Chapter 13

13

Sitting squashed between some of the girls on a sofa, bloated from eating too much pizza, and with a bad action movie on TV that nobody's really watching, is much more fun than I was expecting it to be. Everyone is lethargic—a combination of a month of intense work and the summer city heat; voices are slow and hazy, bodies limp and cozy.

Louis tells us about a date who ghosted him, and the date he's got lined up for Monday after work. Quiet Freya talks dreamily about her cousin's wedding in Greece next weekend. There are in-jokes that skip over my head, references that I'm left wondering about, and I realize how much I've been missing out on—which is nobody's fault but mine.

Although we try to talk about anything but work, it's not very long before conversation turns that way. Monty and Verity have seemed a bit funny with each other all evening—it turns out it's because they're both constantly trying to one-up each other to impress Nadja, to the point where they're cutting each other out of meetings or emails; Burnley overslept a few days ago and gave the first "sorry, I had a doctor's appointment" lie of our cohort; Elaine is still humiliated after forgetting her team meeting had been moved to lunchtime, and then taking a break at a nearby gym and missing the whole thing.

"Ugh, please, enough," Elaine groans, while we're still laughing at her. She grimaces, then nudges Monty with a foot and gestures for him to pass the veggie pizza over. "I can't keep reliving it. I should've known something was up when I got back and everyone's desks were empty, but did I catch on? No. And now I have to make up for it like hell so that it doesn't get held against me. What about you, Anna? You've got that big presentation coming up, right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." I peel myself out of the opposite corner of the sofa, wriggling into a slightly more upright position as heads swivel toward me expectantly. "It's my first proper presentation, to some senior managers and heads of department. It's about the latest stuff on the Vane engine project."

"Oh!" Freya says suddenly. "I'll be there, too. Topher forwarded the meeting to me; he thought it'd be a useful one to sit in on with him."

"With—I'm—" I choke a little on the words, struggling to breathe for a second as I twist around to look at Freya. " With him? As in…Topher Fletcher's going to be there when I give my presentation?"

"You didn't know?" Dylan asks, cocking his head. "I thought that's what you and Lloyd were talking about the other day."

"What? When did—" I want to say When did you see us? But that sounds weird, so I correct myself abruptly and say, "I didn't see you around."

"I had to talk to Craig about some stuff for Phoebus IV. I waved, but you guys were so busy talking that you didn't notice. I figured I'd just leave you to it."

"We were just going through my presentation. Lloyd was being nosy. Curious, I mean." It's true, and it's not a big deal, because that's the kind of thing Lloyd does with everybody, except Tasha scoffs from her spot on the floor, where she's got her long legs stretched out and her hands braced behind her, her back to the TV. When we look at her, she tosses her hair over one shoulder and gives an exaggerated eye roll.

"Please. He's always hanging around at your desk. I see him there all the time. If you thought you were being sneaky, you're not. It's an open-plan office, babe. I can see you from where my team sits. Does he fancy you or something?"

His body shifting closer to mine, his hand on my cheek and breath on my skin, the way he murmured my name and teased his tongue along my bottom lip…

I hope to hell I'm not blushing.

"Of course he doesn't! It's—he's just—"

Pretended I didn't know you…I was doing you a favor…

"He's always loitering around asking for updates on projects and stuff, that's all."

"He does that with us, too," Dylan says—and honestly, thank God for Dylan. "I think he just likes to know what's going on. It's kind of his company too, right? Everyone says he's being groomed to take over when his dad retires. I think it's cool he takes a real interest. He's always in the labs when any of us are there."

Tasha rolls her eyes again, but even as the others carry on talking about Lloyd, her gaze lingers on me, and it's…not nice. Judgy, somehow. Maybe a little bit suspicious, too.

I feel like there's something she's not saying. I don't think I want to know what it is.

It quickly becomes clear that Lloyd's been hanging out with some of the others over the last few weeks, too, which is a saving grace. Dylan and Monty have gone for lunch with him a few times; Elaine chats to him when he drops by the Finance department.

