Page 23 of Falling for You

Nate

‘Here he is, back from the States!’

I look up from my desk and see Brian peering at me in between the forest of plants. He’s wearing a green corduroy shirt and his unruly hair is springing out of the top of his head. It somehow looks wilder than it did the last time I saw him.

‘Hey, Brian,’ I say. ‘Sorry for taking off like that.’

He waves his hands at me. ‘It’s all good. Is everything okay now?’

An image of Mom and Dad flits into my mind, waving at me from the front door as I climbed into my taxi to go back to the airport. Mom was leaning into Dad’s shoulder, beaming at me, looking exactly as she always does. Just like nothing had happened at all.

‘Yeah,’ I say, after a beat. ‘All fine, thanks.’

‘Good!’ Brian cries, slapping his hands together and making me jump. ‘I need to speak to you about stories.’

He walks round to my desk and takes the spare chair, plonking himself down and using his feet to drag himself towards me. I feel myself brighten. Finally, I’ll be able to experience London properly if I’m being sent on actual experiences for work.

‘Great,’ I say. ‘I can be flexible with days. I used to work weekends quite a bit in New York.’

‘Weekends?’ Brian scrunches up his face in confusion.

‘Yeah, if any of the events are on a Saturday or—’

‘No, no, not them,’ Brian says dismissively. ‘All those events are taken by the rest of the team.’

‘Oh.’ My face falls. ‘Well, what do you want me to write about, then?’

‘You tell me!’

He rests his elbows on his knees and looks at me expectantly.

Damn. After our first conversation, I was really hoping he’d forgotten about this wild idea that, as a writer, I should just be able to think of brilliant stories on the spot.

‘I wasn’t expecting to … let me brainstorm and get back to you,’ I say.

‘No need!’ Brian says at once. ‘Let’s just brainstorm some ideas now.’

I try to stop the alarm from showing on my face. It’s like a six-word horror story: let’s just brainstorm some ideas now.

‘Right,’ I say, realising that he’s waiting for me to say something. ‘Sure.’

I glance around as Helen from HR swans past, desperately hoping that she will distract Brian in some way and save me.

One thing I’ve already noticed about Brian is that he is a professional procrastinator.

He spends all of his time flitting from one desk to the next wanting to chat about nothing in particular.

I’ve yet to see him open his laptop, let alone sit at his desk, since I started here.

‘I’m looking for something fresh and fun,’ Brian says, leaning back in his seat. ‘So, what you got?’

I blink at him. I cannot think of a single fresh or fun thing.

‘Well,’ I say, as the thought drops into my mind. ‘I’m going to my first football game next weekend with my friend, Remy. I could write about that? My first sporting experience as a New Yorker in England?’

Brian pulls a face. ‘Who’s playing?’

‘Chelsea …’ I begin, already knowing where this is going.

‘Versus Man City? Fuck, no. Nobody wants to read about that.’

I press my lips together, fighting the urge to question whether he’d be more excited if I said it was a Tottenham game.

‘What else? What did you do at the weekend? Tell me about that.’

I think of Dad’s face when he picked me up from the airport. Mom’s reassuring smile as she helped me find clothes to wear from my childhood bedroom. My chest spasms.

‘I went to a party,’ I say.

Brian snaps his fingers. ‘Okay, a party. What else?’

‘What do you mean?’

Isn’t a party enough?

‘What happened at the party? Tell me about it.’

I push my fingers through my hair. ‘I’d rather it not be a story about my life,’ I say. ‘I usually review events.’

‘We’re just spitballing!’ Brian says, holding his hands up innocently. ‘I’m just trying to get the ball rolling. Tell me about this party.’

I sigh. ‘Fine. It was a masquerade ball for Halloween, launching a big perfume.’

‘Fancy! Hey, Helen.’ Brian waves his arm at Helen who is walking past again and beckons her over. ‘Nate went to a ball last weekend.’

Helen raises her eyebrows at me. ‘Get you.’

‘So, what did you dress up as?’ Brian asks.

‘I didn’t,’ I say. ‘I just wore a mask and a suit.’

‘You didn’t dress up?’ Brian repeats. ‘On Halloween?’

‘Some people did,’ I say. ‘There was one girl dressed as a bat.’

As soon as I say it, the image of her pops into my head. Her dark, shimmering eyes and that big laugh.

‘I saw that,’ Brian grins, turning to Helen. ‘Did you see that?’

I frown as, to my annoyance, Brian has started giggling. ‘Saw what?’

‘That look! Tell us about the bat girl, then.’

‘There is nothing to tell.’ Honestly, this man is like a child.

‘He’s going red!’ Brian chides. ‘Go on, tell us.’

‘I had a drink with her.’

‘And?’

‘And it was nice.’

