For the rest of the week, Nif was the epitome of professional. She always managed to have someone else between Oliver and her the entire time. Clare knew some of the details and had happily taken on the role of physical buffer, and Leon had been dropping by more than she’d expected, joining them for lunch and managing to carry most of the conversation.
After the first day, Oliver — who Nif insisted she call Mr Salem no matter how many times he insisted she didn’t — had quietly retreated, and instead he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
At some point he must have given Moira her number because his friend had taken to texting Nif frequently. Whether he thought Moira would be on his side and somehow convince Nif to forgive him was proven to be completely misguided.
He deserves to be roasted, Moira had texted the first time. It’s funny watching him sulk. Just saying, though, I haven’t seen him this worked up over someone in a long time.
You could’ve told me, too, Nif had pointed out and the younger woman had responded with a gif of Moira putting a box on her head, the words sorry written in bold beneath. Nif couldn’t stay mad at her and they’d been texting back and forth ever since.
When Charlotte came out of the pitch session on the Friday morning, Nif wasn’t even hiding her interest as she hovered by the older woman’s desk.
“Well?” Nif asked.
“You’ve got good taste,” Charlotte replied. “The pitch was accepted all round. We’ve a tentative late next year release date for A Lonely Star. If Ms Thompson can get a few awards under her belt before the Winter Solstice period, we’ll be laughing.”
Nif pushed away the lingering disappointment that it wouldn’t be her to give Sarah the happy news.
That weekend she escaped the city to her parents’ place. Her mother had her help rake the fallen leaves in the yard while her father stuffed her full of homemade treats: scones with fresh cream and mulberry jam, the last of the season’s apple pie, and hot chocolates that were so thick she could eat them with a spoon.
Nif bitched and moaned the entire time until even she was sick of her own voice and her parents were wise enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, though she’d spotted them fondly rolling their eyes at her.
When Nif returned to work on Monday, she was somewhat rejuvenated (and weighing an extra two kilos) and the sharp edge of her anger had faded to a blunt buzz of annoyance and hurt. When Oliver -- Mr Salem -- offered her a tentative smile, she was proud of herself for smiling cooly back (though she was less proud that she found the first excuse to step out of the office to get coffee).
On Tuesday morning, Nif received a message from Moira.
So will you be joining us this evening?
Despite the weekend away to clear her head, she was still just as tied up in knots as she’d been before. Should she go?
Who was Oliver...Cliff…, whatever name he preferred, to scare her off something that had honestly made her feel better about who and what she was for the first time in a long time? No man, no matter how much he still made her heart skip a beat and her stomach drop, was going to ruin this for her. Maybe Nif could find another group? Surely there were others? But Nif liked Moira, and Clint reminded her of her father. Morris clearly had a heart of gold under that prickly exterior, and even Josephine and Philippa had a sweet earnestness to them, Josephine's quiet gentleness balancing out Philippa’s indignant fierceness.
Come on, Nif. It’ll be fun! Moira sent as if she knew Nif was agonising over it all. Oliver looked up from where he was working at the ping and Nif covered the screen as she typed out her reply, feeling childish for doing so.
Decision to go made, she was just about to hit send when Lyon materialised at the office doorway, giving her a sheepish wave. Tossing Oliver a brief look, she set her phone down and joined her boss.
“I’ve a favour to ask,” Lyon said, hands tucked into his trouser pockets nonchalantly, but his collar was slightly askew.
“Of course. What is it?”
“I need a date for tonight.”
A date? Why was he asking her? She didn’t know anyone he could go with. Maybe Sapha? Her housemate scrubbed up very nicely, but Sapha wasn’t one to pull her punches. Lyon looked the sort who could take it though. Nif tilted her head slightly, imagining her housemate on Lyon’s arm in a slinky, gravity defying dress. She wasn’t sure what Sapha thought of lions, but as a cat she probably didn’t mind her feline counterpart.
“I can give you my friend’s number…” Nif began and was surprised -- and delighted -- when Lyon ducked his head shyly.
