Love to Hate You

by Anna Premoli

  That said, he goes back to his keyboard and begins writing again.

  It only took a minute, but it was a painful lesson. Once we get out of Colin’s office, our expressions are not relieved at all. It’s no surprise that we both go back to our own offices without saying another word.

  *

  The following day, Laura and Vera seem almost scared when they hear me opening the front door. With good reason – it’s only 6 p.m. and I haven't been back from work this early since the day I was taken on.

  “Everything ok?” asks Laura worriedly, as I greet her.

  “Relax, girls, I’m absolutely fine, but I have a work meeting in half an hour and I need to change into something casual,” I say, as I walk past them and enter my room to find something suitable to wear. God, what should you wear for something like this?

  Ian e-mailed me in the afternoon to tell me the time and place. A place I've never been to but which I've heard mentioned. When I say its name to Laura, who has followed me into my room, she opens her eyes wide.

  “And who exactly are you meeting somewhere that posh?” she asks suspiciously.

  “It’s just for work—” I say vaguely as I grab a pair of jeans and a black top.

  “That's a pretty low-necked top,” points out Vera, as she walks in to join us. “Don’t try and avoid the question: who are you meeting?”

  I stop for a moment before answering. “If you promise you won’t jump to any weird conclusions—”

  Faces quizzical, they both nod.

  “Ok then – I have to meet Ian. But it’s only work. We argue too much in the office, so our boss suggested that we… no, actually he ordered us to find a neutral zone.”

  “So after almost killing each other at the office, you've decided to finish the job somewhere else? Haven't I taught you anything, Jenny? No witnesses!” Vera teases me.

  “It's just work!” I say in exasperation.

  “Yeah, of course it is, 'it's just work'—” mimics Laura “That's why you're so nervous, because it’s 'just work'—”

  “I’m not nervous!” I snap.

  But the truth is that I am nervous – extremely nervous! All this fighting with Ian is exhausting me, mentally and physically.

  A few seconds later, I’m ready. I don’t want to let my hair down or fix my make-up. Today I've gone back to my ponytail, hoping it might restore some normality. I really don’t want to risk Ian getting any funny ideas.

  Flat shoes, as flat as possible. I'm not out to impress anyone.

  I say goodbye to the girls and soon I’m in the tube. Yes, Ian certainly chose somewhere quiet, I think sarcastically. But I'd imagine that the poor boy probably doesn’t know anywhere that hasn't been in the Tatler, because everything about him is just so posh, right from his long, flowing, perfectly styled hair to those ridiculously expensive tailored suits.

  It's pretty easy to find the place, and it’s packed with cool people. Just the kind of snobs I hate. A waitress notices my confused expression and tries to help me.

  “Are you looking for someone?” she asks, as I'm casting an eye over the clientele.

  “Erm, yeah. I’m looking for a tall guy, black hair, blue eyes—” I try to describe him vaguely.

  “Oh, right!” she chirps immediately, “you must be Jennifer!”

  I look at her in astonishment. “Follow me. There’s a quieter room at the back.” I have no choice but to do as she says and trail behind her while she makes her way between the tables. She leads me to a room which is indeed much more intimate, and much less crowded. Ian is sitting at a table in a dimly lit corner, presumably reading one of the hundreds of e-mails our BlackBerries are always receiving. He still hasn’t noticed me.

  “Is that him?” the girl asks.

  “It is, unfortunately” I confirm, and she seems to smile, as though she knows what I’m talking about.

  I thank her and walk over to the table. Ian is wearing the same clothes he had on at work: he's taken off his jacket and tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, but nothing else has changed. He puts down his phone and looks at me with a surprised expression.

  “You’re looking very casual, I see.”

  “Laid-back and incognito,” I explain.

  “No little black dress?” he says, sounding almost astonished.

  “Me? Little black dress? Have you started on the drink already, Ian?” I ask worriedly, while I take a seat.

