My eyes well with tears of shame.

“What’s wrong?” he says. His voice is different. Soft, cajoling.

“Don’t,” I spit.

“This was an accident. It could have happened to anyone, why are you so defensive?” he snaps.

“I’m not. You’re the defensive one.”

“I’m not defensive.”

“Yes. You are, since the second day I met you, you’ve had an issue with me,” I splutter.

He screws up his face in a question. “What?”

“Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss this. I came to say thank you for last night.”

His eyes hold mine.

I twist my fingers in front of me. “So . . . thank you.” I shrug. “I really appreciate it and I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found me.”

He sits back in his chair and picks up his pen again. “You’re welcome.” His eyes hold mine.

I shrug again; this is just awkward. I point to the door with my thumb. “I’m going to get going.”

“To the doctor.”

“Yes.”

I turn and head to the door.

“Kate,” he calls.

I turn back to him.

“What happened on the second day I met you?”

I stare at him.

“Forgive my rudeness, but I have no idea.”

I pause for a moment as I consider if I should elaborate. “I told you that you have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Not in a sleazy way . . . In a . . .” I shrug. “Observation kind of way.” His brow furrows. “And you’ve despised me ever since.”

He purses his lips as if thinking. “I don’t remember you saying that to me.”

“I know.” I force a smile and turn back toward the door.

“Hey,” he calls.

I turn back toward him again.

He puts his hands into his pockets. “Vulnerable Kate is quite endearing.”

We stare at each other as the air crackles between us.

“Yeah, well . . . she’s still high,” I whisper.

He smiles softly.

Leave.

Leave now.

I turn and walk from his office as confusion surrounds me.

What was that?

Just like Elliot told me to, I took the day off and went to see the doctor about last night. Turns out it was just a bad reaction, so scratch that medication off my ever-to-do-again list.

It’s late at night and I’m tired and have mostly mooched around all day, although that could have a lot to do with my damaged pride.

I can’t believe he saw me like that; to have anyone see me like that is a nightmare, but to have him . . . it’s unfathomable.

My Messenger pings and I see the name and smile; we’ve been chatting together all week, me and Edgar Moffatt. I hit open.

Hi Pinkie.

I smile and reply:

Hi Ed.

His reply bounces back.

What you doing?

I type:

In bed, winding down for the day, you?

I hit send.

Same, I’m exhausted. I had the worst night last night.

I reply:

Oh no, what happened?

I can see the dots as he types, then it stops. Then I see the dots again as he types, and it stops again. This must be a long message. I wait for him to finish.

I found one of my co-workers unconscious on the floor of her office. I called emergency but thankfully she was okay and I ended up escorting her home.

I stayed with her until her friend arrived but I couldn’t sleep all night for worrying about her.

I sit up. What?

Couldn’t be . . .

I type:

What happened to her?

The dots bounce again and my heart sits in my throat as I wait.

She had a reaction to the painkillers for her period pain.

What the fuck?

My hands go over my mouth . . . it can’t be him. There is no way in hell that this could happen by coincidence.

Shit . . . my heart is hammering hard in my chest. What will I write?

I think for a moment and eventually I type:

I hope she’s okay. How horrible for you to experience that.

Oh my God, oh my God . . . Oh, my fucking God!

A reply bounces back.

Not horrible at all, maybe a blessing in disguise.

I leap out of bed and begin to pace as I shake my hands around, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream. “What the hell is going on here?” I whisper.

What do I write?

I type:

How could that be a blessing in disguise?

A reply bounces straight back.

I have a bit of a crush on her.

My eyes widen to the size of saucers, and with shaky hands I reply:

What’s her name?

The dots appear again.

Kate . . . Kate Landon.

Chapter 6

“What?” I jump from the bed. “No way, no way in fucking hell.” He has to be pulling my chain.

Wait, does he know it’s me?

I sit back down at my computer and put my hand over my mouth as I think.

How could this be happening?

He set it up, yes, that’s it.

But then . . . how? I wouldn’t even know how to set this up and I’m the IT specialist.

“Does he know?”

I think for a moment; okay, set a trap to find out for sure.

Yes, that’s it.

I sit cross-legged on my bed and pull my hair up into a high ponytail as I prepare for battle.

If he writes something nice . . . I’ll know that he knows it’s me and is attempting to be smooth.

Okay . . . I hold my fingers at the keyboard.

I think for a moment, then I write:

What kind of crush?

I wait for his reply . . . no answer.

Hmm. I reword it.

Are you hoping for a grand love affair?

The dots reappear.

The horizontal kind.

No grand love affair, she isn’t my type.

I’m a garbologist remember, I have dirty things on my mind.

I smile in relief. Fuck-face . . . you aren’t good enough for me, anyway.

I reply:

And what does this girl do at your garbage depot?

It bounces back.

She cleans the toilets.

I laugh out loud. You wish, fucker.

A toilet cleaner isn’t dirty enough?

No.

What are you looking for—hot, smart, sexy?

I bite my thumbnail as I wait for his reply; why I care about this answer I have no clue.

I’m looking for extraordinary.

I frown.

And when I meet her, I will know.

I raise my eyebrow and type again:

How?

I believe in love at first sight, when our eyes meet. We will both know.

And that will be it.

I bite my bottom lip as his words roll around in my head.

You’re a romantic?

His reply bounces back.

Hopelessly.

I smile softly.

And Kate, your toilet cleaner . . . what about her?

Is going to get it good.

I’ll ruin her for life.

I laugh out loud as I type:

What does she think about this?

She doesn’t know yet, but she’s into me, I can tell.

“Poor bastard.” I smirk. “You’re so deluded.”

How can you tell?

I sip my tea.

Men know these things.

Also, she looked at my dick the other day in my office.

I choke on my tea and it splatters over the computer screen.

“What? I did not,” I whisper. “You’re dreaming.” Another message comes in from him.

What about you, any luck with those pick-up lines?

Hmm, I don’t want to sound like a loser, so I lie.

Yes, I have a date on Saturday night.

Well, good luck.

I hope it goes well for you.

I stare at his words on the screen. This is so surreal.

Me too.

I’m turning in.

Goodnight, Ed.

A few minutes later a reply comes back.

Goodnight, Pinkie.

Xoxo

“What?” Rebecca frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s him,” I reply. “Edgar Moffatt is Elliot Miles under an alias.”

“Oh, bullshit.” Daniel frowns too as he snatches my phone from me to read my and Ed’s messages. “You mean to tell me that of all the people in the world, you are messaging your boss and he thinks you’re someone else?”

“Yes.”

I’m out to dinner with Rebecca and Daniel and we are dissecting the latest turn of events.

Daniel reads the messages between Ed and I. “I don’t fucking believe this,” he whispers.