Page 110 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘Hah,’ he shakes his head and says: ‘Maybe not for you.’

Eh? A performance issue? ‘How do you mean?’

‘It might be fun now but we have to get up and work together tomorrow.’

‘I don’t care,’ I say, forcefully.

‘Well, I do. Your taxi will be here any second. Got your coat?’

I’d thought he was kidding, maybe making me work harder for it. Now I know this is not a bluff, and I’m bewildered.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘I don’t like getting involved with anyone I work with,’ he says, voice still low. ‘I don’t want the complication.’

‘Oh, my God!’ I say, hurt, offended, a little too loud. There’s no job on earth I’d sacrifice a night with Lucas McCarthy for.

‘What?’ Lucas says, quietly, far more in control. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

I’m so hurt and raw, the words just spill out of my mouth, unchecked.

‘I don’t want to get involved with anyone I work withis an obvious fob off. Everyone meets people at work. Just say you don’t fancy me enough, that’s fine.’

It wouldn’t be fine of course, it’d be devastating, but I don’t believe anyone who could kiss me in a way that made me feel like my bones had melted, felt no connection himself.

‘It’s not that.’

‘… Why kiss me?’

‘You kissed me.’

My mouth falls open. ‘Oh right, sorry, I thought this had involved two people but I accosted you, did I? I just fondledmyself?’

‘Georgina,’ Lucas says, and he looks upset now, ‘You’re gorgeous. You’re amazing. No one would easily turn you down. But you work for me. So, no. I can’t.’

I know consolation prize compliments when I hear them. He’s turning me down with no real trouble at all.

‘Honestly, Lucas, spitting me out like you found a lump of cat food in your chilli con carne is one thing, making up reasons for it is another. You can tell the truth. I’m a grown-up. This polite brush-off is the worst.’

Lucas looks stung by this, more agitated than ever. ‘That’s bollocks though, isn’t it? The truth isn’t some wholesome thing that sets us free. It’s messy and best left alone, and you should know that better than most.’

Does he mean my dad? Or …?

We’re breathing heavily, silent as his words land in the space between us.

‘So,’ I choke. ‘So you’re admitting that you’re not actually bothered we work together, and it is something else?’

‘… Yeah,’ he says, hesitating. I can tell he already wishes he’d not said what he just said, that he was needled by me and didn’t think more than one move ahead. Too late.

My bluff has been called. In my confusion and mortification, I’ve been pretending so much more confidence than I actually have. This is gutting, even frightening. But I’ve come too far to back down.

‘… You didn’t hear what I was saying to Kitty? About … love? I can clarify that if so. I’m not looking for a ring.’

He frowns. ‘No.’

‘Then what?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

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