Chapter 5

5

At the pub after work that evening, the drinks don't flow as quickly as they did last week, which is a relief. Our table is crowded and noisy, with everybody talking over each other and calling down the table to one another, full of good food and the adrenaline of our first week.

Despite sharing apartments in the same building, commuting together, and passing one another in the office, this is the first chance we've all had to catch up as a group since the icebreaker night.

And just like then, we all work a little too hard to sell ourselves: everyone swaps details of their roles and responsibilities, competing to sound the most impressive. I'm no exception: I get swept up in the unspoken challenge, just like everyone else.

I learn that Dylan, who offered me his wallet condoms last week and is studying toward an engineering degree, is working in research and development, and Tasha and a couple of others have been given project management roles, so I'll probably work with them a bit, which is…nice. At least it'll be easier to reach out to other teams when I can use the other interns as a point of contact—even if that point of contact is Tasha. She reminds me a little too much of the girls from my college halls: sharp and lofty, with a cruel edge you don't want to be on the wrong side of.

The mood relaxes as we bond over the highs and lows of our week. We tease Elaine about getting locked out of her computer first thing on Tuesday and having to do a walk of shame to the IT help desk to get them to reset it for her, and sympathize with Freya, who spilled coffee on Topher Fletcher's PA when she went to introduce herself.

Nobody else ran into a boy they kissed and never thought they'd see again, though.

If anybody notices I'm a bit too loud and talk too fast when they ask about my team and my week, they don't call me out on it. And if they notice my glass of wine after dinner goes down a bit too easily, they let that slide, too.

Somewhere around nine o'clock, a few of us volunteer to get the next round, collecting drink orders. I volunteer to get a round for my new roommates, Elaine and Louis; this, I've learned, is what you do when you want to be part of the group and endear yourself to people.

I catch up with the others at the bar just in time to overhear Monty, the annoying "rah" guy, saying, "She's fit, but seems like a right stuck-up cow."

"Who's that?" I ask, butting in. I wonder if he's talking about Tasha, then scold myself. I hardly know her; I should at least try to give her a chance before judging her as a stuck-up cow.

"Nadja," Burnley explains to me, laughing. "Monty's on herteam."

"I don't know if you heard earlier, but I'll be working on contracts and proposals," Monty tells me, with all the pomp and authority as if he'd just declared he was ending world hunger, and as if he hadn't already announced it loud enough for the whole pub to hear.

"Sounds great," I reply. "I thought she seemed nice, though. Nadja. You know, quite cool. I bet she'd be really interesting to work with."

Monty rolls his eyes. He's a lanky guy with coiffed dark brown hair and a smarmy smirk that seems to be a near-permanent feature on his face. He'd be quite good-looking, if not for his haughty resting face. "Don't tell me—next, you're gonna ask if I'd call her stuck-up if she was a man."

"Next," Burnley interrupts, voice dry, "I'm gonna ask if you really want to be that guy. Don't be a dick, Monty."

Monty shrugs, holding up his hands. "All right, chill out. It was just a joke. It's not just me, you know—the rest of the team said she's tough. Ruthless. Apparently, she made some intern last year cry. Can you believe it?"

"Better make sure you bring your Kleenex, then," I say. Monty's cheeks color and Burley snort-laughs so hard he chokes, coughing, which sends me into a peal of giggles.

"Ah, chill out, Monty," Burnley tells him once he's caught his breath. He reaches up and clasps Monty's shoulder, giving it a friendly shake. "It was just a joke."

Somewhere to my left, Dylan shouts, "Hey! You made it!" and grabs for us with one hand. "Guys—guys," he says. His other hand is on someone's arm, pulling them through the cluster of people queuing behind us for drinks.

No.

No.

This is not happening.

"You guys all know Lloyd, right?" Dylan asks, as a familiar face appears beside him.

What the hell is he doing here? Did he take my mention of the pub earlier as an invitation? And if he did, how did he know where to find us? Did he go around every pub in Victoria searching?

"All right, mate?" Burnley says to him, not missing a beat. Friendly, because of course. If there's one thing my first week at Arrowmile has taught me, it's that everybody loves Lloyd. "What're you drinking?"

Lloyd laughs. "Shouldn't I get the round if I'm gate-crashing?"

"Now, now." Dylan slings an arm around his shoulder. "Can't have the boss's son thinking we're only using him for his money."

Lloyd laughs at that, too, but the sound is swallowed by static as the world pitches around me, sliding out of focus as I digest Dylan's words.

Boss's son.

Hi there, he'd said the other day, I'm Lloyd Fletcher.

Fletcher, like Topher Fletcher, Illustrious Leader/CEO and…

Shit.

How did I not realize sooner? No wonder I couldn't work out which team he's on because he's always everywhere, or why the managers show him so much respect. Of course they all fawn over him—his dad owns the company.