  “Haven't had a drop,” he answers promptly. “Slows down the reflexes, and I can’t really risk that with you around.”

  “Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I mumble, and silence falls for a while as we sit scowling at each other.

  “We really need to move forward,” he says suddenly, unexpectedly and unenthusiastically.

  “I know,” I answer in the same flat tone, as though I were talking to my dentist.

  “Yesterday things took a turn for the worse. Again.”

  “I know,” I nod. I was there too.

  “This could seriously mess up our careers—”

  “Ian, can we skip the platitudes? If we're here, it's because we obviously both want a change. I get it, really I do.”

  “And are you ready to commit to it?” he asks, lifting his eyes and looking at me. I stare into them.

  “Only if you are.”

  “I am, honestly.” His deeply blue eyes sparkle dangerously.

  “In that case, I am too.”

  “Good, because Beverly’s secretary just sent me a memo about next weekend, and if we don’t learn to get along we are not going to survive it.”

  “I can imagine,” I say. I mean, it was obvious things needed to change.

  “Great. Well I’d say that this clearing things up business has gone better than expected,” he says, sounding relieved.

  I look at him in annoyance. “Listen, I'm an extremely reasonable person, when I'm dealing with reasonable people.”

  “You’re not reasonable at all,” says Ian, flagging down a waiter. “What are you having, Jenny?” he asks, sounding almost gallant. Almost as if he hadn’t just offended me.

  “I'll have a cappuccino,” I mumble resentfully.

  “Ok, so a cappuccino for the lady and a glass of Pinot Grigio for me,” he says.

  “We're supposed to be working. Wine?” I tease him.

  “I'd like to relax now. The worst, hopefully, is past.”

  “Keep hoping,” I say, taking a very heavy folder out of my bag. It contains everything there is to know about Beverly, his companies and his family. “You'd probably be happier not knowing what you're going up against.”

  *

  Two hours later we’re still working our way through the folder. I’m even more jittery than before, thanks to all the caffeine in my system, and Ian is more relaxed, since he's had quite a few glasses of white wine. He seems to be more at ease, and sometimes almost smiles and tries to be funny, but the only result is that he gets on my nerves.

  I can tell that he’s making an effort, and it un-nerves me, because I can’t really forget everything that's happened so easily. I'd like to, but I just can’t. Being around him is dangerous, I know his tactics: he tries to make you feel safe and then he strikes when you least expect it. He did it so often in the past, when I barely knew him and thought he was an intelligent and brilliant young man, and before I found out how aggressive and vindictive he actually is.

  I’d better not forget that or lower my guard.

  But all this tension is killing me, so in the end I just give up.

  “I think we'd better carry on with this tomorrow. My head's about to burst,” I say, raising my eyes from a securitisation plan for corporate debt.

  Ian looks at me carefully. “You're actually not looking too great. Too much stress.”

  And he suddenly leans over, puts his thumbs on my temples and starts giving me a massage.

  I remain frozen in astonishment for a few moments, then pull back. “What exactly are you doing?” I ask abruptly, pro
bably sounding ruder than I meant to.

  “Trying to get rid of your stress,” he answers, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

  I push his hands away, as if they were burning. “For God's sake! Don’t get so close, don’t come close to me and most of all don’t touch me! You’re one of the main reasons why I'm so stressed in the first place, so stay out of my personal space,” I growl threateningly.

  Ian laughs at my words. He probably thinks I’m crazy, but I don't care.

  “Ok, let’s go, then,” he says while he gets to his feet and signals to the waitress that he wants to pay.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, as he pulls out his platinum credit card.

  “I’m paying?” he answers sarcastically.

  “No thanks – I’m paying!” I answer aggressively.

  “I don’t think so,” says Ian in a determined tone.

  “I am paying, since Beverly is my client,” I point out.

  “Beverly is our client, not just yours,” he answers, handing over his card to the waitress.