“Actually, I was asking you. If you wanted to go. On a date. With me.”
“Me?” Nif squeaked. Out of the corner of her eye, Nif spotted Oliver’s head snapping up, clearly abandoning any attempts at looking busy. “But why?”
“Because I need a plus one at a publishing event tonight. Because you’ve worked hard this week and you should have a break,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “But most of all, because I’d like to take you out if that’s alright.”
“Alright,” Nif answered, thoughts of going to the support group tonight flying out the window. “Wait, event? You don’t mean the Thornton Awards?”
***
The Thornton Awards was the most prestigious science fiction and fantasy award event for emerging writers in the country. Getting an invite to the awards was like finding a golden ticket in a chocolate bar, and here Nif was, dressed in one of Sapha’s borrowed frocks, doing her best not to freeze to death while she waited for Leon. A gust of winter whistled through the trees, causing Nif to desperately grab at her skirts, layers of blue and silver silk that made Sapha look like an ocean nymph and Nif like a ghost from a Japanese horror film. Goosebumps swept across her bare legs. At least she’d refused Sapha’s flimsy wraps and instead wore her padded, black jacket over the top of it all.
Shifting closer to the entrance to catch the spill of heat every time the glass doors slid open, Nif peered into the lamp-lit street, hoping to catch sight of Leon’s tall, dark figure. He’d offered to send a car for her, but she’d refused, instead catching a bus into the sparkling, downtown glam of the city’s theatre district.
The Awards were held in the Delaware Orpheum Theatre, all art-deco glam, crystal and glass amongst dark green tiles and heavy, satin curtains. Through the doors, Nif could see guests flitting about holding bubbling champagne flutes, like dancing dragonflies across the smooth glass surface of a pond, most in their human forms, but there was a pure white husky panting happily by the bar and one of the bar staff was an orangutan in a red and gold suit, juggling bottles of spirits to an admiring crowd.
“Jennifer!” Leon was trying to tug his ankle length coat out of the back door of a car. An expensive car if the reflective sheen was anything to go by. He waved the driver off and took the stone steps leading up to the theatre two at a time. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. You must be freezing!” He looked about ready to shrug off his own coat, before realising they should just go inside.
“Not long,” Nif assured. “Nothing a hot drink won’t fix.”
“Last year they had the most divine hot chocolates.” Leon held out his elbow for Nif to take; in his free hand was an envelope edged in gold. He radiated heat like a summer day, and Nif couldn’t help edge closer as he swept them up the steps.
“Leon Knight and his guest, Jennifer Saito,” he greeted, handing over the invites in a move that was casually smooth.
“Welcome, Mr Knight, Ms Saito,” said the suited door-woman wearing thick leather gloves, her ears a frosted pink. “It’s a pleasure to see you again this year, sir. Please, enjoy your evening.”
The door was pulled open from the inside by yet another uniformed staff member and Nif gleefully stepped into the warm embrace of the theatre. Coats discarded at the cloakroom, Nif was busily trying to put names to faces, mostly recognising agents and publishers from other events, but a few of the emerging authors here she’d met at cosy book launches.
“Is that...I mean,” Leon coughed and Nif glanced up at him, surprised by the dark flush across his cheeks as his eyes focused somewhere high on her face. He made a gesture to Nif’s dress. “That doesn’t look warm enough,” he finished.
“Heavens no. It’s my housemate’s. Do I look silly?” She couldn’t help feel like a dreary wannabe amongst all the glamour, but she took heart when she noticed a few others lingering around the edges, underdressed and clearly knowing it. She even spotted someone dressed as a horned Loki, knocking back champagne like it was a competition and he was going for gold. He’d obviously misinterpreted the fancy dress requirement.
“Not at all,” Leon said. “You look stunning.” The accompanying smile and clear appreciation in his eyes left Nif feeling an odd mix of delight and awkwardness. Her office crush briefly sparked in her chest, but she hastily swatted it out. He was just being nice, and anyway, as much as she found Leon appealing on multiple levels, she couldn’t risk things getting weird at work. She already had Oliver to contend with.
