He was smiling at her, enjoying watching her squirm. A part of her just wanted to lightly tap his arm and burst into a fit of schoolgirl giggles. The other part wanted to push a button so the seat beneath would eject her from the car and save her from embarrassing herself any further. Mostly, though, she just wanted to watch this entire interaction from above to check it was really happening.
‘I try not to take myself very seriously,’ he said.
‘Best not to.’
He nodded.
‘Didn’t you have any friends there tonight? What about those women?’
‘Which women?’
‘The ones you were talking to outside when I came to find you.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said, laughing. ‘No, they’re not my friends. They’re pretty awful, really. One of them runs this shoe brand in Mayfair and keeps trying to get me to wear a pair of her cowboy boots to an event.’
‘It must be so irritating having people giving you free things all the time.’
He laughed. ‘Yes, well. The boots are fine, actually. I’d probably even wear them had she not told me she’d never hire a Northerner.’
‘She said that?’
‘Yep.’
‘Crikey. Did you ask her why?’
‘I didn’t have to. She just started talking about the importance of front-facing staff being from a “certain type” of background to serve a “certain type of customer”. I stopped listening after that.’
‘Don’t blame you. There are some pretty … interesting people in this world,’ Rose said, gesturing around herself with both hands.
‘I think you’re interesting.’
Rose laughed nervously and found herself looking away from Milo to face the window. It was far less stressful just to sit there in silence with him, observing drunk pedestrians swaying on the streets, wondering what they’d think if they knew who had just driven past them.
The party was in a desolate building in central London. It might have been Covent Garden or Shoreditch but it was hard to tell. They’d only really travelled from one underground car park to another and while Rose had tried to focus on where they were going, it was impossible to concentrate. When they arrived, Milo waved and nodded to a woman holding a clipboard by a large blue door, who led them into an empty room with bare white walls that smelled strongly like fresh paint.
‘Sixth floor,’ the woman said, pointing to a lift in the corner.
‘Will you be all right?’ asked Rose.
‘I think I can handle it with you by my side,’ Milo replied.
She scoffed.
‘What?’
‘You don’t have to be so … I don’t know.’
‘Charming?’
‘I was going to say … well rehearsed.’
‘Maybe I’m just well rehearsed.’
‘They say practice makes perfect.’
‘Do they? I hadn’t heard that.’
‘I’m going to stop talking.’
‘Please don’t ever stop talking.’ Despite herself, Rose felt her mouth curl into a smile. ‘Have you been here before?’ he asked.
‘No. I know they always host the afterparties for the awards in the same venue but my boss usually discourages us from going to afterparties.’ Another lie. Minnie had always encouraged Rose to go to afterparties, even offering her plus-ones. Luce was the only person she was close enough with to ask, but she feared that inviting her might reflect poorly on Rose because she would almost certainly end up being pursued by a married celebrity and cause some sort of national scandal.
‘It’s fun. I think you’ll enjoy it.’
Rose looked down and realised Milo had left the goody bag in the car.
‘Fuck,’ she whispered.
‘She swears?’
‘Sorry. I just realised you don’t have the goody bag. I had one job.’
‘Just get it couriered to me in the morning. I’ll post some crazy selfie with it tomorrow to keep everyone happy.’
‘Really?’
Before he could reply, the lift doors opened and suddenly they were in what felt like the middle of a dance floor. The River Thames stretched out in front of them, seen through floor-to-ceiling windows bathed in a kaleidoscope of yellow lights. Not Covent Garden or Shoreditch then. To the left was a marble bar topped with rows of what looked like pre-made espresso martinis and negronis. To the right was, as promised, a table loaded up with every variety of cheese in existence. There was music humming gently through the room; a low and steady beat that sounded as if it kept repeating itself.
