‘Pretty much. Evie’s very much “strike first, think later”.’ He chuckles. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll soon learn to filter through the garbage to get to the gold.’
‘And how much of this would you say is gold?’ I ask, frantically rummaging around in my drawer for my rough notebook.
‘So far? I’d say about fourteen per cent. But I’ve only read as far as Saturday, two p.m., so I’ve still got like eighty emails to go.’
I don’t know how he deals with this all the time– the sheer volume is making me feel sick to my stomach. I don’t even think these can go straight into the notebook. It’s a print, highlight and filter kind of job.
‘Your head must be gone. Get the notebooks out,’ he says. There’s no malice to be found in his words, even a hint of a smile creeping through in his voice. He’s choosing the high road and, in turn, a second chance at our partnership– panic attack and heated arguments a thing of the past.
‘Not at all.’ I’m lying through my teeth.
If he can be a new person this Monday, then so can I.
‘It’s a lot, yeah, but obviously just part of the job. I’m pretty good at going with the flow,’ I say as breezily as I can.
‘No one relaxed actually uses the phrase “go with the flow”.’
‘Sorry, can’t hear you, too lost in the flow. Please try again later.’
It’s a dorky joke and I regret it the second I finish, but his laugh is instant. He tries to hide his chuckle as it leaves his mouth, muffling it with a sleeve or something, but I can still hear it clear as day over the line, permeating through the speaker and soothing my stampeding stomach.
‘It’s not all bad. Did you get to Sunday, 3.12 p.m., yet?’ he asks.
I quickly scroll through and click on the email in question. It’s another calendar invite, this Friday at 9.30 p.m., withWILL PAY OVERTIMEwritten alongside the subject.
I read out loud. ‘Cocktail tasting.’
‘At the La La Lounge, yeah. Evie’s friend’s the owner, designs her bespoke cocktails each year. It’s proper fancy,’ he says.
‘Like black-tie fancy?’ I ask.
He laughs again. If it wasn’t clear before that I don’t get out much, it certainly is now.
‘Every time I’ve gone, men wear shirts and jeans, but all the women have been in high heels and tiny dresses.’
I huff. ‘Lovely.’
‘I’m not complaining,’ he replies.
And once again I am reminded of just who I am dealing with: the boy who was such an inexplicable hit with every girl we went to school with. They would swoon over him and whisper about him in the hallways. He was a natural-born flirt. Except when, of course, he sat next to me.
‘You still there?’ he asks, filling the silence I’ve left.
I lie quickly. ‘Yeah, sorry. Just reading through. Shall we make notes and exchange them on Wednesday?’
‘Sure, but we might have to do it over email. Evie wants to steal you our first day this week.’
‘Steal me? Alone?’ My voice is higher than I’d like.
‘Yeah. Can you make it? I’ll send you timings once she gets back to me.’
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘So you know when to show up. . .’
‘Aiden. . .’ I plead with him, too stressed to waste time rolling my eyes.
‘Look, I don’t know– she just told me to get you here Wednesday. I didn’t care enough to ask any more.’