“That’s nice of you to say. You look quite dashing yourself. Now you mentioned something about hot chocolates? Feel my fingers. They’re blocks of ice!” Nif brushed the back of Leon’s hand with her fingertips and he actually flinched.
“Right, one hot chocolate coming up.”
After Leon had handed her the elegant glass, a swirl of chocolate rimming the inside and topped with fresh cream and marshmallows, Nif had taken a moment to absorb the heat into her fingers before taking a sip. Pure magic. The whole evening could be distilled to this moment and she would go home a happy woman.
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“You’ve got…” Leon pulled out an actual pressed handkerchief and offered it to Nif, gesturing to her nose.
Glancing over to the mirror behind the bar, Nif realised she had a dab of cream on the tip of her nose. Geez, that was embarrassing. At least he hadn’t offered to wipe it for her. Or lick it off.
“Thanks. This is good,” she lifted her hot chocolate in a toast. “So when are the awards announced? Are any of our authors short-listed for an award?” No one seemed to be in a rush to enter the main theatre, and canapes were circulating gracefully. Puff pastries topped with delicate garnishes, grilled prawns on dainty skewers, tiny tarts topped in cheese and caramelised onion. They were all delicious (Nif helped herself to everything), though they clashed awfully with the hot chocolate.
“Not this year, unfortunately.” Leon was trying to brush off the pastry crumbs off his silk tie decorated with swirling galaxies, but all he was doing was crumpling it. “The competition was pretty strong, but I’m hoping with the acquisition of Cliff Salem’s new series, more new authors will be keen to sign on with Never Archives this coming year.”
“You’re going to ruin it,” Nif huffed and offered him a napkin for his tie.
“Thank you. And Charlotte is very excited about Sarah Thompson, the young author you discovered, and if what I hear is true, she’ll be a strong contender for next year’s awards.”
Nif was still a bit bruised by having Sarah snatched from her, but she pushed her annoyance aside.
“Has Mr Salem won any awards?”
“He won the science fiction newcomer’s award three years ago. His agent collected the prize on his behalf because he’s always been notorious for avoiding functions and events. I’m hoping that by the time his work is filmed, he’ll be happy to make an appearance at his own series launch. That’s where you come in.”
“I’ll do my best,” Nif offered, trying not to squirm on the spot. At the rate she was going, she’d be lucky if she was even speaking with him. She really needed to get her head on straight.
“Leon, darling! There you are!” The voice belonged to a peacock, and for a moment Nif was truly baffled at being able to understand the high pitched sounds. The bird sweeping towards them was in fact a middle-aged woman wearing a sweeping floor length gown, the train decorated with beads and crystals in the patterns of a peacock. It was in shocking bad taste, and yet the crowd parted before her as if she was royalty.
“Oh dear,” Leon murmured and then straightened, his fake work smile slipping into place. Nif actually ached for him. He’d been so relaxed before, eating far too many of the tarts and licking cream off his nose, that, in comparison, he was a whole different person.
“Mother, you said you had a prior engagement,” Leon said as he bent to air kiss the woman on both cheeks. Nif swallowed back a cough as a toxic wave of perfume enveloped her.
“Yes, yes, I can’t stay long, but it’s important for your father’s law firm to be seen at such events.” She paused to smile wide into the lens of a camera before shoo-ing the photographer off.
“Of course, and father?”
“He’s around here somewhere. Anthony?” she shrieked and out of the crowds strode Leon’s double. They could’ve been brothers. Same build, same posture, same walk. He looked as if he’d been poured into his suit, black with a crisp white shirt and a bow tie that was just a little too loose to not be on purpose. But that’s where the similarities ended. Leon’s father’s smile was lazily smug, one she’d never seen grace Leon’s face, and there was just something about the way he moved that hinted at something predatory.
“You bellowed, my dear?” Leon’s father gathered his wife in for a showy kiss, holding it long enough for the flash of cameras to sparkle off Leon’s mother’s dress, before pulling back and reaching without looking for a passing flute of champagne.
