Suddenly it turns into a different kiss than the others before. All I can taste is his tongue and I can feel the pressure of his hands, pressing into my thighs, squeezing my hips, rubbing my back, but always returning to my thighs. He pulls me in closer and I jump when I feel he’s erect.
“You okay?” he asks.
Fuck. “Mm-hmm.”
Ben has a boner.
Well, of course he does. He’s thinking about sex. That’s how it works.
Behind me, the documentary is still playing: “With ferocious speed, the hungry lion closes in on its prey.”
Against every instinct in my body, I look down and this time I can’t hold it in.
“Maddie, are you giggling?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry! I’m not laughing at you,” I rush to add. “It’s just nervous energy, I swear.”
“You’re nervous?” he asks.
“Just a little.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“It’s just … I’m … It’s nothing.”
When I press my lips together, he hardens—well, the rest of him does.
“Maddie, are you a virgin?”
“I believe that’s what the kids are calling it these days. Oh, God, sorry.” I cover my face. “That was meant to be funny, but I’m not sure it even made sense. Yes, I’m a virgin. No sex. No! I don’t mean, like, never. It’s not a chastity-belt thing. I … It’s just never happened.”
I lower my hands, and Ben is smiling and rubbing my arms. “How is that possible? Look at you.”
I want to ask if he really means that but end up burying my face in my hands again.
“Stop that.” He gently encircles my wrists. I still keep my eyes closed and he sighs. “So, I take it tonight’s not the night.”
Behind me, bones are crunching and I assume the lion has won.
“Granted, not the best setting,” he adds.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He lifts me off his lap but lies back and pulls me on top of him. I rest my head under his chin, grateful that yesterday was hair wash day.
After a while, I say, “Is it bad that I was rooting for the lion?”
“Instead of Bambi?”
“Lions have to eat.”
“What about Bambi’s future plans?”
“Bambi had future plans. Not anymore.”
Ben pauses. “So you have a dark side?” He finds my bum and squeezes. “Good to know.”
Chapter Fifteen
OTP is going with my idea, only, no one knows it was my idea.
Kris is getting the credit because, according to the minutes of the last Creative meeting, instead of Cooking Combos, she proposed Flavor Pairings. Which is more refined, I suppose, but swapping words for synonyms doesn’t make it her idea! Does it?
At our catch-up, I say, “Good news about Flavor Pairings.”
“Yes,” Kris says, looking directly at me. “Penny loved the idea, so well done, but we’ve got a lot to do to turn the concept into an actual book. We’ve yet to whittle down which of our food writers we want to approach.”
I brighten up. She said “we’ve”—twice. I’m still in. “I’ve got a lot of ideas,” I say, opening my notebook. “Even some ‘pair’ ideas for the cover.”
Kris tilts her head at my inverted comma gesture.
“I thought it might be funny,” I explain, “to have a pear on the cover with one of its classic flavor combos, like chocolate, a bar of chocolate, I mean. Or chocolate chips, but they might look like droppings, so maybe the bar…”
“Ah, well, Design is in charge of covers, but I can certainly mention your idea this afternoon.”
“I can take the minutes for the meeting,” I offer.
“Their assistant Kelsey takes minutes for all Design-led meetings, but don’t worry,” Kris says, “there’s lots of important bits to get stuck into and I can tell you want to be involved. Here.”
She hands me a list of admin tasks, some of which have nothing to do with Flavor Pairings.
“Great.” I smile tightly. “I’ll get started.”
* * *
They went with my pear idea!
Not pear and chocolate, but pear and cinnamon. I hear cinnamon was Georgina’s （one of the senior designers） idea, so naturally the pear-pair motif was hers too. Clearly, my ideas are good and there’s solace in that, but only a little when no one knows or acknowledges that they’re mine. I still don’t even get to join Creative, of which there are now two meetings a week. This would have been the perfect opportunity to learn so much about the process, witnessing firsthand the stages from conception to completion, but I can’t seem to get in.
Maybe I don’t deserve to get in. It’s a bit like retelling someone else’s anecdote and getting the credit—I wouldn’t have pitched the idea if it weren’t for Ben. But I do have an idea that is completely my own, my Afra discovery, and I’m going straight to the top with that one.
* * *
“Okay, I need meetings with…” And Penny lists the names of colleagues as she taps away at her keyboard. “Right, anything else? How’s it all going?” She continues to stare at her computer screen; her eye shadow is bright purple today and she’s pushed her glasses up to keep the growing strands of her hair out of her eyes. “Kris tells me she’s happy with how hard you’re working.”
Now or never.
“Yes, all fine,” I answer. “Speaking of Kris, I wanted to tell her about this proposal I have, but she’s out this afternoon.”
“Oh,” Penny says.
Shit, she’s looking directly at me now, her fingers hovering above her keyboard.
“Kris mentioned we needed new ideas, preferably from our own writers, and I was looking through … doing research … well, I was on Google, actually, no, on Instagram…”
Wrap it up, Maddie.
“I found Afra Yazden-Blake—she’s the wife of baker Stephen Blake,” I say. “She has a food blog she doesn’t update much—I printed out a few of her recipes—but her Instagram is full of delicious, home-cooked Middle Eastern meals. I know she’s not on our list, but she is affiliated via her husband and might be open if we approach her, rather than asking her to submit. She doesn’t have an agent or any professional cooking experience, I don’t think, but she might be worth looking into.”
Penny walks over to the table and looks at the recipes and screenshots of Afra’s Instagram I’ve laid out on the table. “Hmm,” she says. “Perhaps.” She gives me a friendly smile, then leaves the papers and returns to her desk. She’s back to tapping away in no time.
Ouch. Maybe I should have gone to Kris; some management don’t take ideas seriously if it doesn’t come from a peer.
I stand up and start gathering the papers.
“No, you can leave them there, Maddie,” Penny says. “I’ll take a look later.”
I look at her in consternation. “Oh, okay, great.”
I leave the room triumphant.
Chapter Sixteen
Ben
Still on for Friday night?
Maddie
Of course!