  I snatch it out of his hand and put it down on the table, then take a couple of notes from my wallet and give them to the girl, who looks at us and laughs.

  “I don't let girls pay when they’re out with me,” he says, sounding annoyed.

  “Yes, but I’m not a 'girl', I’m a colleague. I know all about your wild nights out and since it’s still early you've got plenty of time to hook up with one of your usual bimbos. I’m sure they won’t mind if you foot the bill.”

  Ian looks surprised and shocked, as if he has unexpectedly found himself sucking on a slice of lemon. Maybe – just ‘maybe’ – I've gone too far.

  The waitress realises immediately what’s going on, takes both Ian’s card and my notes, and a few minutes later she's back with his receipt and my change.

  We head towards the entrance, Ian still acting offended. Before going away, I turn towards him and touch his arm to get his attention.

  “Listen. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that.” He doesn’t reply. “I’m serious, what do I know about models or PR? Maybe in your world stuff like that is totally normal—”

  Ian grabs my arm now, to stop me from saying any more. We must look pretty funny. “Don’t make it any worse,” he says. “You're bloody awful at apologising.”

  “I don’t have much experience,” I confess, “I’m usually right.”

  For some reason, my answer makes him smile.

  “I must admit that you’re actually quite funny too, in a peculiar way.”

  “Of course I am. It's cutting wit, but it's still wit. Isn’t it?”

  Ian ponders. “Well, since we've survived an aperitif, what if we raise the stakes and go out for dinner tomorrow? I really need to eat some proper food.”

  And I need to go on a diet. But I can always get a salad.

  “We could try. But nowhere trendy, please. And since you don’t know anywhere that isn't, I'll choose the venue.”

  “Do I look like someone who likes trendy places?” he asks ironically. My expression is a clear enough answer.

  “Ok, fine,” he says, raising his arms in surrender, “you choose the place, pay if you like and if that's not enough, you can choose the wine too.”

  “No wine, just water. No offence, but wine has a strange effect on you. And we each pay for what we get, or we split the bill,” I grant him.

  “That's quite generous, coming from you,” he says, lifting up his eyebrows.

  “Right. I’m off,” I say, gesturing with my head to the nearby tube station.

  “I'd offer you a lift, but you'd probably answer that you don’t need a bodyguard and that you’re perfectly able to reach the underground on your own, so I won’t.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say.

  “Goodnight,” he says.

  “I won't say goodnight to you – your night's still young. Bye!” I say, walking away with a wave.

  *

  Vera and Laura are standing by the door when I get home.

  “So?” they ask in unison.

  “So what? We didn’t kill each other, if that’s what you’re wondering,” I answer, slightly defensively, and plonk myself down between them on the sofa.

  “Spit it out. We’ve been sat here for hours imagining how bad things could have got – you pouring your drink over his head, him throwing nuts at you… You know, that type of stuff,” says Laura, laughing.

  “It was a pretty… peculiar night,” I confess, pausing to choose the right word. “I honestly wouldn’t know how else to describe it.”

  “In what way, peculiar?” asks Vera immediately.

  “Well, I was expecting more animosity. I mean, there was a bit, at the beginning, but then we managed to keep everything under control. And we got a lot of work done, so I’d say it was a success, really.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. In that case, I'd suggest a girls' night out tomorrow, so we can celebrate your being newly single. I mean, let’s be honest, you’re way better off without Charles. And that way we can also celebrate me getting back together with David!” says Laura happily.

  All the things that have happened lately have at least stopped me from thinking too much about Charles – I haven't had time to mope. Any excuse is usually good enough for me to celebrate, but not this time. “How about the day after tomorrow?” I suggest. “I have to work tomorrow night.”

  “With Ian,” Vera says, not asking. She sniggers.

  “Yes, with Ian. But it's not what you think—” I say threateningly.

  “Who'd have thought it, our friend preferring swanning about with a count to a night out with us,” teases Laura.

