It glows to life and I enter my password: ParisObserver123.

No, I’m not completely lacking in imagination, that’s the same one I was issued on my first day, right before I embarked on that awkward introductory tour of the office.

I move to my inbox, staring at my screen, scanning through my emails for anything from Hyacinth. For feedback on my article. Please love it, please love it, please love it.

But who am I kidding, it’s just gone 9 am and last time it took her more than twenty-four hours to get back to me. The best thing I can do right now is get a start on my next idea. But my head is thumping, my mouth is dry, and I either need an IV drip of caffeine or a defibrillator. Now. I glance up at the kitchen. There are people in there, milling around the Nespresso machine. One of them laughs loudly. I’ll need to wait until they leave, otherwise I’ll be drawn into the hell that is office small talk. Meanwhile, Claudia is still polluting the airwaves with her speakerphone call. It’s interesting that there isn’t more violence in the workplace.

But now the people are leaving. I stand up. I’m about to head to the kitchen when I hear a small voice say, ‘Harper.’

I turn to look. It’s Judy, the receptionist with her perfect short dark bob. She’s wearing a cream knee-length dress that nips in at the waist and she is grinning a sweet grin. I smile back because she’s the only person in this place I don’t actively dislike.

But wait…

She’s carrying roses.

Red ones.

I do a quick count: twelve.

I stand there, staring at her. She’s not bringing those to me, is she? My breath is quick. Please be for someone else. Someone sitting right near me. Wesley?

My face is getting hot now because, nope, she’s definitely coming for me.

‘Lucky girl!’ says Judy.

‘Thanks,’ I say, my throat constricting as she lays them down on my desk.

But my insides are all: Fuck him.

Because before I even reach for the card, I know what it will say: H xx.

Harrison.

I know this because today is the anniversary of the day we met.

And he always does something like this, always has, and it appears, always fucking will. Last year was a massive teddy bear which ended up finding its ‘forever home’ at Oxfam. I thought it was a one-off. A slip. A jagged end to a tradition. But here we are, a full swing around the sun later, and he’s still being an arsehole. And don’t get me wrong, I know it looks like a sweet gesture, but know this: anything Harrison does that seems ‘sweet’ has an ulterior motive. In this case he’s trying to keep me on his hook. And I hate that, as hard as I try to break free, he’s managing. I hate that I still google him. I hate that love is a bit like a prison: easy to get into but you have to tunnel your way out with a teaspoon.