his hair. “It’s been turmoil here! One found out about the other; we’ve had tears at meetings—” He stops and peers at me. “Wait. You’ve gone very pale. Are you OK?”
I’m staring back at him, my head thudding. Did he just say—
He didn’t— He couldn’t have—
“Wh-what do you mean?” I say at last. “Sleeping with who? Who do you mean?”
“I don’t think it’s relevant who they were,” says Seb, eyeing me curiously. “I’ve been too indiscreet already.”
“You don’t believe me? Why on earth wouldn’t you—” Seb sounds incredulous—then his face suddenly changes. “Oh strewth. Are you and Ryan…You’re not—” He breaks off, looking agonized. “He said he was single. He told the whole office he was a single guy. I would never have…I’m sorry. That was…”
He stops again, as though he doesn’t know how to finish, and there’s silence.
My eyes are hot. My gaze is flitting around the office. I can’t look at him. I’m thinking: He’s lying. He’s lying.
But I’m also thinking: Why would he lie? Why would he lie?
I’m remembering all the times Ryan was “too tired” for sex. And how understanding I was. How I made him lamb hot pot and rubbed his back and thought, Give it time.
Have I been the biggest, stupidest fool in the world? Did I want the famous Ryan Chalker so badly, I blinded myself to the facts?
“Can I just ask a question?” I manage at last. “Do your staff play pool together three times a week?”
“Three times a week?” Seb seems taken aback. “No! Not that I know of. Maybe once a month. Why?”
“No reason.” I swallow hard. I’m trying to stay composed, even as everything comes crashing down inside me. Ryan wasn’t playing pool. He was with other women. Maybe that Erica he kept talking about. He never wanted to be cozy and intimate and domesticated. I was a free meal and a back rub twice a week.
At last, Seb moves forward a step. I shoot a glance at him and see a troubled, earnest gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But that man is…He’s not good. In my opinion. How long have you known him?”
“All my life,” I retort roughly. “Since I was ten.”
“Ah.” His face crinkles in an expression I can’t read.
“We were only in a casual thing,” I say quickly. “It was no big deal. So.”
But it’s far too little, far too late. I can tell from Seb’s face that he knows I’m devastated. His woodland eyes are alive with sympathy. His brow is furrowed with pity for me. I can’t stand it.
“Anyway. Clearly Ryan and you didn’t work out professionally. Which is a shame. Thank you for explaining it all to me.” I gather my coat and bag with trembling hands.
“Fixie, I’m so sorry.” Seb is watching me. “I didn’t mean— I had no idea—”
“Of course not!” My voice is shrill. “And that’s not why—I simply wanted to find out what had gone wrong professionally with you and Ryan. I was simply interested. You did me a favor, and it went wrong so—” I break off as a new thought hits me. “You did me a favor,” I repeat more slowly. “You hired Ryan. And your company suffered as a result. So now I owe you one.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Seb with a short laugh. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do.”
“You don’t! Fixie, we’re even.”
I can sense his eyes trying to meet mine, his smile trying to lighten things, but I can’t be lightened. I’m heavy and sad and there are tears gathering behind my eyes.
I grab the coffee sleeve, not meeting his eye, and take a pen from his desk. Underneath the Paid I wrote before, I scribble some new words:
I owe you one and I’ll never be able to pay you back. So. Sorry about that.
I sign it, then drop the pen down.
“Bye,” I say, and I turn and go. I can hear Seb saying something else, calling something, but I don’t stop to listen. I need to leave.
* * *
—
By the time I get back to Acton, I feel exhausted. I’ve tried out every phrase in my head, every accusation. I feel as though I’ve had about six rows with Ryan already.
I’m already mentally batting away the patronizing response that I know will come my way. He’ll try to look all surprised, like I’m being possessive and unreasonable. He’ll say, “Fixie, I said we shouldn’t rush things, remember?” The thought makes