Chapter Text
There was no possible way the day could have gotten any worse. Her presentation had been savaged by the clients who had completely misunderstood what she was trying to do. Somehow, what she thought was artful and interesting was over the top and pretentious. No, regardless of their claims to the contrary, they didn’t actually want to do anything new and exciting and groundbreaking. They just wanted to claim that the same shite they had been peddling for the last one hundred and fifty years was so old it was new again. That was fine; she’d had clients disagree with her before, but then to go on and claim that as a young woman she lacked the ability to speak to their clientele in a language they would understand made her want to take one of the $400 putters they were advertising and wrap it around their necks. She had managed to keep it together in the board room, though she could still feel the imprints of her perfect manicure in her palms. But now, as she stood in the motherfucking rain waiting for a cab to actually recognize her, she wanted to scream and cry and just swear at all the holy saints and angels for this latest proof that she was completely and totally failing at her life. The pouring rain was just so movie cliché for her despair and she looked around hoping, really hoping she would see movie cameras somewhere and all this was just the first act in a movie and someone would yell cut, and the rain machines would stop and someone would bring her a triple latte macchiato with caramel or whatever it was that those skinny bitches always ordered in front of her at Starbucks. She hated them. She had never talked to them, but she was pretty sure she hated them.
But there were no movie cameras. There never were. Just like there were no rain machines, and nobody to hand her a cup of coffee, and the pretty girls in front of her at Starbucks were probably lovely women who volunteered for charity and loved libraries and gerbera daisies and watching Pretty in Pink in their pajamas and singing along with Britney Spears songs non-ironically.
She sighed in relief as a cab pulled up, only to have some asshat in a three piece suit that probably cost enough for a nice vacation slip in front of her and grab it. She didn’t say anything, knowing if she did she would end up facing an assault charge by the time she was done. She took a deep breath and pulled out the bottle of pomegranate blueberry juice from her bag. She twisted off the top and took a drink just as someone bumped her from behind and she spilled it down the front of her pale blue blouse.
She stared down at the enormous stain that continued to bleed into the expensive fabric and gave up. She hated this blouse. She hated the boring conservative color and the boring conservative cut and the boring conservative store she had purchase it at. She’d already snapped the artboards for her presentation in half and dumped them in the bin in the lobby on the way out. She was not about to tote those across London in this kind of weather; the rain would have ruined them anyway. She marched back into the lobby, stripped off her ruined blouse and threw it in the bin as well.
The security guard looked at her in concern, wondering what else the half-drowned, half naked woman in his building was going to do.
“Fuck this job. I hate this job! I hate this job, and this briefcase!” She threw it in the bin. “And I hate this phone full of contacts of people I loathe with every fiber of my being.” She threw the device on the floor with all her might and smiled as she heard the screen crack. She stomped on it, spearing it with the spiked heel of her shoe for good measure. “I hate my fucking life!” She screamed it at the top of her lungs. The security guard started walking towards her and she smiled. “Don’t worry, that’s it. I’m done. I’m done with all of this.”
She picked up her purse and walked out the bank of cold glass doors at the front of the building. Not even the pelting winter rain could dull the euphoric sense of relief she felt. She had just thrown away her entire fucking life, literally, and she couldn’t think of anything that would make this moment better.
A taxi pulled up right in front of her, like fucking karma, and she reached for the door just as someone else did. “Mind if we share?”
Right now she was feeling so good that she would have shared with a leprous neo-Nazi with poorly spelled tattoos and an aversion to oral hygiene. “Come on, get out of the rain.”
She climbed in and slid over the vinyl seat as she gave her home address to the cabbie. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she pushed her sodden hair out of her face and wiped her smearing eye makeup from under her eyes. She turned to the stranger next to her who was pulling off his soaking knit cap and turning down the collar of his jacket.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
He turned to face her. “Are you alright, ma’am?”
“Oh yeah, just had the worst day of my life, and I finally get to meet you and I look like a drowned sheep-dog in a bra.” She looked down at her chest and the embroidered purple lace. To avoid dying on the spot, she decided to ignore the effect the freezing rain had had on her breasts. “At least it’s a nice bra.”
“Very nice.”
Her head snapped back up to glare at him. He was fighting back a grin.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No. I make it a rule not to poke the crazy people with sticks.”
She collapsed against the seat with a sigh. The vinyl stuck to her damp skin as she let her head fall back. “I’m sorry. I probably do look crazy, don’t I?”
“Either that, or you’re making a bold sartorial choice and I’m not enough of a fashionista to appreciate it.”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “You probably have someone who picks out your clothes for you, don’t you?”
“Just for the major events. On Thursdays I get to choose my own pants,” he replied with a perfect deadpan delivery.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry. You got caught in the tailspin of the worst day of my life.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a more interesting day than I have.”
She turned her head so she could actually look at him. “What have you been up to?”
“Radio interviews with stations all over England. I just sit in a booth and they patch them in.”
She made a gagging face. “Sounds horrid. How many times did you tell the same anecdote?”
“At least eighteen.”
“Do you ever just want to lie?” Her face lit up like a little boy who has just put a giant frog in his sister’s bed. “Like make up some giant whopper of a tale, get all your cast mates in on it, and see if you can convince everyone it actually happened?”
His laughter was charming. “That actually sounds brilliant. I’ll have to try it next time.”
“Make it include a puppy. That way I’ll be in on the secret.”
“I’ll do that.” He looked at her curiously. “What’s your name?”
“Halla. And I don’t care how ridiculously good looking you are, if you say ‘Halla back’ I will slap you across your handsome face.”
He started laughing again. “That was a bad summer for you, I take it?”
“I’m still considering suing Gwen Stefani for emotional damages.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Halla, I’m–”
She interrupted. “Oh please, I know who you are. I’m pretty sure everyone knows who you are.”
“Just trying to be polite.”
“You boarding school Brits and your manners,” she winked at him.
He looked down at her chest, the first time he had during the entire conversation. “That’s a very expensive looking bra for someone who is not a fan of the posh life.”
“Oh please, I went to Wycombe Abbey.”
He raised a mocking eyebrow. “Ooooh, and you’re going to twit me about a please and thank you? Though I do suppose you’ve managed to keep your skirt on this whole time. That’s a nice piece of polish. You do your finishing school proud.”
She dissolved into giggles. “If only my poor headmistress could see me now, topless in the back of a cab with a perfect stranger. She’d have palpitations. And then she’d say, ‘Halla, I see you still haven’t gotten over your proclivities for inappropriate shenanigans.’”
“Inappropriate shenanigans? This sounds promising.” He tried for a wicked leer, but he was smiling too broadly for it to be convincing.
“She thought putting political t-shirts on the statuary on campus counted as nigh on to advocating the overthrow of the government. I fear you will have to look elsewhere for inspiration for the mass con you will foist upon the movie-going public.”
The cabbie coughed politely. “Here we are, ma’am.”
She looked out the window and saw her house. “Oh, thank you.” She fumbled for her purse, surprised at how fast the ride had gone.
“Listen, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve been talking all day and I’ve enjoyed talking to you in the last few minutes more than the rest of them combined. Would you like to go get dinner or something?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, if you want to. No pressure.”
“You mind if I go put on a shirt first?”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “If you insist.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you come in? You can dry off while I go freak out in my bedroom as I tear through my closet looking for something to wear.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
She handed money to the cabbie and slid out of the taxi. Maybe this won’t end up being the worst day of my life after all.