Meet Clara Andrews: A totally vacuous girl with a hangover... (5 page)

The next few days race by in a cloud of fast food, fun and I have to admit it, a little flirting. By the time Friday morning arrives, I can not to wait to get into work. My usual morning routine of a quick shower and change, has evolved into a fully blown military procedure. I have been getting up an entire hour earlier than normal to ensure I am preened and presented to perfection.

I can honestly say that I have never enjoyed work more. My typical boring, lunch times have been replaced with take outs to the studio. Chinese on Tuesday, Mexican on Wednesday and yesterday we had the most amazing Thai curry. I really am going to have to squeeze in some spinning classes. I must be consuming my daily calorie allowance in my lunch hour alone. Oliver’s addiction to junk food isn’t the only thing I have discovered this week. He also has a love for the Caribbean, astronomy and weirdly the Royal Family. He is also an only child and grew up in Houston, Texas before moving to Austin for work when he was just twenty three.

Being so wrapped up in Oliver has made me almost forget about my date with George tomorrow night. It feels rather bizarre to have a date lined up with one man, whilst crushing like crazy on another. I keep reminding myself that it isn’t a crime to find someone attractive, and let’s face it, who wouldn’t find Mr. Morgan attractive?

I arrive at the office and head straight for the seventh floor, clutching a tray of Starbucks coffees tightly. I haven’t really seen much of Lianna, working from the sixth floor studio and not heading out for lunch means we have missed our afternoon gossips. Marching over to her desk, I notice that she is not here yet. I place a cappuccino in front of her computer and draw a smiley face on a sticky note before attaching it to her phone. Smiling to myself, I make a beeline for Marc’s office and let myself in. He is shaking his head furiously, with his phone stuck to his ear. Raising his hand in acknowledgment, he takes the coffee and mouths thank you, before flashing me the universal ‘I’ll call you’ sign. Nodding, I give him a little wave and let myself out.

Good deed done for the day, I head for the stairs. Having that delicious Friday feeling makes the final working day of the week so much better. What is it about being set free for two whole days that is so exhilarating? Feeling rather giddy, I shrug off my jacket and place the two remaining beverages on the work top. I prop myself up on the surface and begin scrolling through my emails. I am deleting the junk messages when I hear Oliver enter the studio.

‘Good morning!’ I smile and hand him a steaming hot coffee, black just as he likes it.

‘Sugar?’ He responds, taking a sip and grimacing.

I produce a handful of brown sugar sachets from my handbag and watch as he pours the contents of three packets into his coffee.

‘Better?’

‘Perfect.’ He nods gratefully, lifting his bag up on to the table and pulling out a plastic wallet.

He takes out a sheet of paper and hands it to me. It’s an invite to a fashion exhibition in Manchester. My eyes take in the print and I feel a frisson of excitement.

‘I was sent this last night. I thought it might be useful to go down there, try to get some inspiration, see what else is out there, that kind of thing.’

‘I think you mean up there not down. Manchester is about three hours north of here.’

‘In that case, we should probably set off on the Friday,’ he muses, taking the sheet from me.

‘We?’ I stutter, my heart starting to pound.

‘Yeah. I just need to square it with Marc, but I can’t see it being an issue. You cool with giving up your weekend for this? I promise it will be educational.’ He winks and finishes his coffee before throwing it in the paper bin.

‘I’d actually love to go! Marc goes to these things all the time with head office.’

‘Well in that case, he shouldn’t have a problem with us going. I’ll go clear it with him. Can you have a look through the leather samples we received yesterday? We are looking for distressed leather, preferably in charcoal.’

‘Leave it with me,’ I watch him leave the studio, the flyer shoved in his back packet.

I really hope Marc goes for this. A trip to Manchester with Oliver is just far too tempting of an offer to turn down. I feel butterflies buzzing around in my stomach at the thought and grab the fabric samples. Turning the radio up, I open a word document on the laptop and start making notes.

It’s not long before my mind begins to wander to my date tomorrow night. I wonder what he will look like? The Channing Tatum-esque image I have conjured up will take a lot to live up. Hmm, a hot date tomorrow, possible trip away with Oliver, Samantha Jones eat your heart out.