  “I know! And despite being brought up with certain values by her parents! Look how life in the City's changed her—” Vera chips in.

  “Oh, give it a rest, you two!” I say indignantly, but they laugh even more.

  “I have to admit it, he is quite interesting, though,” says Laura.

  “Have you seen this?” asks Vera, picking up a gossip magazine from the coffee table and quickly flicking through it. “Here he is!” she exclaims with satisfaction, showing us a picture of Ian with one of the usual brainless beauties he always seems to be squiring around town.

  “Yeah,” she says after a while, “the guy definitely has potential.”

  “No, darling, the guy has already fully developed his potential, together with his arrogance and unpleasantness,” I correct her while I take a furtive look at one of the pictures. He does look good.

  “Do you think it's his title that's to blame, or his money? Or is it his looks?” asks Laura seriously.

  “I suppose it's a mixture of all three. You know, when you grow up in that kind of world, you think everything's owed you on a silver platter.”

  “Shame,” Vera says after a little while. “Yes,” agrees Laura.

  I grab the remote control and turn on the TV, though, because I’ve had enough of talking about Ian. It's high time I thought about something else.

  Chapter 6

  I’m sitting at a table in a restaurant full of people. It’s nothing trendy, just a perfectly run of the mill pizzeria in a perfectly ordinary part of town. I’m sure Ian will hate the place, and that thought alone gives me a little thrill of gratification. Just a little one, though – I don't want to blow my PC credentials altogether.

  Since he's late, I decide to call my mum while I’m waiting.

  She answers at the first ring.

  “Hi mum,” I say.

  “Jenny, darling, we were just talking about you,” she informs me solemnly.

  Great.

  “Oh yes?” I try to understand.

  “Your father and I were just saying that we really hope we'll get a chance to see Charles this Saturday. Did he like the soup?” she asks in a caring voice.

  “Of course,” I lie. “About Saturday though – I can’t come this weekend.”

  “Why not?” she asks with irritation.

  “
I'll be in Scotland for work,” I reveal. At least there's one good thing about this trip: it'll save me from my parents.

  “Are you serious, Jenny? Working at the weekend? You’re not a kid any more, you know. You warned us that it would be like this for a few years, but this has been going on for ages!”

  Thanks a lot for reminding me how old I am, mum, I think resignedly.

  “And it almost never happens nowadays. This is an exception,” I point out, my patience starting to fray. Michael's allowed to travel the world without showing his face for months, but I can’t miss even one weekly meeting.

  “It’s always an exception,” she says harshly.

  I bite my tongue. I don't want to tell her where to go.

  “Maybe Charles could come anyway,” she says.

  “He’s busy too—” I answer nervously. All this lying is becoming a problem.

  Of course Ian chooses the perfect moment to finally turn up. He walks over to me and, once near the table, leans over as though to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  What the hell is he doing? I just manage to duck away in time only to find him looking at me with a mocking expression.

  “Good evening – sorry I'm late,” he mouths, as he takes a seat in front of me.

  “Who’s that with you?” my mother asks immediately. She must be the woman with the most sensitive, selective hearing on the planet.

  “It’s just the waiter,” I say, without any conviction.

  “Are you out for dinner?” she asks, as though she were Hampshire's answer to Jessica Fletcher. “Who with?”

  “With Vera and Laura,” I lie.

  “Can I have a word with them?” she asks, as if it was absolutely normal to ask such a thing.

  “Why?” I ask nervously.

  “What do you mean why? I want to say hello. What a stupid question… you’re acting very peculiarly today.”

  I give Ian a look, ordering him to be quiet. He could blow this for me.

  “So, will you put them on?”

  “I can’t, they're in the toilet,” I lie again, closing my eyes in despair.

  “Both of them?” she screeches, incredulity in her voice.

  “Yes, both of them! What is this, the third degree? I’ll send them your love. Good night, mum!” and I hang up. Why did I even bother calling her?