The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,12

that most of the time I’ve been with Tim, I’ve been secretly fantasizing about another man.

I sip at my coffee and prepare myself mentally for work. Despite my realization that I might not be quite as broken hearted as I first feared, I still want to look good. In fact, I want to look amazing. Or as amazing as I’m capable of looking, not being a bombshell like Vanessa, or a model type, like my work friend Suzy. No one wants to be left for someone else, and I want Tim to regret his decision, even if I don’t wish to take him back.

I’ve been moping around looking like a mess for weeks now, so today is the day I buck my ideas up and try to look hot, or at least decent.

It still stings that Konstantin told me I lost my … what did he call it? My sunshine? I’ve thought myself, many a time recently, that I’ve lost my sparkle. So from this week, no more working ultra-long hours; instead, I’ll make sure to get some sun during lunchtime instead of sitting at my desk. I might even get some highlights in my hair, just a few subtle ones to mimic the color it used to have when I was a much more outdoorsy person.

Today, though, today I can make up for my lack of glowing health using fakery. Yes, makeup will be my friend. I might not normally wear much, but today I will make an effort. Today Tim will regret letting me go because from now on I’m no longer going to be dowdy Cassie, but I’m going to be sexy-office-Barbie Cassie.

Five minutes later and the futility of my plan is clear. I don’t own any sexy-office-Barbie clothes. I’ll have to make the best of a bad situation.

I spend ages rummaging through my wardrobe and decide on a tight black skirt, which is years old but luckily still fits. I pair it with a smart hot pink shirt, about the only splash of color in my wardrobe. Tonight, I’m going online shopping.

I tuck the shirt into my high-waisted skirt and add a black patent belt. Then I go all out and add some black stockings, and the only pair of heels I own. The ones I wore the other night aren’t mine but are on loan from Vanessa. The ones I own are mid-heel and black, sensible really, but they give me a bit of added height compared to the running shoes and smart/casual black pants I normally wear for work.

Still pissed off by Konstantin fiddling with my hair and telling me it looked dull, I pull it back into a high ponytail and then brighten my face by adding blush, mascara, and very unusually for me, a hot pink lipstick.

I don’t often wear bright lipstick as I have pouty lips and I think it makes me look too … I don’t know, too attention seeking maybe. Today, though, these lips are going to be the star of the office.

I empty my coffee into the sink and march to the bathroom where I rinse with mouthwash, and spritz on another layer of Channel, and I’m ready.

The studio flat I rent came with a parking slot in an underground garage. I wanted to move to something bigger and was looking at houses with Tim. Now, I only have my wage, but it’s a good one for a person as young as myself. I tell myself at least I’m not alone and trying to live on my barista salary, which would have been impossible. At least these days I don’t need Tim financially to be able to afford the rent.

Locking my door and heading down in the elevator to the parking garage, I climb into my modest little car and head to work.

Thirty minutes later, I arrive at work and park in my allocated space. It freaks me out that I have an allocated space at work. It’s so grown up. The company is quite small, but successful and growing. We do a variety of IT stuff, some of it pretty cutting edge. The place started out as a game design company, but some of the programmers would be loaned out to other businesses to help if they were stuck, friends of the owner mostly, to begin with.

Over time, this morphed into a full IT desk and consultancy. Now, we’re a hybrid firm and split down the middle between the creative side and us workhorse consultants. My role