Several hours fly by in what feel like minutes, which is what happens when I’m in the flow. I didn’t think I’d be able to forget everything that’s happening outside the workroom, but designing with Leo… It’s quite magical how in sync we are. I’m getting even more excited about this collection.
‘What do you think?’ he asks, showing me a sketch of a man’s hat, a nod to the Mad Men era when men wore hats every day.
‘I love the design, but are our customers going to want hats?’
He regards the sketch. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. It’s all cyclical, isn’t it? I mean, consider the current fashion – even mom jeans are back.’
‘Not according to Lorenzo,’ I quip, glancing at the low-slung jeans he’s wearing today. I do love wearing high-waisted trousers, but with denim, I prefer a lower cut, a look that Leo wears well. Too well. When I stop staring at his arse, I discover he’s caught me. His mouth twitches and I clear my throat.
‘Maybe Lorenzo is ahead of the curve,’ he says, bringing us back to the conversation.
‘That’s why you’re the next big thing,’ I reply.
‘I thought you were the next big thing.’
‘No, I’m the wunderkind.’
‘But we’re the same age.’
‘Yeah, but you look older than me.’
‘Hey,’ he says with a grin.
‘I’m just speaking the truth.’
He holds my gaze longer than is comfortable and I look away.
‘So, we need to decide,’ I say, redirecting the conversation. ‘Do we want to incorporate hats into the collection? Put them back into the fashion rotation, so to speak?’
‘Hmm.’ He adds some more strokes of the pencil to the sketch.
‘Well, let’s think about it this way – in your “Off the Beaten Track” show, the hat was a singular point of reference, one design as the thread connecting each look.’
‘Right.’
‘And it will sell – the hat – because it’s you and people seem to think your style is cool—’
‘Seem to think?’ he asks, interrupting.
Oops.
‘You know what I mean,’ I say, sidestepping the slip. ‘Anyway, if we really do want to feature hats in this collection, then we need to decide: one design to act as a thread or different designs for different looks.’
‘The distinction being that the second option will be us “bringing back the hat”? Or attempting to.’
‘I think so. Don’t you?’
‘Excuse me, Elle,’ says Zara. I’ve been so caught up with Leo, I didn’t even notice her standing there.
‘What’s up?’
She’s grasping her phone as though it holds the secrets to life, the universe, and everything. She holds it up. ‘Just wondering if you’ve seen this?’
I take the phone from her, and Leo leans in to read over my shoulder. It’s some sort of article with the headline:
Announcing a Collaboration Between the World’s Hottest Young Designers
The first two lines mention me and Leo and how we’re working together. I’m about to read on when Leo steps away, sighing loudly and cupping the back of his neck with both hands.
‘Thank god,’ he says. He expels another loud breath.
It’s obvious Leo had something to do with this but before I ask, I turn back to Zara. ‘You’ve read it?’
‘Yep. It’s about how you’re just working together – that nothing’s going on between you,’ she says, glancing at Leo. ‘Nothing romantic,’ she adds unnecessarily.
This brings instantaneous relief – I’ve hated being painted as ‘the other woman’. But it also highlights the crux of my dilemma: that the more time I spend with Leo, the more I want there to be something romantic between us.
‘What site is this on?’ I ask her, hoping this will set yesterday’s tabloid readers straight.
‘It’s everywhere – Fashion Now, Today in Fashion, First Looks.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, disappointed.
‘It should have gone out wider than that,’ Leo pipes in.
So, this was his doing.
‘Wait, I think it has,’ says Zara, navigating on her phone. ‘Look,’ she says, holding it up for us to see, ‘it’s on the BBC site.’
‘Well, if they’ve picked it up…’ says Leo, voicing my exact thought.
‘Thank you, Zara,’ I say.
‘Sure,’ she replies with a cheerful smile. I suspect she might be a tiny bit disappointed that I’m not embroiled in a love triangle with Leo and Franzia – she can get in the queue – but I do appreciate her bringing this to me.
‘So, the clearing of Mystery Woman’s name…’ says Leo, coming back to the workbench.
‘Indeed. Your doing, I presume?’
‘Joint effort. I called Aunt Serena this morning. Super late her time, but she’s a night owl. Anyhoo, we agreed to confront the rumours head on, get out in front of them, and clarify that you and I are simply colleagues, pooling our talents in a collaborative collection – and that we were close back in college, in case that comes up at some point.’
The ‘simply colleagues’ stings, as does the ‘close back in college’ remark, especially after our moment yesterday in the museum, but I let it go – for now.
‘And “World’s Hottest Young Designers”?’
‘Aunt Serena’s idea, to build the hype.’ I nod. ‘You can read the whole thing, if you like,’ he says, taking his phone out of his front pocket.
‘Oh really? Why, thank you so much!’