This is not good.

It's only when I hear my name that I realize they're talking to me, about me—introducing me to Lloyd.

My eyes shift to his, my mouth dry. Surely he must remember me now, surrounded by everyone else? Can't he remember Burnley making a spectacle of himself dancing on the table? Hasn't he connected the dots by now?

"Yeah," I say. "We've met."

Lloyd's smile doesn't falter. "On Monday. I thought I'd try to get around and meet a couple of the new interns—which was a good plan until I got waylaid talking to you about the new engine we're working on." He cuffs Dylan around the shoulder, and they both laugh. "Thanks for the invite tonight, by the way."

"Yeah, of course, mate. It's no big deal."

Did I say I was happy I might get to work with Dylan this summer? I take it back. I've never had an enemy before, but he's just made the list.

"Gotta stay on the boss's good side," Monty says with a brash laugh, but it's clear that particular brand of joke doesn't go down quite as well coming from him. Noticing, he clears his throat, and is saved by the bartender and the fact it's his turn to order.

Somehow, I end up standing just behind the boys—and next to Lloyd.

He gives me a warm smile. "Well, hey. Fancy seeing you here. Wait—didn't we already do this?" He laughs at his own joke, not looking at all bothered that I'm not charmed by it. My mouth pinches into a thin, sour line and I can feel my hands shaking.

"What are you doing here?" I demand.

"Hanging out. Having fun—or that's the plan, anyway." He grins. "After we spoke, Dylan mentioned you guys were all out tonight and invited me along for a drink. Felt rude to say no, youknow?"

No ruder than giving a girl the best kiss of her life and then forgetting all about her, I think, but out loud I say, "Uh-huh."

Sensing I'm not in a chatty mood, Lloyd falls quiet. As he turns to face forward, I notice the smile slip from his face and feel a pang in my chest. Cold and unlikable. That must surely be what he thinks of me now—and I hate the idea that the guy I met last week might believe that.

I'm not, as a rule, very good at making friends. I never have been. I've always been too serious, too studious. I don't say the right thing, I don't make people laugh; I'm not good at being a shoulder to cry on. It wasn't so bad at school, when I could hide in a wide collection of extracurriculars that gave me some common ground to bond with classmates. It was harder at college—suddenly living away from home and with five total strangers, three of whom were cliquey girls who immediately dismissed me as "not their kind of person" and went out of their way to make sure I knew it.

It's hard to admit that the kindred spirit I thought I'd found in Lloyd doesn't exist after all and might have been a facade to win me over for the night.

It's hard to reconcile this Lloyd with the one I met last week.

After Burnley, Monty, and Dylan collect drinks and head back to our table, Lloyd gestures for me to go ahead.

"Can't be accused of cutting the line and gate-crashing, can I?" he jokes.

"Right," I mumble, and give the bartender my order. Then, feeling all too aware of Lloyd just inches away, and not wanting him to think of me as standoffish, I gesture for him to add his drink to the order, too.

"I'll get it," he says, taking his wallet out.

"No, I've got it."

"Annalise, c'mon—let me get the drinks. I was only going to stay for one anyway."

"I said, it's fine. It's my round, so I have to get them."

He sighs, more playful than exasperated, and slips a card out of his wallet, braced as if he's about to race me to pay, but just as I cut him a glare and prepare to shove his arm out of the way, something clicks.

Annalise.

He knows my name.

He does remember after all.

Fury explodes inside me, shooting through my body until I'm vibrating with it. He remembers, and he's just been pretending all this time.

Somehow that's worse.

I stare at him, horrified and devastated. I know why I didn't ask for his number…but he didn't ask for mine, either. Was he relieved when the night finally ended, too polite to say so at the time? Maybe it was all an act.

The bartender tells us the total and Lloyd reaches to pay. I catch his wrist to stop him and then drop it like his skin burns. I tap my own card to the reader, doing my best not to mentally track what my bank balance must be right now, and decline Lloyd's help when he tries to take some of the drinks to carry back to the table.

With three glasses balanced precariously in my hands, I turn to Lloyd. I can't manage to meet his eyes, but tell him in the steadiest voice I can muster: "You know, if you were embarrassed about me and didn't want people to know we kissed last week, you only had to say. You didn't need to act like I was a total stranger all week."

"That's not—I wasn't…"

"It's fine." It's not. My voice shakes, giving me away. I start to leave—the sooner I can disappear into the crowd, the better.

But Lloyd's fingers graze my elbow, the barest touch, and I can't move away.

"I thought I was doing us both a favor. I didn't mean to…" He sighs sharply, dragging his free hand through his curls. "Can we talk about it? Away from the others. Meet you out front in ten minutes?"

There's a sinking feeling in my stomach, and another flare of anger that he did this on purpose, but I agree. And I think, Let's see the office golden boy talk his way out of this one.