The Last Word, page 23
I reach his floor and walk slowly along the landing, my heart pounding against my chest as I try to focus on what I’m going to say exactly. There’s no easy way to break up with someone. I just have to keep it simple and calm.
Approaching his door, I hear music coming from inside and instantly feel awash with dread. He’s probably home. That’s what I want, I tell myself, it’s a good thing he’s home. It’s like pulling off a Band-Aid. It’s unpleasant and painful, but it’s a necessity.
I lift my hand to knock on the door but pause when I hear a voice in there floating above the music. It’s someone laughing, but not Liam, nor his male flatmate.
It’s a woman.
Her shrill giggles are soon accompanied by Liam’s booming laugh that I recognize immediately. I wait for a bit longer to knock, turning my head and pressing my ear up against the door. Listening to their muffled conversation, largely obscured by the guitar-led crooning music, I’m almost certain that there’s just the two of them in there. Their voices stop after a while and all I can hear is the music, their conversation obviously coming to an end for one reason or another.
Interesting.
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door.
There are footsteps and then it swings open. Liam stands in the doorway wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. His hair is tousled, sticking up in an unruly manner, and he has a telltale tint of pink across his lips, the kind left behind from lipstick. His eyes widen in horror when he sees me standing there.
“H-Harper,” he stutters.
He begins to say something else, but I push past him into the flat to find a raven-haired woman sitting on his sofa in a gorgeous set of lacy teal underwear and one of his shirts thrown over the top. She’s clutching a half-drunk bottle of beer and sits bolt upright as I march in, wrapping the shirt across her chest as quickly as possible. I recognize her from the charity ball—she was the woman that Liam left with that night.
“Harper, it’s not what it looks like,” Liam claims, appearing next to me, his bare feet sliding across the floor. “This is Bianca, the lead singer of Halo Skewed. Like I told you, we were working tonight on band stuff and then … uh … we thought … we thought we would—”
“Have sex?” I finish for him.
He winces. “No! No, no, no, no, no.”
“Yes,” Bianca corrects with a sigh. I turn to her, impressed.
“Bianca!” he hisses.
“Liam, she’s not an idiot,” she reasons before looking up at me. “Are you an idiot?”
“No, I’m not.”
“There you go.” Bianca shrugs. “I’m in my underwear, Liam. Might as well be honest.”
“Yes, Liam, might as well be honest,” I say, crossing my arms.
He deflates, scrunching up his eyes and burying his face in his hands. After emitting an irritated groan, he jerks his head back up and drops his arms, inhaling deeply.
“I’m so sorry, Harper. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Was it just tonight?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies firmly.
“No,” Bianca says.
“Seriously!” Liam cries, looking at her aghast.
“Sorry, but I’ve been cheated on before and the truth always comes out anyway, so it’s better she knows the whole story!”
“Thank you, Bianca, I’d appreciate that,” I say, really warming to her despite the circumstances. “Liam, could you expand?”
“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth, before looking at me pleadingly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I promise, Harper. When Bianca and I met at the charity ball, it was completely innocent, and I went to see the band play and then we went for drinks afterward and … there was an undeniable spark between us. I’m so sorry.”
“So it was that night and then tonight?” I ask.
“And a few other nights in between,” he mumbles.
“Ah.”
“Harper,” he begins, “I really like you! I’m confused! I’m completely torn about this!”
“That wasn’t what you were saying to me earlier,” Bianca seethes, her expression darkening.
“My head is all over the place,” Liam says, appealing to both of us.
I hold up my hand. “Let me stop you there, Liam. As horrible as it is to walk in on this … scenario, I appreciate your honesty. Even if it was really Bianca’s candor that aided yours. But I need to be honest myself—I came here tonight to break up with you.”
He recoils, looking insulted. “You did?”
“Yes. For a while now I haven’t felt quite right about us, and I don’t think we … mesh well.”
“We mesh perfectly!” he claims, and I wonder if Bianca is as stumped as I am about why he’s bothering to defend our shattered relationship.
“Liam, we went to a black-tie ball together and barely acknowledged each other. Don’t you think that says quite a lot? And on top of all that—” I hesitate, taking a breath “—I’ve had feelings for someone else. Tonight, we kissed.”
Liam gasps. “You kissed? Who?”
“Ryan.”
He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “That guy you hate?”
“It’s complicated. Anyway, we kissed—only kissed—but then I stopped him because I said it was wrong when I had a boyfriend, so I came straight here to end things with you.” I gesture to Bianca. “But I realize now that I’m not the worst person in this relationship—you’ve earned that particular accolade, Liam.”
“I thought it was one mistake with Bianca,” he says hurriedly, “but then it happened again and again and … I should have told you.”
“Yeah.” I nod, putting my hands on my hips. “Clearly we’re not meant to be.”
We fall into silence, the music still playing in the background. I clear my throat.
“Right, I should go. This has been … enlightening. For everyone involved. Bianca, I don’t love that you were sleeping with a guy that you knew had a girlfriend, but I want to thank you for encouraging Liam to be honest and for telling me the truth.”