‘Wait, are you pissed at me or something?’
‘No! Well… yes, actually.’
He visibly flinches. Clearly, he expected me to be grateful. And part of me is, I suppose, but I’m also tired of this constant turmoil. Ever since Leo Jones came back into my life: turmoil, confusion, havoc… My mind is ready with a plethora of adjectives to describe how it feels being with him – or not being with him – tossing up words like a thesaurus on a trampoline.
Because other than when we’re working and I can focus on our designs, I’m wildly lurching between attraction, anger, and confusion. I look past him to find my team watching us from the other end of the workroom. Cassie’s still at the production meeting offsite, so the office is empty, and I stride towards the door, waving for him to follow. He does.
When he closes the door behind him, we end up staring at each other, him looking confused and me unsure where to start.
‘You can begin with why you’re pissed at me,’ he says, somehow reading my mind. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am.’
‘Right, of course, so you’re pleased but you’re also pissed at me. I can’t win with you, Ellie.’
‘It’s Elle, and what do you mean, you can’t win with me? What are you trying to win exactly?’
‘I just want—’
‘What? What do you want?’
‘Oh my god, will you let me speak?’
So, it’s not just me who’s cross then.
‘Go on,’ I say.
‘I just want us to be able to work together in peace – I mean, we’re really good together.’
And there’s the (flipping bastard bugger arsehole) rub! Well, since he brought it up!
‘I have a question for you,’ I say.
He squares his shoulders, as if steeling himself.
‘Yesterday, at the museum… What was that?’
Now he’s obviously even more confused. ‘You mean, why did I take you there? Because I—’
‘No, not that. That was… that was very thoughtful, taking me there,’ I concede. ‘That exhibit was inspiring and it ties in nicely with our— Never mind. I’m not asking about that. I’m asking about the moment – you know, when you and I— Gah! Why is this so hard to say, and why are you looking at me like I’ve gone mad and you have no idea what I’m talking about?’
‘Because I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he replies steadily.
I regard him closely for any signs he’s being duplicitous and decide he’s not lying, he’s just obtuse. And then his entire countenance shifts.
‘Oh, right,’ he says, his voice low. ‘I think I know what this is.’
‘You think?’
He locks eyes with mine and we’re still for so long, this could be a showdown in an old Western – apt, I suppose, for a stand-off with a bloke from Texas.
‘Okay, I felt it too,’ he whispers hoarsely.
I step back involuntarily, as if this revelation has invaded my space. It’s certainly sucked all the oxygen from the air – or it feels like it has, as I’m having trouble breathing.
‘What?’ I say – an inane question but my mind, so quick to prove my vast vocabulary just moments ago, has gone numb.
‘You heard me. I felt it – of course I did.’
‘What do you mean, “of course”?’
‘Come on, Ellie.’ He drops his head and shakes it. I don’t even mind that he called me Ellie again. In fact, I kind of like it. But I would like this conversation a lot more if we could get to the crux of what’s going on between us.
‘Leo?’
‘I mean, of course I’m attracted to you. I always was, from the second I saw you…’
‘At the restaurant?’ I ask, puzzled.
‘On the quad… at college. You asked if I needed help finding my class and I was dumbstruck. I could barely get any words out, I was so taken aback by how pretty you were.’
This isn’t how I remember it – if anything, it was the other way around – but I guess you never truly know what’s going on inside another person’s head.
‘And, of course, you’re even hotter now,’ he says with a grin – that grin, Leo’s grin.
Only I don’t return it, because he’s making light of what’s going on, which is that, once again, I’m falling for him – between bouts of being infuriated and frustrated – and he’s feeling nothing more than attraction.
Being hot for someone is a thousand miles away from wanting to have a relationship with them. But at least I have my answer. It’s shit and I will likely eat my feelings later – actually, I will do that – but it’s an answer.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, finally realising we’re not on the same page.
I shake my head. ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. We should get back to work.’
‘But…’
‘Look, we have a history, and that history includes us being mad for each other. You’re still attractive – even though you’re going through some sort of Witcher phase with your hair’ – I don’t mention that I quite like him as a platinum blond – ‘and apparently, I’m still attractive. Or even more so, as you’ve just said. Glad we’ve cleared the air.’
I go to walk past him, but he grabs my wrist, just like he did that night in the restaurant. Only this time, I don’t snatch it back. He’s so close to me and smells so good, heat blooms between my legs. It would be so easy to lean against him, stand on my tiptoes, and press my mouth to his.
Easy but disastrous.
‘Let me go,’ I whisper, wanting the exact opposite. Brilliant. I’ve become one of those women who says one thing while meaning the opposite. Cassie would never end up in this situation.
