Chapter 1

Standing at my office door, I survey the scene before me. A sea of bodies, worker bees bustling about, each with the same bored expression as they endure the monotony of yet another day in a job that goes on far longer than the nine-to-five they’re all contracted for.

Bar my office, the entire place is open plan, cubicle after cubicle stretching right across to the floor to ceiling windows along the far wall. The staff over there get the best views. I should know, it wasn’t too long ago I was sitting right there, in the confines of one such cubicle, staring out over the city, going about this humdrum routine.

They promoted me to team manager just two months ago. It has its perks, the money for one, but it does mean I have to throw on a suit and tie each morning, look sharp and corporate for when the big bosses from head office come on by. It’s more relaxed out on the floor, smart casual, jeans and shirts, a hoodie or two. I miss that comfort.

It’s a typical day, phones ring, paper rustles, and the air-con hums away, a persistent drone overhead. A bank of printers and copiers whir repeatedly to life, and the rhythmic clickety-clack of fingers on keyboards is the closest thing to ambience in here. If it wasn’t for the occasional conversation, a laugh, a couple of colleagues shooting the breeze, just for a moment, this place with its stark white walls and grey carpet would be devoid of all warmth or life.

It must be someone’s birthday, there were cakes in the small break room when I arrived this morning, and a bunch of balloons floats up over the divide of a central cubicle. There’s also a cloying mixture of perfumes and aftershaves, and a heady scent of flowers from the fresh bouquet on the reception desk. It all itches at my nose, only relieved by the freshly brewed coffee that pervades the air.

There’s something missing though. Someone. Someone who has worked here just two weeks. Someone who usually sits at my old desk, who stares down at the street below where the ant-like people move this way and that in their own dance of daily life. Someone who always has a smile as she talks on the phone, who truly cares about the people she’s speaking with.

“You seen Kara today?” I ask the guy in the nearest cubicle.

“Who?”

“Kara, long brown hair, hazel eyes, sits by the window.”

The blank stare tells me he’s going to be no help at all, and I wonder for a minute if he knows any of the people here. I consider asking someone else, venturing over to those who work in the same row as her, but I don’t want to become fodder for office gossip, don’t need my interest noticed. Especially considering the nine-year age gap.

I retreat into my office, past the gaudy and slightly crooked brass nameplate on the door with my name, Evan Kinsella, etched into it, and settle down behind the desk. It’s not a huge space, and it’s by no means fancy. Beige walls, same grey carpet, a large abstract print on the wall that looks to me like something you’d see in the gutter at 1am. Probably after someone has necked one too many beers and downed a greasy kebab. It’s not pretty.

I’ve left the door open, I don’t usually, but then, she’s usually here by now. Numbers float in front of my eyes as I try to work, my concentration pulled time and time again to her empty cubicle, the end one where she’ll lean back in her chair, stretch her arms, her top pulling tight across her chest. I know I shouldn’t think of her, know there are expenses to be done, emails to send, calls to make. But she fascinates me, has done from the second she walked in on her first day. She adds a touch of brightness to every dull moment here in this place.

She came into my life unexpectedly and instantly took up residence in my head. At first it was just an attraction, but it’s become so much more. Now, not a day goes by without thinking about her. Hell, I don’t want to go through a day without thinking of her.

She’s everything.