend or a colleague or a guy who was nice to you. He loves you. He understands you as if you were part of him. When he tells you he doesn’t want to lose you, you need to listen and you need to believe him. There are no ‘could haves’ or ‘shouldn’ts’ or ‘what ifs’; there’s only the fact that somebody loves you. If he’s the one, you can’t let him go. No matter how complicated or impossible you think your relationship is, hang on to him. Throw your arms around him and hold him tight until neither one of you can breathe.”

  Her words make my skin goosebump, and it hits me. She’s right. I did this. I pushed him away because I was afraid. It was never about Tribe. It was about fear – a soul-destroying, blood-curdling fear that I’d lose him. He told me he loved me, but people don’t love me. Not for forever. I’m not good enough for forever. But he’s been there for me since the day we met. I found love in his laugh, in his kindness and in his acceptance. He believed in me and he loved me. That should have been enough. That is enough.

  My eyes scan the room. My head is swimming with the truth that I have to tell him.

  I stand up so I can search for him properly. Pinkie is still boring the life out of Neil opposite, but most of the other dining tables are vacant. Jadine is pouring her heart out to Jared Taft at one of them, surrounded by Penny and Ruby. Oh god, I don’t even want to think about what she’s telling him. There’s overspill on the dance floor as Not Bing Crosby belts out an excruciatingly tuneless rendition of “All I Want for Christmas”.

  The dance floor is usually the place Ethan hangs out during work parties, but I can’t see him. Then I do a double take. Georgie and Max are dancing together. Max hates dancing, so – wait! Are they . . . could they be . . . ? No, no, no, no, no. Please god, no. Violet, why did you even put that thought in your head?

  My eyes wander to the edge of the room and I finally find Ethan standing at the bar, his elbow resting on the wooden counter. He’s holding a tumbler of whisky in one hand. His eyes are downcast and his mind is definitely elsewhere.

  Freja nudges my arm. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Go get him.”

  I inhale a breath of courage, but when my gaze returns to the bar a second later, Ethan isn’t there. Where the hell is he? Has he been given a call from the Bat Cave and disappeared into the night? Jeez, I know I’m totally shit with alcohol, but I haven’t drunk much tonight. I should still be able to see.

  I hear the music stop, but as I’m facing away from the stage it takes me a couple of seconds longer than everyone else to realise what’s happening.

  Freja gasps and taps me on the shoulder. “Erm . . . Violet?”

  A swirl of dread twists in my stomach when I hear her voice crackle with apprehension. Then I turn around.

  Oh. Sweet. Jesus.

  Ethan is standing on the stage whispering into Not Bing Crosby’s ear. Moments later he’s holding the microphone and is commanding the attention of the whole room.

  He walks two paces and settles the mic into position on the stand. I start to laugh nervously. Is he going to sing? He’d knock spots off Not Bing Crosby, so I’m sure nobody would mind if he did.

  He clears his throat. He looks around the room, shielding his eyes from the light with his hand. I have an awful feeling about this. In fact, the feeling is so blood-curdlingly, stomach-churningly awful that I find my feet are suddenly walking my body backwards.

  “Don’t you dare.” Freja grips my elbow and forces me to stay in place.

  I stop and look back at the stage. Ethan is staring at me. The room falls silent, and hundreds of pairs of eyes follow his gaze to me. The only sound I can hear is Ethan’s breathing, amplified by the microphone, in unison with my
pulse beating against my eardrums.

  “Violet,” he says, making my heart jump into my throat. Freja places her hand on my shoulder, urging me forward, but I don’t budge. Then, in a scene reminiscent of an old Technicolor biblical movie starring Charlton Heston, the sea of people parts before me, forming two crowds either side of the dance floor. “There’s something I want to say to you, and I need everyone in the room to hear it.”

  Oh fuck. The fuckiest of fucks. I’m going to be sick. I’m literally going to open my mouth and shower everyone in bright-green Exorcist-grade vomit. I daren’t look at him.

  “Okay . . . shit.” He pulls the mic out of the stand and fidgets with it. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing here, but it seems like I’m doing it anyway, so here goes. Stella, before I do this, I want you to know that I think you’re awesome and I’m grateful. Utterly, completely, from-the-bottom-of-my-heart grateful, for everything you’ve done for me.”

  Stella’s face looks like it’s been hung out to dry in a blizzard – bright red and frozen stiff. She flashes him a glare consisting entirely of a silent warning, but his composure doesn’t falter.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so terrified.

  “My parents always taught me that I had to fight for everything I wanted and told me to never, ever give up. But a few months ago, I gave up on the best and most important thing in my life.”

  He falls silent, and my terror quickly turns into horror. Ethan knows me better than anyone, so why on earth hasn’t he remembered I have a pathological fear of being the centre of attention?

  “Six months ago I was given a fabulous opportunity by Stella, but ever since, I’ve had to pretend I wasn’t madly, deeply, crazily in love with my best friend. I should never have kept that a secret. Violet, you’re my soulmate, my everything . . . and I need to tell you that in front of all of these people because I want you to have no doubts over how much I love you. I fell in love with you the first day I met you and I’ve loved you every day since, and I’m never ever going to stop loving you. That much is absolutely certain. Nothing and nobody is going to stop me loving you.”