Love & London by Ellie White

CHAPTER THREE

When I walk into my office on Saturday morning, the last thing my hungover self expected to find lounging in my chair with his feet on my desk was Jake Mills.

"You, Ms Jones, are late," he says, dramatically looking at his empty wrist as though he's looking at the time.

"You are way too enthusiastic for 9 am on a Saturday and what do you mean I'm ‘late’? It's 4 minutes past 9," I say, taking the Maxwell's takeaway cup he hands me and smelling the mocha inside. "How do you know my coffee order?"

"I sent a text to Thomas last night, got him to ask Sasha what time you usually arrive on a Saturday. She said 9 am so I arrived at 8:55. You always have a takeaway cup from Maxwell's so I went there first and asked them your order and this is what they gave me. You know, you could just say ‘thank you’."

"Thank you," I quickly add. "Sorry. I'm not usually so rude when people surprise me with a coffee. My brain is a little foggy this morning."

"That's why I bought these," he says, throwing boxes of Paracetamol and Ibuprofen to me which I completely miss and have to scoop up from the floor. "I wasn't sure which one you prefer so I bought both to be safe. It was an impressive volume of alcohol you consumed last night. I have to say, you drank way more than I thought you could."

"It's my hidden talent," I reply in a deadpan tone, shrugging my jacket off and removing my dark RayBans that kept the winter sun from blinding me on my way here. “So, why did you come here? Why didn't you just come to my flat? What if I'd stayed home, hungover?"

"I thought it would be more of a dramatic gesture to surprise you here. I knew you'd be here because, every time I told you to take the day off, you looked at me like I had grown an extra head or something," he says, smiling. "You're meeting your mum and brother at 12:30 and I thought you might like some help to make sure you're not late. Plus, it's a good excuse to find out what you do all day. I've never really thought much about it but I'd really like to know."

I look at him in complete bewilderment. His sudden personality transplant and the bulldozer that has taken up residence in my brain overnight aren't helping me process anything right now.

"You're serious, aren't you, about this working together stuff?"

"I am, Maggs. I know I don't show it to you often, if at all, but I really am committed to this company. I love my job; how many people can say that and mean it? I want to show you how committed I am to you, too, as your business partner. I know I've not given you much reason to trust that but I hope I can prove it to you now."

A smile spreads over my face as I listen to his passionate speech: His words are genuine. I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time in years. He's being honest and almost vulnerable when he asks me to trust him and, with every word, I find myself softening towards him.

"Okay, let's get started," I say, shooing him out of my chair, still smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

I set my laptop up, pull out the files I'm working on and he patiently sits on the other side of my desk, carefully watching my every move.

"What?" I say, putting my coffee down, unable to take his staring much longer.

"I had fun last night. It felt great to be hanging out with you and Laura again. Harry is hilarious too, you know. When Simon let him up for air, he seemed like a really cool bloke."

"They seemed to really click and Harry is the best."

"You warmed up to me, too, I could tell. I feel like I got to take a peek behind those big, brick walls you've built. It was nice."

"That's what alcohol does to a person. Releases those inhibitions, right? Gets people to let down their guard?"

"Do you want to talk about what it was that Cylvie said that made you shut down again?"

I drum my fingers on my desk, the anxious energy I am trying to control making an attempt to escape. I scrunch my fingers to stop the tapping, hating myself for letting her get to me the way she did. The look and the thousand mean words she implied with it rattle around in my brain almost uncontrollably.

I remember what my therapist said about compartmentalising, about how I shouldn't do it and that it’s not healthy in the long run because what happens when there is no more space in my brain to lock those thoughts away? I remember what she said and I ignore it, as I usually do. I stuff those words away and lock the box up tight. It's tough to shut that part of my brain down and return to my work but it's what I do. It's what I've done for a long time when faced with something I'm not prepared to think about.

"So, this pile here," I say, pointing to a pile of files on my desk, "These are the accounts that are waiting for my approval for the week. Deadline for this to reach me is 4 pm Friday. I go through this pile so they are ready to either be reworked or go down to you to be distributed first thing Monday morning and – Well, you know what happens after that."