"He's been to a couple of client meetings with us, hasn't he, Monty?" Verity says, smugly—although I'm not sure whether she's actually bragging or whether her natural inflections just make her sound like she is. "He's such a nice guy, don't you think? And so good-looking." She giggles and some of the group murmur agreement; I'm trying hard not to react, in case I blush.

Tasha asks, "You've talked to him lots, Monty. Does he have a girlfriend? You should find out for Ver. I bet you'd have a chance if you went for it. Not like you'd be off-limits or anything—he dated an intern last year, I heard."

I look at Verity, who's classically beautiful with her heart-shaped face and honey-blond hair, with her small, upturned nose and her boobs in perfect proportion to her waist. And I immediately picture her and Lloyd kissing, wrapped in each other's arms, and there's a flare of something sickening and corrosive in my chest. I grit my teeth and shove the image away.

I'm not jealous.

I'm not.

"Oh no, babe, it's not even on the table," Verity says—and though she tries to sound upbeat, it falls a little flat; she's obviously disappointed. She's squished in the middle of our group on the sofa: Freya and Izzy, on either side of her, reach to rub her arm or pat her leg sympathetically. Even I feel a little bad for her for a second. "I asked him for drinks last weekend, but he made some excuses. Didn't give off very ‘interested' vibes."

"Maybe he's just being polite," Izzy suggests. "You know, because of the whole being the boss's son thing."

Yeah, it was real "polite" when he pretended not to know me.

"I don't think so. No offense, Ver," Dylan adds quickly, offering a smile to soften the blow. "He mentioned a thing with some girl he used to date—they went out for a drink, like, a week ago. He didn't seem too keen to talk about it, so I didn't wanna pry too much, but I wouldn't want to get in the middle of all that if I were you."

"Well, definitely not on the table in that case. I don't need to be the other woman!" Verity giggles.

I laugh, too, because everybody else is, but my mind is spinning. Was this other girl on the scene when he kissed me? An ex from a long time ago, maybe, one he's just friends with these days? Or is she a newer development—the girl he lost his heart to last week, maybe?

More importantly: Why do I care?

I don't. I don't.

The others start speculating. Is there someone in the office? Someone from his college course? An intern from years gone by, maybe, if not the intern, the one he did date? Most likely, he met her on a dating app. Dylan suggests maybe she's a friend of his brother's, which is when basically the entire rest of the group find out about Will.

"I knew there was another one, but I thought he was, like, way younger or something," says Monty.

"You should hear Topher talk about Lloyd. It's like the sun shines out of his arse," Freya says, then blushes and adds hastily, "But obviously, Lloyd's great, and it's super cute his dad is so proud of him and stuff. I just mean, I could count the times he's mentioned Will on one hand. I get the vibe Will just doesn't care about Arrowmile. It's kind of weird, right? He's probably really up himself, or something."

"Now if he's single…," Verity jokes, but I get the impression she's at least halfway serious.

"Maybe we'll meet him at the summer party?" Elaine suggests.

The summer party is an annual company event, an excuse for a friendly piss-up under the guise of being an all-office meeting with updates on how the company is doing so far that year, with a team-building exercise or two sprinkled in. There's lots of food, lots of booze, and "always" (so I'm told) lots of fun. An excuse for everybody to let their hair down, a reward for their hard work.

I'm looking forward to using it as a networking session. It sounds like the perfect opportunity for it.

I guess it's not beyond the realm of possibility that Will could be there. Thinking about his self-deprecating, quiet humor and his natural awkwardness, I tell the others, "I ran into him once. He was at the office looking for Lloyd. He's really lovely, actually. Kind of…quiet, I think? More introverted than Lloyd is, anyway. But he seemed really nice."

"Surprise, surprise," mutters Tasha, but it's so quiet that I wonder if maybe I imagined it—especially when nobody else seems to notice. I must have misheard, I decide; it's a weird remark, and I can't figure out what she means by it. Anyway, the others are already busy grilling me on exactly when I met Will and what that conversation was like.