“Say hello to your son.” The older woman gestured as if anyone could overlook Leon, standing stiffly as the last of his cream collapsed into his hot chocolate.
“Leon, my boy. I swear you grow another inch each time I see you. Prague, wasn’t it?” The man offered out a hand to shake.
“Paris, actually. July last year.” Leon used it as an opportunity to shift slightly in front of Nif as his father switched his gaze onto her.
“Time flies, doesn’t it? And who is this little sparrow?”
Nif shrunk further behind Leon, suddenly feeling as if she was being eaten alive as both Leon’s parents turned their intense gaze on her.
“This is Ms Jennifer Saito. A colleague and friend of mine. Jennifer, these are my parents, Florence and Anthony Knight.”
“A friend from work,” Florence said, hands fluttering as she talked. “How charming. You do so care about your little underlings.” Her teeth appeared to sharpen in the light, smile a parody of sympathy. “I hope you don’t think this is more than it is, Ms Saito. You see, our family only partners with a full match. None of this mixing malarky. Now, I’m usually so good at picking out a person’s shift form, and while my husband guessed sparrow, I can’t help but think that’s not right.”
For a moment Nif didn’t know if she wanted to fight or run away, the glamour and magic of the evening being doused by the waves of threat pouring off Leon’s parents. Poor Leon. A spark of protective rage swirled up deep inside her and she gently nudged Leon aside.
“To be honest, whatever shift I have is none of your business. Leon and I were having an enjoyable evening before you both showed up and I would be much obliged if you’d scurry off back to whatever hole you slunk out of.” Her words rushed out of her, leaving her breathless. She grabbed Leon’s elbow and gave him a little pull. “I think I need a refill. My hot chocolate has gone cold.”
Leon took her cue and marched them into the crowd, his shoulders trembling. At first Nif thought he was angry at her, but as soon as they reached the barista station, his laughter roared out of him until he was almost crying.
“Their faces!” he managed between cackles. “My mother...her face was...oh my god. I’ve never seen her so speechless.”
“That was awful. I’m sorry. They’re your parents and I shouldn’t have…”
“Oh no. They deserve it. Trust me. For that you deserve macaroons everyday for the rest of the year!” Leon set down his half drunk hot chocolate and did the same for Nif’s, before taking both her hands in his. “Thank you. I should’ve called them out for what they said to you, but you got to it first. You were brilliant.”
For a brief moment, he looked like he was going to kiss her. Leaning back, Nif gave a shrug.
“Well if I knew macaroons were on the line, I wouldn’t have hesitated to say half of what I wanted.” She pulled her hands free and tucked her hair behind her ears.
“Look, my parents have a very set way of seeing the world. Something I realised very early on was elitist and discriminatory, and I honestly wished you hadn’t had to meet them. They’re my parents only in name, and if it’s another year before I have to see them, then it’s far too soon.”
“It’s not your fault who your parents are.”
“Yes, well, I hope they haven’t hurt my chances of asking you out on a date.”
“A date?”
“A proper one. Dinner and a show? I promise no parents.” His smile was confident, yet genuine, nothing like the smile he had for his parents. Chewing her lip, Nif really wanted to say yes. He was kind and sweet and he knew she was shiftless so there would be no nasty surprises there. But...Oliver’s goofy grin as he offered the receipt with his phone number scrawled across the back, all earnestness, made Nif wish it was him she was at this gala with. What was wrong with her? A handsome, rich and, above all, kind man wants a date with her and yet she was thinking about someone else who lied to her. All she could taste in her mouth was guilt.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Nif finally said. “We work together,” she added quickly. “And I feel like things are looking up for me there, and I wouldn’t want people to think…”
“Of course,” Leon said, withdrawing even though his smile was still warm. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Now, let’s get another hot chocolate, perhaps with a little extra bite? We both deserve it after seeing my parents.”
That was less awkward than Nif had expected, and she knew she’d sleep poorly wondering if she’d made a mistake saying no.
“Yes, that sounds perfect.”