"You do this every Saturday?" Jake says, looking stunned and not addressing the fact I changed the subject.

"Yeah," I say with a shrug.

"So, because I'm an arsehole and demand these first thing Monday morning, you have to work all weekend?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite as eloquently but... Yeah."

"Screw that. I'm sorry. I didn't know you had to work today to get this done. Like I said, I haven't put much thought into what you do really or how long it takes to get it right. We'll change the system; we can come up with something else together. You shouldn't have to do this every week."

He seems genuinely shocked that I'm here to get the work ready for him but how else did he think I got it done ready for Monday?

"I wish it were as simple as not doing it, Jake, but I have certain responsibilities. I have jobs that need to be done and they should be done perfectly, otherwise what’s the point in doing them at all? If that means working on a Saturday, I'll do it. I have nothing better to do besides sitting alone in my empty flat."

"Hey, Maggs," he says as he reaches over to stop my fingers drumming on the desk again. I didn't even realise I was doing it this time. "We'll figure it all out. With the extra time you have on a weekend because of that, we can fill it with whatever you want to do. You know, as part of our deal."

I look down at my hand enveloped in his and he squeezes it reassuringly before pulling back.

"This pile here are the plans that have been reworked," I say, pointing to a smaller pile of just four files. "That won't take long for me to sign off as I've already gone through them once. They'll be perfect now."

"Perfect, huh?"

"Perfect," I agree, straightening the pile.

"What’s this?" he asks picking up the large lever arch file sat at the end of my desk.

"That's for Stephenson’s. It needs to be archived," I reply. Jake looks at me blankly so I continue. "It's the research. A few weeks back, when we got the chance to pitch for the job, we conducted market research on their various products. That's a sample of 500 people. We held 50 focus groups of 10 people and collated the data to present to them. It's what ultimately won us the opportunity to work on their Easter campaign. No one else had done that for them."

"And you do this for every account?"

"Yeah. It's not always to that scale and it’s a team effort, not just me. In my opinion, it's the most important part of the complete process. You could have a fantastic campaign but none of that matters if you don't know your audience. It's all well and good to have a message but we need to know how to communicate it, we need to know how the audience wants to receive the message and when they want to receive it. If you don’t know that, you don't get the optimum reach, you know?"

He smiles like he is seeing me for the first time in years. He underestimated me, just like the rest of the company.

"This is a lot of information," he says, flicking through the pages. "It's impressive, Maggs."

"Yeah, we sift through this and find what the common factors are and condense it for the brief you see."

"Everything here is so organised," he says as he wanders around my office again. "It's no surprise you're the best we have."

"Thanks," I say, slightly flushed at his compliment.

We continue working our way through the pile of folders for the rest of the morning. He asks questions and inputs where he can and, before we know it, we're caught up with plenty of time for me to make the journey to Knightsbridge.

"Jake?" I ask as we step out of our office onto the busy riverside walkway. "Next week, would you mind if I spend a day with you, down in Creative?"

"I would love that," he says with a smile I've not seen on him for a long time. It's not the smile he reserves for charming endless amounts of women or the hearty grin he has when he’s being mischievous with my brother. This smile is soft and his eyes are shining. I would say this smile is his most genuine and it's making me feel (for lack of a better description) weak at the knees.

***

"So, how are you, sweetheart?" Mum asks as I kiss her on the cheek and take my seat at the table - On time, might I add, thanks to Jake.

It's been years since I've eaten in the luxurious Harrods Tea Room. Each place is set to perfection with the finest china and silverware, a view of the beautiful blossom tree from each seat. Sunlight streams through the sky light, filling the room with sun rays that bounce from the Georgian pillars to the gold, Art Deco carpet. It's the epitome of class and luxury.

"I'm good, Mum. You look lovely."

Annie Jones has never looked her age; she's tall and slender with cropped, ginger hair and a fringe that frames her beautiful face. Only the slightest signs of aging show in her shallow wrinkles and laughter lines which she says she owes this to her lifetime supply of ‘Oil of Olay’. Mum was a teacher at our local primary school. Luckily, I was never in her class and I can't imagine what it would have been like to have your Mum as your teacher. She had a reputation for being kind and patient with all her students. The kids loved her, the mums respected her and the dads fancied her.

