charity to meet girls,” says Topher without missing a beat. “Girls love charity. I bet you love charity, Ava.” He glances up at me with his deep-set eyes. “Of course you do. ‘Oh, charity. I just love charity. Let’s have sex, because you gave a fuckload of cash to charity.’ ”
“Who did you have sex with?” asks Nihal with interest.
“You know who I had sex with,” replies Topher after a slight pause. “And you know she broke my heart. So thank you for dragging it up.”
“Oh, her.” Nihal makes a face. “Sorry. That was a while ago, though,” he adds, practically whispering. “I thought maybe you meant someone else.”
Topher raises his head and glowers at him. “The snack robot needs reloading.”
“It’s your turn,” says Nihal timidly.
“Fuck.” Topher smacks his hand on his desk with a Shakespearean level of despair. “That is the worst household job. The worst.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or psychotic. Or maybe both.
“The worst household job?” I challenge him. “Loading up a robot with snacks?”
“Yes, of course,” says Topher, picking up his phone and tapping at it with a frown. “The more convenient and helpful a machine is, the more enraged I feel when I actually have to do anything about it. Like, unloading a clean dishwasher. I wash dishes by hand just to avoid unloading, don’t you?” His expression suddenly clears. “Nihal, you lying shit, it’s your turn.” He brandishes his phone at Nihal. “I have it logged. Your. Turn.”
“I don’t have a dishwasher,” I inform him.
“OK.” Topher nods. “Well, if you ever get one, you’ll love it for a week. From then on, you’ll take it for granted and complain when you have to give it the barest care and attention. Humans are ungrateful shits. My job is in human nature,” he adds. “So I know.”
“Human nature?” I stare at him curiously. “What do you do?”
“I run polls.” Topher gestures at the three computers on his desk. “Opinion polls. I gather viewpoints, crunch numbers, and tell politicians and companies what people think. And it’s not pretty. Humans are terrible. But you probably knew that.”
“Humans aren’t terrible!” I reply indignantly. I know he’s joking. (I think he’s joking.) But I still feel the need to put in a more positive viewpoint. “You shouldn’t go around saying humans are terrible. It’s too depressing! You have to think positive!”
Topher looks highly amused. “How many humans have you questioned in your time, Ava?”
“I…I mean…” I flounder. “Obviously I talk to people….”
“I have the data.” He pats one of his computers. “Humans are weak, hypocritical, sanctimonious, inconsistent….I’m ashamed of humans. I include myself, naturally. Nihal, are you going to load up the fucking robot or what?”
“I have to send an email,” says Nihal, with mild-mannered determination. “I’ll do it in a minute.”
“What do you do?” I ask Nihal.
“Nihal runs Apple, only he’s too modest to say so,” says Topher.
“Stop saying that, Topher,” says Nihal, looking flustered. “I’m not that senior. I’m like…It’s not…”
“But you work for Apple.”
Nihal nods, then says politely, “What do you do, Ava?”
“I write pharmaceutical copy for a company called Brakesons,” I explain. “They make drugs and medical supplies.”
“I know Brakesons.” Nihal nods again.
“But I also want to go into aromatherapy, and I’ve got a novel on the go,” I add, “so…you know. A few things. I like challenging myself.”
“Cool,” says Nihal shyly, then puts his headphones on and resumes typing. Both guys are so absorbed in their work, I’m not sure what to do next. But then, in a sudden gesture, Topher pushes back his chair.
“Fine,” he says. “I’m going to load up the robot. Nihal, you owe me a kidney.”
As Topher strides into the kitchen, Matt reappears from the bedroom, his gaze downcast.
“Hi!” I say, feeling more relieved than I want to admit that he’s back. “Everything OK?”
“Oh.” Matt focuses on me with what seems like an effort. “Yes. Have you got a drink? Are you all right? Have the guys been looking after you?”
“Yes!” I say. “I’m having a lovely time!”
I wait for Matt to respond—then realize he didn’t even hear me. He looks stressed out. Oh God, has something bad happened at work?
“I want to hear all about what you do,” I say encouragingly. “Shall we go and sit down? Or…shall I give you a massage?”
“Sorry.” Matt rubs his forehead. “No, it’s fine. Just…I have a couple of things to think about. Give me ten minutes?”
“Take your time,” I say, trying to sound reassuring and soothing. “I’m happy here.