***
At work the next day, the evening before felt as if it had all been a dream until Leon dropped a box of macaroons on her desk with a wink.
“A promise is a promise.”
Nif had worried it would be awkward, but Leon was his usual charming self and she wondered if maybe she’d imagined him asking her out on a date. The whole thing kept her distracted all morning.
Nif, dear. Where did you say has the best muffins in the city? Moira texted around lunch time.
To Bean or Not to Bean. They had rhubarb and custard muffins earlier.
OMG. I’m there.
Before Nif could reply, asking why Moira was in the city when she had been stressing about a thesis chapter that just wouldn’t cooperate, Leon swept into the converted office in all his golden glory.
“How’re you coming along, Cliff?” Leon asked.
“Oh, um, slow progress, but steady,” which was a lie because Nif knew he’d scrapped an entire scene this morning, declaring he’d be starting over.
“Maybe it would be a good idea if you got out of the office? How does lunch sound? Jennifer, you shall come too.”
It wasn’t a suggestion so a few minutes later Nif and Oliver were standing awkwardly in the lift as Leon made a quick phone call.
“Are you ever going to speak to me again?” Oliver whispered to her as the lift descended. Nif had been so caught up with the Leon thing, that she’d barely spared a glance at Oliver, and when she had, she’d been left even more confused.
“I am speaking to you, Mr Salem,” Nif said and winced at her tone. This wasn’t like her. She wasn’t known to hold grudges, but she’d really liked him. More than she should have for such a short period and the bonus of not having to explain herself, that maybe he was like her, had thrown accelerant on her emotions.
“The others missed you last night, you know.”
Part of her still blamed the others, because they were implicit in Oliver’s duplicity, even subconsciously. “If you want, I can not go. Moira likes you, and it’s so rare for her to make new friends.”
Nif sighed and rubbed her eyes, then remembered she’d worn make up today and checked her reflection in the mirrored elevator panels. Still fine. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to impress.
“Don’t do that,” she said. “Not come, I mean. I had something else last night, but I’ll attend next week's meeting, okay. Just, don’t think it’ll be like it was.”
“No, that’s fine. Brilliant. I’ll have to tell Moira.” He paused. “I’m sorry, you know. About everything. The misunderstanding. The lie. I wish I’d told you straight away.”
Leon ended his call just as they arrived in the foyer.
“We’ll have to go somewhere new. Apparently the little fusion restaurant I was planning to take you has been temporarily shut down due to a suspicious death. One of the kitchen hands was found yesterday morning, his eyes missing.”
“Oh god, that’s terrible!” Oliver exclaimed. Nif had a sick feeling that they’d find the eyes in the poor person’s stomach.
They settled for a deconstructed toasted sandwich place where the total bill amounted to an entire day’s worth of work. Nif had her suspicions that Leon was paying out of his own pocket rather than the company’s. She hoped he wasn’t doing all this to impress her.
The meal was strange yet delicious, the conversation awkward and stilted.
“Let’s not talk shop,” Leon had insisted as they were seated so what followed was an odd round of twenty questions. Oliver was particularly enthusiastic; perhaps to prove he could be truthful.
But eventually the conversation drifted to the bizarre death of the kitchen hand.
“The police haven’t said anything, but I’m worried this death is somehow linked to the young woman found in her garden two weeks ago,” Leon said. “Similar wounds and I heard she was a non-shifter. I know the last victim’s boss and he’s been pretty active in hiring non and partial shutters. I’m fairly certain the poor boy killed was a non-shifter.”
Both men looked at Nif and she swallowed her sudden surge of alarm and shrugged.
“It could be a coincidence,” Nif said, mostly to convince herself.
“Well, until we know for sure, I’ll feel better if I drive you home at night,” Leon said. Before Nif could argue, he lightly touched the back of her hand, his eyes worried. “Please, for my peace of mind at least.”
Nif glanced over to Oliver and he was chewing his lip. He opened his mouth to say something, before snapping it shut, giving a hopeless little shrug.
“I’ll think about it,” Nif said, and purposefully changed the subject to online cooking shows.