"I'm surprised you made it. I figured you'd either be home and hungover or at the office and hungover," James comments.

"Me, hungover? At Harrods? No way," I say, feigning indignation with a smile. "Besides, Jake actually helped me get things finished so I would be on time."

"Jake? Jake was at work on a Saturday?"

"Yeah, I was just as surprised as you are," I say as mum orders Afternoon Tea for three and the waiter pours our tea and accompanying champagne.

I suppose it's not often mum has both children to herself and so she wants it to be special.

I stifle a laugh as my brother picks up his delicate teacup in his extra-large hands. With his friends, he’s this funny, annoying, lad’s lad. With Helen, he's the best thing since sliced bread. Here, with mum, he's just her little boy.

The waiter quickly returns with a vast selection of finger sandwiches, fruit and cheese scones and mini cakes. I have no idea where to start but my stomach rumbles loudly, telling me it needs food.

"So, how is Jacob these days? It's been a while since I've seen him," Mum says. "He doesn't tell his mother much and I know she worries about him.”

"He's fine. It was better than I thought, working with him this morning. He wasn't as frustrating as he normally is."

"And he's taking her on a date to the ‘First Dates’ restaurant tonight," James says to Mum with a grin, knowing he's thrown me under the bus.

"It's not a date," I quickly retort as mum's eyes light up at the possibility of me dating. "I think he's trying to prove to me that he will be a good business partner."

"Jacob has always been a lovely man. You could do a lot worse," Mum argues.

"He's a lovely man with a reputation," I counter.

"Well, sometimes reputations aren't all they seem," James says as he shoves a full finger sandwich in his mouth.

I stick out my tongue while Mum scolds him for his lack of table manners. No matter how old, I am I will always relish in my perfect big brother being told off, it's what little sisters are made for.

"We'll see how long it lasts before he turns back into the giant pain in my ar-"

"Language." Now it's James' turn to stick out his tongue.

"Sorry, Mum."

"Jake is my best mate. He has a lot to give and, when he says he wants something, he won’t quit, believe me. If he’s told you he wants to be a good business partner, you should believe him.”

“Yeah, he was my best friend too, remember? That meant nothing to him.”

“I’m not saying what he did wasn’t wrong but, if you knew half the story, maybe you’d see things his way too.”

"Do you have anything to wear tonight? It's a posh restaurant. Maybe I could get you a new dress?" Mum says, interrupting us before we start to bicker. "We can always go to Harvey Nicks next, if you can't find anything here. Or maybe even Selfridges?"

She smiles at me so excitedly that I'm hit with a pang of guilt.

Before the accident, Mum and I were inseparable. We would go out shopping and to lunch all the time. We would go on girls’ weekends away or on a night out at the theatre together. We would sometimes go alone, sometimes with Laura, her mum, Angela, and Jake's mum, Margaret.

My favourite thing to do with Mum was visit a Christmas Market. We travelled to a different place each year, sometimes as close as Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park or further away to places like Edinburgh or Manchester. My favourite trip was our last one when we travelled to Belgium, the December before the accident. We spent hours walking around the cold market town of Bruges with frites and gluhwein getting us in the festive mood, not to mention the delicious waffles and chocolates we overindulged on.

After the accident, I couldn't face doing anything anymore, not just with Mum but with anyone. I couldn't even look Phillip's parents in the eye. All I wanted to do was go to work and hide away in my flat watching crappy TV. I felt that I had a responsibility to keep everyone together. After all, I'm the one that made it out of that accident alive. I owe my life to someone so may as well spend it protecting the people I love.

I wasn't always so guarded or put together. Some days, I couldn't hide how distraught I was or how much I struggled with my physiotherapy. It upset Mum to see me in so much pain and I hated the fact that she worried about me so much. So, I acted like it didn't hurt anymore and it was easier to pretend when she couldn't see me.

After a few years, she eventually she stopped asking me to do things with her. I knew it hurt her every time I refused her invitations so, at first, I was glad when she had stopped asking. Now, I miss those times more than anything.

"Thanks, Mum, I'd really like that," I say as she squeezes my hand.

