Will knows all this. He knows I’m a total people pleaser and he knows getting engaged right now wouldn’t be allowed. That’s even if we were actually ready for something like that. Which we’re absolutely not.
The silence has gone on for too long now, but this isn’t some throwaway conversation I can just ignore. I have to say something, respond properly, talk it through. I can’t escape by pretending I’ve fallen asleep or something.
The silence stretches out.
I pretend to be asleep.
Breathing heavily into his neck, I take a moment to enjoy how nice and peaceful – serene, even – this feels, just lying here in the...
OK, yeah, I’m still thinking about the proposal.
Was it a proposal? There wasn’t a ring. He didn’t go down on one knee. That’s the stuff we’re supposed to expect and want, isn’t it? Honestly, I should be cross he tried to propose in a pool of his own semen. Is that the story I’m meant to tell my family? ‘Oh, Mummy dearest, Will popped the question half asleep while his balls were resting on my leg.’ I wait quietly in the semi darkness, his body heat warming me through.
Why am I not just saying yes? Will and I get on so well. We have so much fun and so much in common. And he’s sexy in a way. Lots of ways. Very sexy! He’s quite tall – tall enough for me anyway, since I’m only five foot three – with dark features and sweet grey eyes. And, oh, he is so, so nice. Really nice. I know that doesn’t sound particularly exciting, but it’s a big plus point in the together-forever column. And personally, I think nice gets a bad rap. You always see people screwing up their nose disdainfully when they call someone ‘nice’ – like it’s a terrible, lame flaw. I don’t get that. Like, my parents’ relationship – that wasn’t nice. They revelled in torturing each other – they still do. They enjoy the drama of being unhappy and fighting constantly. Hating each other seems to be their ‘thing’. Which I guess is fine, except I wish they wouldn’t drag me into it so much.
So yeah, nice is nice. It’s easy and straightforward and there’s no fighting.
OK, look, the only tiny problem with nice is that it’s hard to criticise someone for anything when you know their intentions are so good. I really struggle to tell Will when he’s upset me, because I know he would nevermeanto hurt me. Telling him off would be like kicking an adorable, innocent puppy, and I couldn’t do that to a puppy. Not that he’s a puppy. My boyfriend is not a puppy. He’s lovely. And even if he were a puppy, puppies areBRILLIANT. But he’s not one. Don’t tell him I called him a puppy.
The heat of his body is suddenly too much and I roll away from him, my mind drifting into a weird white future. And when I fall asleep, I dream vividly about a screaming woman in a florist, ripping the heads off puppies.
6
Rex barrels into the meeting room, sending interns scattering like bowling pins as he goes. Grabbing a chair at the head of the table, he spins it backwards, kicking a researcher in the crotch as he mounts it. The guy howls but Rex takes no notice.
‘Are these trousers too tight?’ he barks, and the whole room’s eye level drops to the bulge on display, straddling the open back of his chair.
Aslan, sitting across from me, is the first to recover.
‘Absolutely not, Rex,’ he says authoritatively. ‘In fact, I’ve been meaning to tell you all morning how bloody fantastic yoursilhouettelooks today.’ He makes deliberate eye contact with me and I have to turn away, pretending to look for a notebook. He will not make me laugh in a meeting again. Not this time.
Rex looks suspicious. ‘Are you sure? Do you think maybe I should go even tighter then?’
Aslan pretends to think about this hard. ‘Look, Rex, I’m going to level with you.’ He leans in across the table. ‘Yes, I think you should go tighter.’
Rex nods very seriously and my boss, the series producer, clears his throat.
‘Maybe we could chat about this in wardrobe after today’s meeting, Rex?’ he says firmly. ‘We have a lot to go through.’
Rex looks bored, but listens as we talk through the latest batch of questions and go through any updates on the live celeb special. That’s my area, and I list off who we’ve got tentative yesses from so far. Then I tell them about the ex-Hollyoaksactor and his rider request. Everyone laughs except Rex.
‘Can we do that then? Can we request hookers? Why didn’t I know about that?’ he says to me, completely straight-faced.
I swallow my feminist outrage at the word ‘hookers’ and pretend to think about it, hoping my producer will save me. He’s meant to be my manager; surely this is inappropriate work conduct? Have we learned nothing from Harvey Weinstein?
After an awkward silence, Aslan clears his throat and dives in. ‘Actually, Rex, rumour on the A-list grapevine has it that sex workers are totally passé these days.’ He gives Rex a jovial bro (brovial) slap on the back and laughingly adds, ‘And you can’t fool us, Rex! We know you don’t need to pay someone to take care of your needs – you have hordes of women clamouring to date you! Especially in those trousers, I bet. Look, you can’t walk into a room without people falling at your feet.’ He gestures at the researcher on the ground, still holding his kicked penis. ‘You’re just trying to make us all feel better about having to be close to someone so attractive and intimidating, aren’t you, Rex?’ He finishes his speech with a wink.
Rex takes the bait and nods self-importantly. ‘You got me, Aslan. Never mind, Lilah.’
The producer clears his throat and returns to the agenda.
Aslan grins at me across the table. I smile gratefully.
I’m so jealous of Aslan. He’s got the Rex-pandering absolutely nailed – he always knows exactly what to say to get the host to do exactly what he wants. Obviously, I’m a massive suck-up too, but in a wimpy, passive way. Aslan knows how to manipulate people with his sycophancy. I just cower and let them take what they need.
I suppress a yawn, wishing the room was cooler. The meeting rooms are always so hot, it’s infuriating. The company policy is that it’s not worth installing air conditioning given we usually have exactly one day of summer in Manchester per year. But these rooms somehow magnify the sun’s rays, so that it feels like a sauna, night and day. And with most of the production team all crammed in together – and Rex’s crotch stretched out and bulging across the back of that chair, giving off waves of heat (I swear there’s practically steam wafting off his groin) – there’s no escaping it.
But it’s not just the temperature making me sleepy. I was out at Lauren’s again until fairly late last night. This week’s obsession is with her wedding Instagram account @BestWeddingEverCharlieLovesLauren. She’s put me in charge of it (password: AllOtherWeddingsSuck) and says I need to get everyone to follow the account now, before the wedding, so we can keep everyone updated on plans and new developments. She also asked me if I could get everyone I work with to follow the account – to ‘get the numbers up’. So far, only Aslan has obliged.
