Page 53 of Forever, Maybe
He unlocked the door to their office and deactivated the alarm system.
The smoothness of the motion suggested this wasn’t his first after-hours visit.
Inside, the office felt different at night—empty desks and dormant computers creating an eerie stillness.
The faint hum of electricity from the server room was the only sound, a reminder that the place was never truly asleep.
Jamie led her to the small meeting room. He flipped on only the dim overhead light, casting the space in a warm, muted glow. It was a welcome change from the usual harsh brightness that made it feel more like an interrogation room.
From the water cooler, he grabbed two flimsy plastic cups, pouring wine into each. The ruby liquid looked almost comical in the clear beakers, a far cry from fine dining sophistication.
He handed her a cup, raising his own in a toast. “I mean it. You’re my favourite employee here.”
His lips were already stained with the tell-tale purplish hue of cheap red wine. Nell glanced at her own cup and figured her mouth must look just as ridiculous.
She raised her cup, opting for a matching flourish. “Why, kind sir! You flatter me.”
Jamie shook his head, his expression suddenly earnest. He set his cup down on the table. “No, I mean it. I really mean it.” His words came slower now, caught in that repetitive loop of tipsy sincerity.
Before she could respond, he scooted his chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the carpet. Now, he was right in front of her, his face close enough that she could see the faint shadow of red-brown stubble along his jaw.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he murmured.
And then he leant in, kissing her. It was the kind of kiss that reminded her of being a teenager—clumsy and eager, his enthusiasm outpacing his finesse. But there was something disarming about it, something almost endearing in its unpolished honesty.
For a moment, she froze, her mind whirring, and then she leaned into it, matching his eagerness, her own inhibitions dissolving like the last remnants of the wine they’d shared.
She’d been married for seven years. Seven.
At twenty-nine, that felt like a lifetime.
Before Daniel, there had been only two serious relationships.
And now she and Danny were… what? Married?
Separated? On a break, like Rachel and Ross in that daft sitcom Friends ?
Did that make what she was doing now excusable? Was this her “free pass”?
Jamie had been conscientious so far, keeping his hands deliberately away from her body, gripping the armrests of her chair instead as though afraid to overstep.
Nell’s hands, however, seemed to have developed a will of their own.
They started at his chest, fingers trailing over the soft fabric of his shirt.
One hand slid upward to his jaw, pulling him closer, her fingertips tracing the curve of his neck.
The other hand moved downward, fumbling with his shirt buttons. Buttons: the eternal nemesis of spontaneity. After a few frustrating moments, Jamie broke away, catching her hands and refastening the two buttons she’d managed to undo.
“Um, Nell…”
“Um, what?” she challenged, her voice low, teasing. “Are you having a fit of conscience?”
Jamie exhaled, a long, slow breath that seemed to carry the weight of his hesitation. “Oh God… I want this. I want this so much.”
Gone were his usual flourishes—no “dear lady” or “lovely Nell.” His words hit her with unfiltered sincerity, each syllable dismantling her own crumbling defences.
“A one-off,” she murmured. “Just for tonight.”
“Yes, yes,” he said quickly, standing and pulling her to her feet.
She glanced around the room. “Are we really doing this here ?” Her hands drifted back to the stubborn buttons.
Jamie grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hell of a way to say goodbye to the place.”
Nell laughed, the sound dissolving the last remnants of guilt. It’s done. I’ve decided. I’m doing this, and I’ll leave the self-recrimination for later.
Jamie was shorter than Daniel—something she noticed now as she pressed against him, her hands splayed on his chest. It was easier for him to bend and kiss her, the angle comfortable, natural.
He tugged at her ballet-wrap cardigan, which slipped off easily, revealing the vest top beneath.
Much easier than his dark grey shirt, which she finally managed to unbutton properly.
They were both half-undressed now—Nell in her bra, knickers and shoes; Jamie in just his trousers.
Loud footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing closer. Jamie’s head snapped toward the door.
“Shh.” He grabbed her, pulling her close. In a swift motion, he reached over and flicked off the light. The room plunged into darkness.
“Under the desk,” he whispered urgently.