James smiles at me, too, knowing how happy I've made her with a small act of shopping.

"I'll come with you two, I need to pick up something for Helen's birthday and have no idea where to start with women things."

I make a promise to myself that I'll make more of an effort with Mum, to take her places and make more plans with her. Maybe we could even go away for a weekend. I know she'd love it. I owe her that much after the support she's given me my whole life.

***

This is not a date. This is not a date. This is. Not. A. Date.

Why do I feel so bloody nervous?!

It's Jake. We're friends again.

It's not like I hadn't spent the morning with him and that was fine. It was more than fine. It was easy and comfortable. I blame James for getting in my head this afternoon. He knows more than he lets on about what happened with Jake. I should ask him about it but I’m scared that I’ll not like the answer.

I walk up the steps at St Paul's tube station 15 minutes before I'm meant to so I don't expect to see Jake waiting for me, looking like he's just stepped off the catwalk at New York Fashion Week in his dark grey, wool coat and his perfectly fitted, black dress trousers.

But there he stands.

His inky hair is gorgeously dishevelled and pushed back from his face, his smile so wide it makes his eyes light up. In the office, his attire consists of jeans, black vans that look like they've seen better days and a T-shirt with some sort of graphic on the front. Not that I pay close attention to what he wears nor do I care about what he wears in the office but, to see him here, dressed in dress shoes paired with a slim fit, black shirt, is pleasantly surprising.

"Like what you see?" he says, mocking my obviously dazed expression as my eyes drink him in. He looks gorgeous.

"You look good, Jake. Who knew?" I joke.

"Thanks. I think," he says, leading the way to the restaurant. "So, my mum called me this afternoon. Apparently, your mum called her and told her I was taking you out on a 'posh date'. She told me not to be an ‘arsehole’ to you. Those exact words came from her mouth," he says, laughing and using air quotes. I'm thankful it's dark when I feel my cheeks heat and I groan inwardly with embarrassment.

"I've told her a thousand times that it's not a date. She doesn't listen. You could hang up on your mum, though. I was shopping with mine and trying on ridiculously expensive dresses." It was so much fun.

He laughs in agreement as we approach the familiar glass doors, just like on the TV.

"Now, I know this isn't a date and you know this isn't a date but please don't fight me on the bill. I know you've got the whole strong, independent woman thing going on, which I love and respect that about you, but just let me have this, please? We're also getting fillet steaks with all the trimmings because the reviews say it's incredible."

I go to argue but he presses his finger on my lips before the words come out.

"That's very kind, thank you," I mumble, his finger still pressing against my lips. "But, just know, I'm paying for the next one."

"I suppose that's fair," he says, opening the door for me like a gentleman. He takes my coat and passes it to the hostess before abruptly stopping. "Wow!" he adds as his eyes travel slowly down the length of my body.

"What?" I say as I straighten out the black, figure hugging dress that stops mid-thigh. It was a little risqué, being so short, but I loved it the second I put it on.

"Nothing, you just look... Wow." He clears his throat. "I've never seen you dressed up like this."

"Thanks. Mum picked it all out for me today. James had some creative input too - He picked the belt. Who knew he had so much knowledge on women’s clothes?” I say as I run my fingertips along the studded belt that makes my waist look tiny. Mum didn’t agree but I thought it gave the outfit a little more edge, along with my brand-new Christian Louboutin boots and matching clutch. It's by far the most extravagant purchase I've ever made but the way I felt when I tried it on in the shop told me that I had to have the whole outfit.

And the new bottle of Gucci Guilty perfume…

And the red Dior lipstick…

It had been years since I bought anything nice to wear so I went all out.

The hostess shows us to our table and Jake pulls out my chair for me.

"That was very chivalrous, thank you," I say to Jake as the host lays down our menus and places crisp white napkins in our laps. She offers a smile to both me and Jake, informs us that our waiter will be over in just a moment and walks away, leaving us alone once again.

"Just because it's not a date doesn't mean I can't be charming. I told you, the point of this is for you to get to know the real me and for me to get to know you, again. And this is me. Although I am showing off slightly by getting us this reservation, I'll admit." His smile is infectious, the same genuine smile that you can't help but return.