“No problem,” she says, with a nod in solidarity. “And if it helps, I think you’re a wicked writer, with a very entertaining style.”
“That shouldn’t help, but it really does. Thank you. Liam, you’ve been a total dickhead, but saying that, I think this relationship was fizzling out anyway, and I did kiss someone else behind your back. That was wrong and I’m sorry. Anyway, please could I have my key back?”
He plods off toward the bedroom and Bianca and I wait in silence until he returns, placing my flat key into the palm of my hand.
“Great, well, I should go.”
“Wait, Harper,” Liam says, grabbing my arm, “are you sure you don’t want to talk things through? It feels sad to break up in this way.”
“I’m not sure there’s much to talk about, Liam, because there’s a half-naked girl on your sofa. I think we can agree this is over and the best thing to do is to wish each other luck and move on.”
He looks downcast. “Can I call or message you? I have things I want to say.”
I glance at Bianca. She shrugs, looking as bewildered as I feel.
“Um … maybe message, if you’d really like.”
“Thank you,” he says in a gratingly austere manner.
He holds his arms out to me, and I realize he wants a hug, which I guess is appropriate if we want to end this amicably. And even though I’m disgusted that he’s been shagging Bianca, I want out of this relationship, and there’s no need to make this even more excruciatingly awkward than it already is. I hug him back and he holds me tighter than I was expecting, causing me to stumble as he pulls me closer.
“Thanks for everything,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m so sorry this didn’t work out.”
“Me too,” I reply, hoping he’ll release me soon. “Goodbye, Liam.”
He squeezes me once more, before giving me a forceful kiss on the cheek and then letting me go from his grasp. I step back, smile at him, and then head toward the door, desperate to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
I’m moments from freedom when he calls out, “Harper, wait!” causing me to stop in the doorway, forced to turn around again.
“Yes?”
“I just want to check,” he says, his expression brightening, “you’ll still write a profile piece on Halo Skewed, right? They really are fantastic. I think they’re a great fit for the magazine. Oh, and don’t forget about that hot new talent agencies article I pitched.”
I stare at him. “I … I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Great.” He gives me a thumbs-up.
And on that note, I leave, never more grateful to hear a door slam shut behind me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“When I message Mimi to tell her about the breakup the next morning, she is over at my flat in a flash with some kind of gross green juice that she forces me to drink because, according to her, it is important that I look after myself “during this tumultuous time.”
She doesn’t know the half of it.
Once she’s sat down on my sofa and I’ve had a few gulps of the green sludge, I decide to tell her about the kiss with Ryan, too. I hold back on revealing our history—I’m not ready to go into all of that now, I don’t have the energy—but I tell her about the trip to Manchester and what happened when we got back to his London flat.
“What kind of kiss was it?” she asks, her eyes wide with excitement. “Was it like a tentative peck? Or was it passionate?”
“Wait,” I say, surprised by her reaction. “You’re not shocked that Ryan and I kissed in the first place?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. I told you there was chemistry there. I called it as soon as I saw the way you two looked at each other in Meeting Room Three! Now … I ask again, what kind of kiss are we talking about here?”
“I was up against the wall.”
She exhales. “Sounds hot.”
“It was hot. It was the best kiss of my life.”
Which is the absolute truth.
I tell Mimi about showing up at Liam’s place unannounced, and she swiftly agrees that it was a good thing I met the surprisingly delightful Bianca, because otherwise I might have never heard the truth. Knowing that Liam cheated has spared me excessive guilt over my kiss with Ryan.
“Have you told him?” Mimi asks when I conclude the saga.
“Told who what?”
“Have you told Ryan about the breakup?” Mimi says, looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind.
“Oh. No, not yet.”
She gasps. “Why the hell not?”
I bury my head in my hands. When I got home from Liam’s last night, I spent a long time drafting and redrafting a message to Ryan, but no matter how hard I tried, nothing sounded right and it looked too formal and stilted in writing. Then I realized what the problem was: I had no idea what I wanted to say. Was it enough to say I’d broken up with Liam? Or should I acknowledge what happened between us? And if I did, should I then say what I want to happen going forward? What do I want to happen going forward?!
It was all too overwhelming, and I got a terrible headache, so in the end I gave up and decided I’d message him in the morning. But today nothing seems clearer.
“What am I supposed to say?” I moan. “Send him a casual WhatsApp informing him I’ve broken up with my boyfriend?”
“Um. Yes?” She stares at me wide-eyed.
“Wouldn’t it be better to just … drop it into conversation when I see him? It doesn’t seem right putting anything in a message.”
“You left him mid-kiss,” Mimi says accusingly. “And now he hasn’t heard from you? Come on, he deserves more than that. We’re doing it now. I’ll help you compose it.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. So, together, we craft the following message, and I press Send before I can overthink it:
Hey Ryan, sorry again about yesterday. It would be great to chat everything through in person if that’s okay? X
I check my phone every thirty seconds until he finally replies a few minutes later: Sounds good x
I try to play it cool on Monday morning as I wander into the office, but when Ryan isn’t at his desk on my arrival as usual, my face must give me away. I notice Mimi watching me as I sit down.