As we lock up the studio at 6.30 that evening, I am looking forward to a glass of Rioja and a bubble bath. The chaos of today’s events has left me exhausted. It took a good hour of pleading with Marc for him to agree to our trip to Manchester. After initially declining Oliver’s request, I took it upon myself to pursue it further. I practically had to beg Marc to agree. I don’t know what his problem is, I mean, it’s not like anything is going to happen and it is most definitely something that will prove useful in the design process. You would think he would be cool with office relationships being on the menu, considering he has been having Gina for dessert all week.

I have been mentally planning my pre-date beautifying regime all day. It has been a while since I’ve had to prepare for a date and I have to admit, I am really looking forward to it. Tanning, conditioning, manicuring, bring it on.

‘Any plans for tonight?’ Oliver asks, as though reading my mind.

‘Not really, glass of wine and a bubble bath,’ I reply, stepping into the lift and hitting the ground floor button.

‘If you don’t have any plans, why don’t you let me take you out for dinner?’

I feel every muscle in my body tighten and seem to lose the ability to speak. I can’t go out for dinner with him! It’s against the rules! I look up at him and feel my knees go weak. Oh my God! I can’t! What about my date tomorrow? How do I say no? How do I turn down the hottest, most talented man I have ever met? I open my mouth, ready to politely decline.

‘OK,’ the word is out before I have chance to realise the enormity of what I have said.

He pauses for a moment before breaking into a huge smile.

‘Great. What do you fancy?’

Sitting in La Fleur, sipping a very nice glass of Chateauneuf du Pape feels incredibly surreal. I have just polished off a lovely Lobster Bisque and I’m slightly concerned that this second glass of wine has pushed me over the driving limit. Oliver has spared no expense and I really do feel rather spoilt. Upon arriving at the restaurant, he ordered the taster menu for both of us and chose a rather pricey bottle of red. My initial panic at having dinner with Oliver was intensified when he ordered a taxi and we pulled up at La Fleur, a quirky French restaurant famed for its champagne dinners. How he even knew about this place, I have no idea.

The yummy food and incredible wine has sedated me massively in the past hour and I really am starting to relax and enjoy myself. I have stopped worrying about Marc and convinced myself that it is only a meal with a colleague, just like when I go out with Lianna. Sort of.

The ridiculously tall waiter collects our plates and refills the wine glasses without saying a word.

‘So tell me, Clara, how does a girl as talented and pretty as you end up single?’ Oliver asks, taking a slug of wine.

His expression is unreadable as he plays with the stem of the glass, not taking his eyes off me for a second.

Oh God. I feel my pulse beating fast and bite my lip in an attempt to stop myself burning up. This is definitely breaking the rules, what was I thinking? I really need to get this back onto a work related path before it gets out of hand. I pause for a second before answering.

‘Well, I have always been truly dedicated to furthering my career and working my way up the ladder. When you are completely committed to something, it makes you very independent, leaving very little time for anything or anyone else.’ Feeling quite pleased with my diplomatic answer, I lean back in my seat and sip my wine.

‘Nice script, but I didn’t want the interview answer.’ We lock eyes for a moment, neither of us saying a word.

Thankfully, I am saved by the return of the waiter. He places our sizzling plates down on the table and wishes us bon appetite, before disappearing to another table. The smell of the Filet Mignon fuses with the Bordelaise sauce, awakening my caveman senses. I pick up my cutlery and dive in, glad to have an excuse not to talk for a while.

I finish up my steak and resist the urge to lick my plate clean. That was seriously good grub.

‘Good?’ Oliver asks wiping his mouth with a napkin.

‘Amazing! Honestly really good.’ I nod enthusiastically and drain my glass before checking my watch.

9.30! Well, I guess that’s my pampering evening out of the window. The little voice in my mind tells me not to be so ungrateful. Here I am, in a beautiful restaurant, being treated to dinner by a gorgeous, talented man and I am grumbling that I have missed out on a night shaving and plucking. Priorities Clara, priorities.