"Okay, so this is amazing. Thank you," I say, looking around and taking it all in. "I can't believe you got us a table here at such short notice"

"Not going to lie, I'm slightly disappointed that Fred and Merlin don't actually work here," he casually states.

"You watch ‘First Dates’?"

"It's not usually my thing but I watched a couple of episodes this afternoon in preparation and now I think I might be addicted," he stage whispers, making me laugh out loud. "I'll probably watch another few episodes before bed, too."

The waiter takes our orders and brings us the fancy wine Jake chose. This is yet another side of him I've not seen before and it's making me question everything I thought I knew about him.

"Moving day on Monday. Are you excited?"

"You know, I'm not dreading it," I honestly say. If he had asked me that on Friday afternoon, I would have had a different answer but it's funny how much can change in 24 hours.

He smiles as though he knows this too. "I'm winning you over, aren't I?"

"Yeah, a little… You just seem to act so differently in the office."

"So do you. You're not as much of a control nut out in the human world."

"I don't think I'm too controlling," I say as he raises his eyebrows at me "Yeah, okay, I am but it's because of you! The way you waltz around, hypnotising my staff with your good looks and devil-may-care attitude, they honestly get nothing done. And, you have to admit, you love to torment me that way."

"You think I'm good looking then?" I just raise my eyebrows at him. "Sorry, flirting is my first line of defence."

Just like this morning, our conversation flows well. We talk mostly about generic things like our favourite TV shows, movies and food. A short while later, the waiter returns with our food and places two of the most perfectly cooked steaks I've ever seen in front of us.

"This is amazing. Do you treat all of your dates to this or do you save it for non-dates, like me?" I ask between bites.

"I haven't been on a date since I took Molly Anderson to see Tokyo Drift in sixth form."

"Oh, come on. You expect me to believe that?"

He shrugs slightly. "You want me to be honest?" I nod to him to continue. "I'm not the dating type. I meet girls in bars, the kind of girls who don't care when I leave when we're done, if you know what I mean."

For some reason, the thought of him meeting some random girl in a bar and shagging her makes my stomach turn.

"I know that makes me sound like a twat but it doesn't happen anywhere near as often as I'd have you believe. Yeah, I'm a flirt and have a big ego but I don't sleep around all that much," he says, looking down at his plate again, looking almost shy. "Just wanted you to know."

"Well, thank you for being honest. Tell me, is there a reason you don’t take girls on dates?"

"Well, there was a time when I really liked someone, back when I was at uni, but she's never been available. I didn't want anyone as much as I wanted her so I stopped pining for Mrs Right and started looking for Mrs Right Now."

"Did you love her?"

"Yeah, I've never stopped. Don't think I ever will." His honesty catches me off guard and I feel for him. I know what it’s like, wanting someone so desperately and knowing you'll never have them.

"I'm sure that, one day, you'll find someone special. Forget that girl, she’s an idiot. You can't keep waiting around for a person who is never going to be available. As much as it pains me to say, you're a decent man, when you want to be. You deserve to fall in love and have them love you back."

Something I said makes him laugh. "What about you, do you date much? Unlike me, you don't broadcast your sex life around the place."

"The last person I went on a date with was Philip."

"Seriously?"

I nod, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Compared to his dating history, I may as well be locked away in a convent.

"That's a long time to be alone."

"Yeah but, at the same time, it feels just like yesterday when he died."

"You're not wearing your wedding rings anymore," he points out. I didn't even think he would notice if I still wore them. "I noticed when you held my hand last night but didn't want to pry."

"Yeah, took them off when I got home after Mum's New Year party. I have a standing phone appointment with my therapist on New Year’s Day. I promised her the year before that I would take them off before our next appointment," I say, looking at the indent on my empty ring finger. "I turned 30. New decade, promotion, fresh start, if that's what I can call it."

"He'd be so proud of you."

"He'd be proud of both of us, taking this on together. He always believed in you, even when I didn't. He knew that this would happen, that we would have to work together and that our differences would need to be resolved. Whenever he talked about you, it was like he knew something I didn't. Maybe this was it."