“Are you wondering where Ryan is?” she teases, raising her eyebrows.
“I was thinking it’s unusual that he’s not at his desk on time,” I reply casually, keeping my voice down.
She grins at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nice dress.”
I’m wearing one of my favorite summer dresses—pale blue with lemons all over it—and I’m hoping to get a bit of color before I leave for Florence on Friday.
“Thanks. I thought it was right for such a sunny day.”
“Makes your boobs look good, I see.”
“Mimi!” I hiss, glancing round to make sure no one overheard. “That is very inappropriate.”
“Got the pins out, too,” she remarks, peering over the desk to look at my legs. “Did you fake tan last night after I left?”
“Yes, because it’s sunny, and I thought it might be nice to be a little bronzed.”
“Anyone you’re trying to impress?”
I glare at her, but she is unfazed, returning to her typing with an irritatingly smug smile on her lips.
We soon realize that Cosmo is in a foul mood today because he twisted his ankle golfing this weekend, so I pretend to be very busy until his booming voice on the phone to his podiatrist gets too much and Mimi and I both decide we should escape to Roasted.
“I can’t stop thinking about what Liam said to you,” Mimi admits while we wait for our coffees. “He really still thought you’d write a piece promoting his agency? What planet is that guy on?”
“And a feature on Halo Skewed,” I remind her. “I wasn’t even going to write one on them in the first place! Ryan was right about him.”
Mimi looks intrigued. “Oh?”
“He met Liam at the charity ball, and right away thought he was more interested in the networking opportunities my job provided than in me. He was spot on. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. It’s embarrassing.”
“But isn’t it sweet that Ryan was looking out for you?” Mimi says, nudging my arm. “I think he really likes you, Harper. And clearly he’s a good judge of character.”
We take our time strolling back to the office. It’s nice to make the most of this warm weather and neither of us is in any rush to get back to our desks.
But when we return, Ryan is there. As soon as I lay eyes on him, I’m flooded with nerves, my stomach turning to mush as I try to walk as normally as possible. It doesn’t help that Mimi is watching me like a hawk and will no doubt listen in on any interaction we have.
“Morning,” I say brightly as I sit down.
“Morning,” he replies, giving me a polite smile before returning his attention to his screen.
It’s an unsatisfactory exchange, but I suppose we are in the office. The trouble is, Ryan is very good at masking his feelings. I can’t decipher if his “morning” was layered with undertones of resentment that I’d abandoned him after that kiss, or whether there was a hint of hope that I might be back on the market.
Or maybe he was just saying “morning” without any kind of meaning behind it at all and, in fact, he is fully focused on whatever article he’s editing.
We can hardly talk about things here. Should I have replied and suggested an exact date and time for our chat? Or should I ask him for a casual drink after work? Am I supposed to wait for him to ask me for a chat? Who makes the first move here?
I suddenly feel very hot and flustered.
Determined to remain professional, I start thinking about how to begin the Max Sjöberg article. I always like my features to launch with something punchy—a surprising, out-there quote from the subject, or a little-known fact about them that might catch the reader’s attention. I lean down to grab my bag and start rummaging about for my notebook.
“Damn it,” I whisper when it’s nowhere to be found. I start looking around my desk, in case it’s hiding under a stack of papers, sending a pot of pens flying onto the floor. I feel tears pricking my eyes. What is wrong with me?
Before I can start picking them up, Ryan has swiveled his chair round and leaned over to help, dropping the pens back into their pot, one by one.
“Thank you,” I say, offering him a nervous smile.
“What have you lost?” he asks.
“My notebook. I know it’s here somewhere. I remember seeing it this morning, so it’s in the office. I got it out when I was going through a feature earlier and then … I don’t know, I must have put it down somewhere.”
“Give me a second,” Ryan says, pushing himself up off the chair and walking off.
A minute later, he returns, holding up my notebook triumphantly. My jaw drops.
“Where did you—?”
“It was by the kettle in the kitchen,” he explains, looking amused as he passes it over to me and sits back down. “You left it there last week, too, remember? You study it sometimes while you’re walking about.”
I stare at him in amazement. “I’m impressed by your sleuthing skills.”
“It was a lucky guess,” he insists, turning back to his work.
Thanking him again, I catch Mimi giving me a pointed look and trying to mouth something at me, but I can’t work it out. Eventually she gives up and starts typing quickly on her keyboard. An email from her pops up in my inbox.
He knows you so well, it reads.
Deleting it, I roll my eyes at her and focus on reviewing my notes on Max Sjöberg, but it takes every effort not to smile because I’d been thinking exactly the same thing.
All morning, I pretend to be engrossed in my work when in fact I’m stealthily watching Ryan, mesmerized by the way his fingers swiftly and effortlessly dart around the keyboard as he types, remembering the warmth of his strong hands around my waist, and noticing how when he’s reading intently, he rests his right elbow on his desk and presses the knuckle of his forefinger into his lips, his forehead creased in deep concentration. It’s an unbelievably sexy pose, magnified by the fact that he has no idea just how sexy he looks when he’s doing it.