‘How is your house hunting going? Have you managed to find anywhere yet?’

‘I have as it happens. I signed on an apartment in Limechurch just yesterday.’ He digs around in his pocket and pulls out his phone.

I watch him scrolling and tapping until he hands me his phone. Apartment? That is not an apartment! On the screen is a Rightmove listing for a penthouse on the outskirts of town. It has four bedrooms, two bathrooms and decorated throughout in opulent shades of cream and gold. He is rich! I suddenly feel ridiculous at suggesting the modest semi on the corner of my street.

‘Wow,’ I am actually close to speechless.

‘You like?’ He takes the phone back and lays it on the table, ‘It’s not ideally what I would want, but it’s available on a short term lease and I can move in right away, so it ticked a few boxes.’

‘Ticks a few boxes? It’s amazing!’ I exclaim, unable to contain myself.

‘Glad you approve,’ he laughs, ‘I didn’t want to commit myself to buying a property without knowing how long I will be here for, so renting seemed the right way to go.’

I suddenly feel quite saddened at the thought of Oliver not being around. He has only been here for a mere seven days, but it already feels like an eternity. I smile back and move my elbows from the table to allow the waiter to remove our plates, whilst another replaces them with a couple of pots of Creme Brulee.

‘I think I’m going to struggle to fit this in!’ I joke, inspecting the sugary, golden crust.

‘I’m sure you will manage,’ he winks and picks up his spoon.

Right! That was definitely a fat jibe! I give him my sternest look but he just laughs and carries on with his dessert regardless. I return my attention to my Creme Brulee. Cracking the top with my spoon, releasing the gooey goodness is my favourite part of the entire meal.

I find myself thinking that I have really enjoyed myself tonight. Between my mini panic attacks about the nature of our relationship, Oliver has been a true gentleman. In any other circumstance, this would have been my perfect date. My feelings towards Oliver have intensified over the course of today and after tonight, I am pretty sure those feelings are reciprocated.

I have to put a stop to this. I value my job way too much to throw it away by getting involved with a colleague. It’s not professional and as I keep reminding myself, it’s against the rules. At least I have my date with George tomorrow night to keep me occupied in the men department. From now on, my relationship with Oliver will be purely platonic.

‘All done?’ Oliver asks, signalling for the bill.

‘All done. Thank you for a fantastic evening.’ I raise my glass and clink it against his.

‘You are very welcome, Miss. Andrews. We will have to do it again sometime.’

‘We will indeed.’

What. Did. I. Just. Say?

I lay in bed on Saturday morning, reminiscing over my meal with Oliver. It has been a long time since I have been wined and dined. Well, I have been treated to the odd dirty kebab from Marc, but that doesn’t count. It feels quite bizarre to have a post date high doubled with pre date nerves.

I really don’t know what to expect from George. I don’t know, or rather can’t remember, anything about him. What I do know, is that he will have to pull it out of the bag to beat last night.

I roll out of bed and wander over to my wardrobe. What do you wear to an indie night anyway? I haven’t been to an indie club since I was twenty one and going through my Arctic Monkeys phase. I pull out some skinny jeans and hang them on the door handle. You can’t really go wrong with skinny jeans. I study the rail for a while longer, before taking out a red pussy bow blouse and hanging it next to the jeans. Simple, yet sophisticated and hopefully not too librarian.

Satisfied with my outfit, I make for the kitchen, checking the porch for letters on the way. Clutching a handful of junk mail, I switch on the coffee machine and take a seat at the kitchen island. How people get through their daily activities without the help of coffee is beyond me. I pop two slices of bread in the toaster and flick through the pile of letters. After putting the obligatory bills on one side and tearing up some supermarket leaflets, I pour myself a coffee and smother some peanut butter onto my toast.

Curling up on the sofa, I make a mental note of all the beauty treatments I need to do today. For me, getting date ready is almost as fun as the date itself. I munch away at my toast and switch on the TV. Daytime TV is always terrible, even at the weekend. I must go through every channel twice before turning it off in annoyance. Finishing up my breakfast and dumping the plate in the dishwasher, I turn on the radio and dig out my cosmetic case. Spilling out the contents onto the carpet, I pick out a glossy red nail polish and a bottle of instant tan.