Frozen in place, hearts pounding, they scrambled to hide as the footsteps stopped just outside the door.
The two of them slid under the meeting room desk, their breathing ragged.
Nell’s heart pounded so fiercely she was sure it would betray them.
Being caught practically in flagrante with a colleague wouldn’t just be a career-ending move.
It would be humiliating, reckless and an unmitigated disaster for their precarious personal lives.
“Grab me a Diet Coke from the machine, will you?” a voice called from the corridor.
Nell froze, pressing her palm over her mouth. Jamie tensed beside her. Relief came moments later with the clink of coins and the hollow thunk of a can landing in the vending machine’s tray. Footsteps receded, leaving behind a taut silence that dissolved into shaky giggles.
“This is ridiculous,” Nell whispered, struggling to keep her laughter quiet.
Jamie snorted, his shoulders shaking. Their shared hysteria snowballed, amplifying with every stifled laugh, until the tension of their close call turned into breathless, uncontainable mirth.
Jamie’s hand brushed against hers, and the shift in his touch was electric.
Nell’s laughter ebbed as his fingers skimmed her face, cupping her jaw.
His lips found hers, urgent and soft all at once, moving down her throat to linger at her collarbone.
Her body responded instinctively, her hips shifting until she felt him press against her, hard and insistent.
There was no space for thought, only sensation.
Her hand moved to his waistband, deftly unzipping his trousers and reaching inside.
The details—bigger, smaller—blurred into irrelevance.
The clandestine thrill of being half-naked beneath an office desk with a man who wasn’t her husband overwhelmed everything else.
He groaned softly as she guided him to the floor, the cramped space just enough for her to climb on top of him. “Condom?” he murmured, the question breaking the charged silence.
She shook her head. “I’m on the pill.”
The words felt detached, distant, a casual dismissal of risks she barely acknowledged anymore.
Moments later, he was inside her, and her mind fractured into fragments, floating above the scene.
Detached observations tumbled through her head like commentary from a dispassionate third party: The thrusts feel the same.
He makes different noises. He keeps his eyes shut.
So that’s what the fourth man I’ve ever had sex with sounds like when he comes.
The climax, when it came, felt like both a release and a hollow punch. As they lay tangled beneath the desk, the absurdity of it all lingered like a shadow—this reckless, fleeting escape from lives they’d chosen, now teetering on the edge of collapse.
They dressed hurriedly, each movement marked by an awkward urgency. Jamie checked his watch twice, the tight corners of his mouth betraying his discomfort. He looked like a man cornered, scrambling for an escape route.
“Well, dear Nell,” he said finally, his tone adopting an exaggerated lightness. “An unexpected, but very lovely end to the evening.” The theatrics were back, as though he could perform his way out of reality.
“Never to be repeated, as you said. Sensible girl.”
The words hit like a slap, and she forced a tight smile, baring her teeth. “Definitely a one-off. Don’t worry, Jamie. No one will ever know.”
He nodded, too quickly, and began scanning the room, his eyes darting for evidence of their impulsiveness.
The empty wine bottle stood on the desk, alongside a half-full plastic cup.
He handed it to her with an apologetic gesture, and she took it without a word, swallowing the dregs in one bitter gulp.
He pulled out his phone, avoiding her gaze. “Should we share a taxi?”
She nodded, and they left the office in silence, pausing only to dump the wine bottle in a bin outside. The night air was cool against her flushed skin, but it didn’t help. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on her, heavy and unrelenting.
The taxi arrived quickly. After giving their destinations, the ride passed in strained silence. Neither of them looked at the other, their reflections in the window ghostly and pale against the darkened streets.
When the taxi stopped in front of Stephanie’s flat, Jamie reached out, grabbing her hand as she moved to leave. “Nell… thanks. And… sorry I…”
He trailed off, his unfinished apology hanging in the air like smoke. She looked at him, waiting for more, but none came. Whatever he regretted, she would never know.
She stepped out of the taxi and closed the door without another word. As the car pulled away, its taillights disappearing into the night as it sped off along Stockwell Street, she stood on the pavement, staring after it.
They never spoke again.