"You'll have to find out if he'll be at the summer party," I tell Monty and Dylan, trying to distract the attention away from me. "Ask Lloyd next time you see him. Let us know in the group chat."

"Or you can ask him," Izzy says, nudging me in the side and smiling. "If you see him first."

Tasha scoffs, and I definitely didn't mishear it that time. Some of the others notice, too.

Does he fancy you or something? she'd asked me. If you thought you were being sneaky, you're not.

Shit. Does Tasha think there's something going on between me and Lloyd? Something serious and more than just a kiss from before the internship started that nobody even knows about?

I don't care if she sees me talking to Lloyd around the office, but I do care if she believes there's something between us. The others all seem to like her well enough, but she's the very last person I'd want leaning into some kind of office romance rumor. She gives every indication she's the kind of person who drags others down to try to boost herself up.

Maybe I was too harsh on Lloyd for pretending he didn't know who I was that first day. It's clear now that he was doing me a favor; I really don't want to risk anything undermining the work I do on this internship.

Maybe I owe him an apology after all. Maybe.

Tasha, thankfully, keeps her mouth shut, and nobody calls her out on it. I don't either, because I can't bear the idea of dragging this discussion out any further and digging myself into a hole. Everyone returns to idle chatter and the movie, but it's a long while before I feel myself relaxing back into the sofa to enjoy the rest of the night.

—

I smooth my hands over my skirt, making sure my blouse is tucked in neatly for the umpteenth time. My laptop sits open in front of me, with the presentation mirrored on the large screen behind me. I'm glad I booked this meeting room out for the half hour before my big presentation; it took me ten minutes to figure out how the projector worked.

The whole thing is nerve-racking, but the waiting is worse. My adrenaline builds with each passing minute. I watch the clock in the corner of my laptop screen like a hawk. And I know, I know, a watched pot and all that, but… God, why can't this be over already?

It's not that I'm not used to public speaking. But this is different from anything I've done at school. This is important. The next hour could be the thing that makes or breaks my future at Arrowmile—my future anywhere, depending on how well (or how horrendously) it goes.

And besides that, this is serious, grown-up, real-life stuff at stake. If I mess up the presentation, it could set back projects massively. What was the worst thing that would happen if I flubbed my lines in the school play, or got my facts a bit muddled in a student council meeting?

My brain immediately goes into a full-on spiral. I imagine having the wrong numbers in my presentation or having completely misinterpreted things, and the project shutting down when it shouldn't, and everybody blaming me, and having to hand back my laptop to Michaela in shame while everyone stands at their desks judging me. Or, God, what if I've misread the meeting invite somehow, and I'm not supposed to be presenting on the Vane engine at all? I'll waste everybody's time and they'll be wondering how in the hell I got a place on this internship in the first place, and Illustrious Leader/CEO Topher Fletcher will be shaking his head in disappointment and that look will haunt me in every job interview I have after this….

And all of a sudden, they're here.

The glass door is opening, and people starting to file in, chattering away. I desperately try to put names to faces I've seen just once or twice or only their little profile picture attached to their email contact. Freya gives me an encouraging wave when she takes her seat, but it only makes me feel worse—a fellow intern here to bear witness for the rest if I crash and burn.

Michaela is one of the last to arrive. She walks in with Fiona—Dylan's boss—and Topher.

She cuts herself off midsentence to say, "Hi, Anna! All ready to go?"

"Yep." My voice comes out reedy and thin. I clear my throat as I plaster on a smile, hoping they can't see through it. I also hope they can't see the sweat beading around my hairline.

"Great! Big responsibility, leading this one. Don't let me down!"

Aw, Michaela, did you have to put it like that?

I want to melt through the floor. My throat is dry and my mouth full of sawdust and— crap, I left my water bottle at my desk. Is it too late to duck out and grab it? I don't want to look unprepared or make a bad impression. That was the whole point of being here early, wasn't it?