‘You’ve got it wrong,’ he says, his voice low in my ear. I bravely meet his eye – and I say ‘bravely’ because this office has a glass door and glass walls and I know my team is probably watching us and I am this close to throwing myself at Leo.
The way he’s looking at me doesn’t help either.
‘It’s not just attraction.’
What?! my mind screams, but I remain perfectly still save for swallowing the lump in my throat.
‘It’s not, Elle, but I’m eng—’
‘Engaged,’ I finish. The word is a metaphoric cold shower and I step away from him. He lets me, his grasp on my wrist releasing.
‘Yeah. And we already dodged yesterday’s bullet with the press release. We can’t risk fanning the flames,’ he adds, mixing his metaphors. ‘At least not right now, because Franzia is—’
‘Where is she, anyway?’ I ask, interjecting. ‘Franzia?’
I look around as if she might pop her head into the office any moment.
‘What do you mean? She’s working. In Paris.’
‘So, she didn’t arrive in London two days ago?’
‘Sorry, yeah, London. I meant London. Wait, how do you know tha—’
‘What sort of man loses track of which city his fiancée’s in?’ I ask, interrupting again. I am not about to admit to stalking Franzia on socials.
‘A busy one,’ he replies, a sharp edge to his voice.
‘Right. And do you talk to her?’
‘Well, yeah – of course. I talked to her just last night about the photos of you and m—’
‘No. I mean do you talk? At the end of the day, do you… you know: “Hello, darling, how was your day?” That sort of thing.’
‘I don’t—’
‘I mean, where is she, your fiancée, if you’re so in love? Shouldn’t she be here, sharing your excitement about your next collection?’
‘You’re being hurtful.’
‘I’m being hurtful? You just told me you have feelings for me when you’re engaged to someone else!’ I’m bordering on shouting now – not only carelessly indiscreet but also highly unprofessional. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. ‘I’m sorry. That was…’
‘It’s okay. I get it.’
‘It’s not and you don’t.’ I sigh, resigned with what I am about to say. ‘I don’t know how this can work, Leo, us designing a collection together. I had my doubts when Cassie first raised the idea – actually, I knew it was a terrible idea and I was right.’
He starts to speak, but I stop him with a raised hand.
‘Please let me finish.’ He dips his chin, indicating for me to continue. ‘I never got over you. I was broken by what you did. It took months before I could even design again – the one thing I live for and I couldn’t even look at a sketch book. And I’ve spent a decade living with this spectre of you, going on rubbish first dates with the wrong men, discarding them almost immediately because none of them lived up to you – to what I had with you. To what we had.
‘And these past few weeks have been brilliant and infuriating and exciting and miserable. Because there have been many times – too many times – when I’ve thought – hoped, rather – that you would explain why you left London the way you did – and why you cut off all ties – and then we’d reconnect’ – I cough out a derisive laugh – ‘and get back together! How fucked up is that?!’ I ask, throwing my hands in the air at the absurdity of the thought.
‘So, how about this?’ I ask, lowering my voice. ‘We call it good, our misguided partnership, Ser waves her magic wand to smooth things over in the press, and we never have to see each other again?’
His face falls. I’ve clearly hurt him, which stabs at my heart. But I can’t keep working with him, especially now. My already bruised heart would completely shatter – again – and what sort of collection would that yield?
‘I am sorry, Elle, about how abruptly I left London. Truly. It all just happened so fast – the old man’s heart attack… my mom begging me to come home right away… It killed me to see her like that, so lost… She needed me, but I had you and I didn’t know what to do. I wish I’d had more time with you. I wish I’d been able to say a proper goodbye… I wish a lot of things, but I never wanted to hurt you like I did.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, the wind thoroughly knocked out of my sails.
‘And as for the other thing, breaking off all contact… In hindsight, that was fucked up and hurtful and… Look, I could try to explain my reasons – as stupid as they were – but I guess it doesn’t matter any more, does it? I’ll just get my things,’ he says, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s leaving – like I told him to – and this might be it: our final moment together. Ever.
But there’s something else, something niggling at me, and then it comes to me.
‘Wait.’
He turns around.
‘Before, you said “we can’t fan the flames” or something like that, and then you said “at least not right now”. What did you mean by that? The “not right now” part?’
He runs a hand over his mouth, clearly conflicted, then drops his hand to his side. He lifts his gaze, and those dark-grey eyes bore into me.
‘The engagement has got to seem real for at least another month, possibly longer. That’s the arrangement.’
‘What?’ I gasp.
‘It’s not real. We were never together. It’s all been orchestrated. I didn’t even know about the engagement side of things till Franzia made the announcement. I thought it was just going to be a few dates over a few weeks, but now… now it’s become this whole fucking thing.’
My knees buckle – actually buckle – and I grasp the edge of my desk to steady myself, so I don’t drop to the floor.