‘ And? ’

‘And nothing!’ I cry, trying my very best not to explode at him as I turn back to my laptop. ‘I had to leave, I didn’t get her number or her name. It was a ten-minute conversation, if that. It was nothing.’

Silence falls across the office and I click through my emails, hoping to signal that the conversation is over. When I glance up, I spot Helen and Brian beaming at me smugly.

‘What?’ I snap.

‘There’s the story!’ Brian says triumphantly, slapping his knees and getting to his feet.

‘There is no story,’ I say, bewildered. ‘Nothing happened!’

‘Oh!’ Kayleigh says, excitedly turning to Brian. ‘We could do like a “Are you my Cinderella?” type story! We could include Nate’s picture and try and find her!’

Brian clicks his fingers into two guns towards Helen. ‘Love it. Let’s do it.’

‘Do I not have any say in this?’ I say indignantly.

‘Not unless you can come up with a better idea,’ Brian grins, sauntering over to the finance department.

‘Brian,’ I start, ‘I really—’

‘Nate, relax!’ he calls, picking up a ping-pong bat and twirling it in his fingers. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? Gary, take a nice picture of Nate, will you? And let’s stick it on the socials and see what happens.’

‘“Have you seen this man? Tall, dark and handsome, Nate Simpson is our New York heartthrob trying to find his Miss Right. Were you at a masquerade ball on Saturday 31st October? Did you have a drink with Nate? If so, we want to hear from you …” Why have they made it sound like you’re a convict on the run? ’

I pull two beers out of the fridge and hand one to Stevie, flopping down onto the sofa and groaning.

The rest of my day was an absolute nightmare.

Everyone in the office was so excited at playing the role of matchmaker that they all abandoned their laptops to help choose the best photo of me and write my dating bio before plastering it all over social media.

We spent the entire afternoon watching to see if any woman came forward who might be Bat Girl.

Spoiler: nobody did.

‘I know,’ I say. ‘And they’re supposed to be writers. They all thought it was great.’

‘Do you think she’ll see it?’

‘I really, really hope not.’

Stevie laughs, scrolling through the article on his phone. ‘What would you rather? A hundred girls get in touch that you have to date with your boss in the corner, or nobody messaging at all?’

‘Nobody,’ I say at once. I want Brian as far away from my love life as possible.

‘But what will you write about? Don’t you have to, like, write something to be a writer?’

I give him a warning look. ‘You’re not allowed to say that. That’s blasphemy to writers.’

Stevie grins and sips on his beer. The football has been lightly yelling at us from the television for the past thirty minutes.

I realised, if I was going to spend my Saturday with Remy going to an actual football game, then maybe I should watch a game to try and understand the rules.

I said this in passing to Stevie, which led to a full lecture on football culture and how important it was that I cheered for the right team, depending on where I was sat.

Also, from the way that Remy invited me, I gathered that giving me his spare season ticket was like handing me the golden keys to the palace, so I needed to treat it with respect.

I’ve also decided I’ll go to Aunt Tell’s on Sunday.

‘Do you know what’s going on?’ I say to Stevie, pointing at the screen with my beer.

‘Yeah, of course,’ Stevie nods. ‘I understand football, I just don’t like it. That’s Marcus Rashford.’ He gestures towards a Black man in a purple kit. ‘Everyone knows who he is. He’s a national treasure.’

‘Marcus Rashford,’ I repeat, resisting the urge to write the name down so I can revise later.

‘How’s Mom?’

I look round, slightly surprised. Stevie is still staring at the TV, but I notice a slight change in his expression.

‘She’s good,’ I say. ‘I think I’m going to try and call her this evening if you’re around.’

He shakes his head. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I think I’m going out later.’

Shock. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I think …’ Stevie says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening an app ‘… I’m going on a date.’

He turns the screen and shows me a man with long, dark hair and an eyebrow ring.

‘Nice.’ I look down at my phone. It hasn’t made a sound since Mom rang me yesterday, apart from one text from Remy sending me a video of a man accidentally falling into a swimming pool.

‘I’ll stay with you until the end of the game, though,’ he says, grinning at me. ‘I need to make sure you don’t get beaten up on Saturday.’

I roll my eyes. ‘It won’t be that bad.’

‘No,’ he says, putting his phone away. ‘It’s fun. Apparently.’

My stomach lurches as I spot an email from Brian popping up on my phone titled: I think I’ve found her .

‘Oh God …’ I mutter, showing Stevie my phone. Before I can stop him, he grabs it out of my hand. ‘Give it back! How do you know my password?’

‘You’ve had the same password since you were eleven,’ Stevie says, turning his body around on the sofa to face me.

‘Don’t send anything back, that’s my boss.’

‘Oh wow.’ Stevie lets out a long whistle.

I groan. ‘What? What’s he sent?’

‘I think this is the shortlist. Forty women have replied.’