Bottled Up

19 | green eggs and scam

Ben was prone to overthinking.

He took five minutes before sending a text message. He looked up restaurant menus ahead of time, and he lay awake wondering if he'd been too harsh with a client. Last week, Ben had even got out of bed to double-check that he'd turned the oven off.

Still. There was overthinking, and then there was...

Well.

Whatever this was.

He capped his pen. Uncapped it. Stared at the office clock. Eight hours had passed since he'd woken up in bed with Louise. Or — Ben did the mental math — 487 minutes since he'd ruined his life. God, was it hot in here? It felt hot in here. He shrugged off his suit jacket.

"What," Aman said, "are you wearing?"

Ben looked up. His secretary was staring at his pink shirt, one eyebrow raised. Ben folded his arms across his chest.

"It's a shirt," he said.

"It's a pink shirt."

"So?"

Aman swivelled in his chair. "You're wearing colour. I didn't realize you knew colours other than navy existed."

"You're not funny," Ben said.

Aman sniffed. "As someone that once worked at a comedy club, I find that proper offensive." He waved a pencil in Ben's direction. "This is Louise's influence, yeah?"

Well, yes. She'd told Ben last month that he needed to stop dressing like a middle-aged accountant. Not that he was about to admit that.

Ben frowned. "Why can't I just like pink shirts?"

"Please." Aman made a noise that could have been a snort. "We both know you didn't suddenly develop taste." He popped his strawberry bubble-gum. "What's happening between you two, anyway?"

Ben gripped the pen. "Nothing."

"Ah," Aman said. "So something is happening."

"Aman." His voice was a warning.

His secretary pulled out a bag of popcorn. "You shagged her, didn't you?"

This last part was said in an Essex accent and through a mouthful of popcorn, so it sounded more like dinya? Ben frowned.

"No."

Aman threw a piece of popcorn at him. "Liar."

"I didn't." Ben dodged it. "Honestly."

Aman gave him a look that said he clearly thought Ben was either scamming him, himself, or both. Ben picked the popcorn off the back of his chair, tossing it into the bin.

"There was an... incident," he said slowly.

Aman paused, a handful of popcorn hovering. "An incident?"

Ben rubbed a hand over his face. "We were sharing a bed this morning, and I..." His ears felt hot. "Jesus. Don't make me say it."

"Ah. Ah." Aman's expression cleared. "So you...?" His gaze dipped and then swiftly moved back up to Ben's face. "What did she say?"

"She just got up," Ben said.

Aman crumpled up the popcorn bag. "She didn't say anything?"

"No."

"Oh."

There was a pause. Aman turned back to his desk; it was decorated with little glittery presents and a pink boxing glove today, along what looked like a Mike Tyson action figure. Aman picked up the glove, holding it up to the windowsill.

"Do you think this looks better?" he asked.

Ben dropped his hand. "Oh, no."

"Really?" Aman tilted his head. "I could also put it on the coffee machine."

Ben swallowed. "You think I should have followed her, don't you?"

"It's a boxing glove," Aman said, waggling the glove. "For Boxing Day. Get it?" He lowered the glove. "Kind of shite that we need to work the day after Christmas, so I thought I'd decorate to—"

"Aman."

"— make things more festive," Aman finished. "You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I reckon it's proper illegal to make us work today. Do you think I should speak to HR? I was out for drinks with Cathy, and she was saying—"

"Aman," Ben said.

"What?"

"Did I fuck up?" Ben asked. "Answer honestly."

The heat from his face had faded, replaced by a low thrum of panic. Aman set the boxing glove on the table. He had the expression of a doctor about to give a patient a bad diagnosis, and Ben steeled himself.

"Yeah," he said. "You did."

Ben blew out a breath. "What do I do?"

"That depends." Aman popped his gum. "Do you want to shag her?"

Ben knocked the pen off the desk. "Jesus."

"Well, do you?"

"It doesn't matter." Ben bent down, suddenly glad that Aman couldn't see his face. "We said we wouldn't get involved. It would make things... messy." Messier than they already were, anyway, which wasn't saying much.

"So you're not going to shag her? Not even once?"

Ben frowned. "Aman."

"I'm just saying." Aman held up his hands. "Could help."

Slowly, Ben rose to his feet. He'd never really enjoyed one-night stands; it wasn't that Ben had never had casual arrangements — he'd had an on-and-off thing with his classmate Rosie for most of law school — but he preferred relationships. And anyway, the thought of doing that with Louise...

Bile rose in his throat.

No.

He couldn't do it.

It wasn't so much that she'd have an issue with it — Ben knew that Louise preferred meaningless flings, generally speaking — but that he'd have an issue with it. He couldn't imagine hooking up with her and then just... well. Forgetting about it.

Not, Ben thought, that he knew how to explain any of this to Aman; his secretary regularly went out to Infernos and then spent most of Monday morning recapping his conquests — both male and female — while Ben scoffed granola and pretended to do work ahead of their 9 o'clock meeting.

Ben set the pen on the desk. "I'm not going to sh—" The word caught in his throat. "Sleep with her."

"Are you sure?" Aman asked.

"Yes."

His secretary shrugged. "Then you know what you need to do."

"Deny it ever happened?" Ben offered.

Aman gave him a look that was usually reserved for when Ben had suggested they go for a nice tuna salad for lunch instead of a burger and chips. He sighed.

"Apologize?" Ben asked.

Aman snapped his fingers. "That's the one."

Ben glanced at the clock: 5:47 p.m. Right; Louise would just be getting home from coffee with the girls. No time like the present.

He rose from his seat. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck, mate." Aman's voice was cheerful. "Don't cock it up."