"I'm not convinced I deserve his pride, especially after the way I've treated you the past decade," he admits.

"Neither of us are innocent in this. We've both acted poorly over the years but, like I said, this can be a fresh start. I want to start as we mean to go on, as friends as well as colleagues."

"I'll cheers to that," he says, raising his glass to meet mine. "To our fresh start because, as long as we have each other, we'll never be alone."

***

After we finish our meals, we are suitably stuffed but neither of us seem to be ready to call it a night.

We find a small table with a soft sofa in a late-night bistro we come across on a side street. We order two glasses of red wine and the wood burner in the corner blasts out heat that fills the entire room while smooth Jazz plays over the speaker system. Our table is tucked away in a corner and it feels like it could just be the two of us here, our bodies turned in towards each other, illuminated by the candlelight.

"Thank you for tonight. I've had a lovely non-date."

"Me too," he says, settling in next to me on the sofa as I sit facing him with one leg tucked under myself. "Do you still think I'm a shithead?"

"I'm sorry I called you that. At the time, I thought it was justified, even if it is the most immature name I've ever called anyone."

"I like it," Jake says with a laugh. "It's a great insult."

"I have to admit, you surprised me at how much of a non-shithead you can be," I say, making him laugh again.

"I told you that, if you got to know me again, you'd feel differently about me."

We sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. There is something I've wanted to ask him, something I've been too scared to know the answer to but I figure that, while we’re here, with our guards down, I’ve got nothing to lose.

"Why did we stop being friends?" I ask, the curiosity getting the better of me. "We were all so close and then it changed. You stopped speaking to me pretty much overnight. Laura and Philip, too."

Surprise briefly flashes across his face. He wasn’t expecting me to ask that and I don’t think he is ready to answer either. My fingers are aching with the need to tap on the back of the sofa where my hand rests but I don’t let them.

He thinks for a second. "When I was at uni, I got a lot of new attention. I thought I was better than I was and just kind of left you all behind. You should know, I’ve made some mistakes in my life but that’s one of the few I regret." I'm not sure I believe the reason why but I don't push him on it.

"Why did you leave your party early the other night?" I should have seen it coming; I asked him a tough question so he asks me a tougher one.

"That day is hard for me. I don't enjoy the parties but I do it for Mum and Dad and Dave and Angie. They’re his parents and they want to celebrate Philip's life but all I want to do is stay home and cry on my own. It's pathetic, I know. I torture myself every year and try to remember that night but I can't. I don't even remember the flight into London or collecting our bags when we landed. I don't remember how we felt. Were we tired from travelling? Excited to see our families? I don't even know what the last conversation we had was," the words spill out as Jake sits and listens intently. "People have told me bits and pieces. I've seen pictures of the wreckage but I've got no memories of my own. I just remember waking up in hospital with James while everyone else was at my husband’s funeral."

He holds my hand gently; such a small act from him is so comforting and the urge to tap my fingers evaporates.

"Sorry, that was a much too emotional response to your question."

"I was there, too, you know, with James when you woke up. I ran out to get the nurse but, because I wasn't family, they wouldn't let me back in the room when they were seeing to you."

"I didn't know," I say, trying to remember that little room from eight years ago. I don't remember seeing Jake at all. All I remember is my brother, ashen faced and standing in the corner while medical staff peppered me with questions. I remember being overwhelmed by beeping machines all around me and the urge to rip the multiple tubes out of my veins.

He shrugs. "I don't like to talk about it. It was difficult seeing you and Philip like that. I thought that, if you knew how involved I was when you were in hospital, you might ask me questions that I don't have answers to."

"This is not how I expected this night to go,” I say, laughing so I don't start crying. "Don't worry, I won’t push for answers. If you ever want to talk to me about it, I'd like to hear what you have to say."

"One day, I'll tell you about it but I'm supposed to be impressing you tonight, not bringing the mood down."

"I'm glad you told me. Thank you," I say with a smile. "Let’s change the subject so we don't start crying."

I didn't expect this reaction from him. Seeing him get emotional when talking about the accident revealed yet another layer of Jake and I'm beginning to wonder how many layers he has and how many he's willing to show me.