I try to wet my lips and pretend to fidget with my laptop as I do a quick head count. "It looks…" My voice is so quiet only two people look up. I try again, and wince when it comes out shouty. "It looks like everybody's here, unless we're expecting anyone else…?"

Heads swivel, then shake.

Michaela smiles at me. I think it's supposed to be encouraging, but I could swear she's just grown fangs, turned into some monstrous harpy sent to torture me. "The floor's all yours, Anna."

I pull up my prepared script in my mind and get started. I launch into my "Thanks for making the time for this" spiel and run through the agenda for the meeting, but I don't get much further before Michaela gently clears her throat.

"Maybe before you go any further, could you give everybody a quick introduction, Anna?"

"Oh, well—that's my next slide, actually."

Was she not listening to my agenda? Had I only imagined I'd said it?

"I meant introduce yourself, " she says. "I'm not sure everybody's had the chance to meet you."

"Great idea," booms Topher amiably, from a few seats down. He nods, almost cartoonishly enthusiastic. "Tell us a bit about yourself, Annie. We're always keen to know how our interns are getting on!"

"It's…" It's Anna, but is it rude to correct him? Shit. Move on, Anna, move on. "Okay, great—well, I'll keep it quick, I know we've only got an hour to get through everything…."

I know what Michaela's doing—she's making sure I "use my platform" and "get myself seen." She's trying to help me so that I have a better chance of securing a job here after I graduate.

But my quick, stilted list of Things You Should Know About Anna Sherwood (namely, my degree and where I'm studying) means that when I turn back to my presentation, I have no idea where I was. I try to pick up the thread of my script, wishing I'd made some flash cards. I dive in headfirst, hoping I'll figure it out soon enough and they won't notice, but I don't think it works. I'm very aware of how fast I'm talking, how heavily I'm breathing, the way I stumble over some of the numbers and have to correct myself.

It's not going well.

It gets worse when the door opens, and someone slips inside. I notice them in my periphery, trying so hard to focus that I'm doing a terrible job of making eye contact with my audience like I know I'm supposed to, and irritation curdles my blood I thought everybody was here? Who else could possibly need to be witness to this car crash of a presentation? And why are they showing up more than fifteen minutes into the meeting, late by anybody's standards? Even the CEO got here on time.

I have to pause in the middle of a sentence about spending to gulp down a breath. I also need to stall to remember why the project is so far over the projected budget—because God, why is it way over budget? I knew this. Why don't I know this? I let my eyes flicker to the end of the table, to the seat that was just pulled out by the interloper.

And…

It's Lloyd. I know I shouldn't be surprised, but I am.

"Sorry," he says, loud enough that he seems to be addressing everyone. "Sorry, don't mind me. I didn't mean to interrupt. You were talking about the development budget—the coolant?"

The coolant!

I let out a sigh of relief, my heart calming down considerably—which is ironic, since discussing the new Arrowmile coolant leads to a heated debate around the table about who's responsible for it being allocated to the wrong project. I don't really know why that's so important, only that everyone's being so difficult about it, it must be. When I talked to Elaine about the coolant over breakfast, she suggested it was maybe a tax thing or linked to investors somehow.

As a couple of the managers bicker between themselves about who takes the blame and who needs to fix it, I finally get a chance to ground myself and breathe. It's enough to remember my script, figure out what's next.

I catch Lloyd's eye and mouth Thank you, wondering if he's aware of how much he just saved me from total humiliation.

He grins back, bright and friendly, an anchor.

My heart gives a little skip and—damn him—it takes more effort than it should to pull my attention back to the ongoing debate at the table.

Still. I'm glad he's here. Especially when I falter a couple more times and he pipes up with a leading question to pull me back on track, since he knows my presentation as well as—or, I guess, better than—I do. And especially when he smiles at me with an encouraging nod; it's a little easier to make eye contact with him in the room. I find I keep glancing his way for reassurance rather than to Michaela or anybody else.

This boy with his unfaltering smile, who carries the sunshine with him wherever he goes, with summer in his eyes.

Damn him. And damn me, for being so drawn in by it— again.