As I head into the bathroom, tan in hand, I can’t help but wonder what Oliver is doing tonight. Maybe he is on a date too. Even the thought makes me feel sad. If I am lusting over Oliver, why am I going on a date with a guy I hardly remember? Why am I even bothering? Sitting on the edge of the bath, I try and fail to find a reason for going through with my date with George, but on the other hand, I can’t find a reason not to.

By 7.30 that evening, I am feeling rather nauseas and it’s not solely due to the taxi drivers erratic driving. I have literally spent no less than five hours getting ready for tonight and I have to admit, I am pretty pleased with the outcome. My hair is glossy and tousled and my skin is perfectly golden. After a few attempts, I have, or rather I hope, mastered the perfect winged eyeliner. According to the YouTube tutorial, there is a thin line between cat eye and wang eye. I pray to God I have done it right. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to check, as before I can locate my compact mirror, the taxi pulls to halt.

I look out of the window and tell myself not to panic. It’s not that the place doesn’t look nice, that’s that the problem at all. It’s the gathering of young girls outside in Converse and hoodies that are causing me concern. I look down at my skin tight, wet look, jeans and sky high stilettos and bite my lip. Oh, God. I take a deep breath and pay the driver before climbing out onto the street, telling myself it will be OK. As Mum always said, it’s better to be over dressed than under dressed.

Squeezing between the crowds of hooded teenagers and into the bar, I am pleasantly surprised. If I forget the clothing issue, this place is actually quite nice. It’s bigger than I thought, with individual retro booths surrounding a small stage. Thankful for the dim lighting, I head for the bar and have a quick read through the drinks menu. Champagne cocktails? Indie bars have come a long way since I last stepped foot in one. I order a Kir Royale before taking out my phone and having a quick scan of the room. It is pretty empty to be honest. There are a few couples dotted around and the odd group of friends laughing, but that’s about it.

Convincing myself that I am early, I pick up my cocktail and take a seat at the back of the room, deliberately choosing a table next to the fire exit in case I need to make a run for it. Scrolling through my phone, as to not look like a total loser, I send Lianna a quick text and drop my phone back into my bag. I haven’t seen much of Li this past week and I’m starting to miss my better half, a girly gossip is way overdue.

I am watching a blonde haired Kurt Kobain-a-like setting up a microphone stand when a glass is placed on my table and a man sits down opposite me.

‘Anyone sitting here?’

Oh, God. It’s not a man. It’s a rather plump, tattooed woman, sporting a shaved head and numerous facial piercings. She gestures to the seat and looks me up and down, whilst taking a huge gulp of snake bite. Horrified, I try to string a sentence together that is firm, yet not offensive. I don’t fancy a smack in the mouth from a butch lesbian.

‘Actually, yes they are. I am waiting for my boyfriend,’ I smile apologetically as she shrugs her massive shoulders and stomps back to the bar.

I down my cocktail and look at my watch. 8.15. He is definitely late now, I am well within my social rights to get up and leave. What was I thinking coming here? I am heading for the door when I notice a cute, dark haired man in a checked shirt at the bar, looking directly at me and laughing. I am about to shoot my mouth off when he waves and walks over to me.

It’s him! Has he been stood there laughing at me the whole time? Feeling my blood boil with humiliation, I fold my arms in a strop.

‘You made it,’ he smiles and holds out his arm for a half hug.

I manage a small smile.

‘You’re late,’ I reply before I can stop myself, he laughs hard for a moment before pulling himself together.

‘As a matter of fact, I was two minutes early. I was on my way over when I overheard you say you were waiting for your boyfriend and I didn’t fancy getting a black eye so...,’ he smiles and scratches his beard.

‘Hilarious,’ I frown, trying my hardest not to laugh.

‘Drink?’ He asks, pointing towards the bar.

‘Definitely.’

Something tells me I’m going to need a lot more than one.