His lips press together. “You eat at all today?”
I shake my head. “I spent all day filling orders. And I can’t bring food into the warehouse with me.”
He tuts. “You know food and sleep are more important than selling stockings, right?” He bends and lifts up the tablecloth, making a big show of checking out my legs. “Although they are real pretty stockings, sugar.”
I kick him in the knee. “Not to me,” I say honestly.
Her Treat, my lingerie company, is the most important thing in my life. It’s taken six years of constant work to build it to where it is now — a moderately successful web boutique with thousands of customers a month. Six years of all-nighters, and paying off debts, and working eighteen-hour days. It’s my baby. It comes before everything else.
Zack scoffs, pushing the plate towards me. “You’re hopeless. Eat. Don’t want you passing out on me again.” Sighing, I pick up my fork. He sits back, appeased, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Go on, then. What happened? I was watchin’ your date from the bar. Looked like it was going okay.”
“You’re such a creep,” I mutter, chewing a mouthful of gilded carrot and pulling a face.
“It’s my job,” he reminds me, jabbing a thumb into the centre of his chest. “Bona fide love expert, right here.”
I snort. “I don’t think having a relationship advice podcast makes you a love expert. I don’t see a degree on your wall.”
“Maybe not,” he says smugly. “But I assume you’ve seen all the awards. Best Adult Entertainment Podcast three years running, baby.”
I smile slightly, stabbing a tiny cube of parsnip. Zack hosts a relationship advice podcast with his flatmates, Josh and Luke. It’s called Three Single Guys, and it’s very successful. Thousands of listeners tune in every week to hear the boys talk about everything from STIs to breath play.
To be honest, he probably could teach me a thing or two about dating.
“I don’t know what happened,” I say eventually, setting my fork back down. “I thought it was going well.” A wave of exhaustion suddenly washes over me. I’m so tired.
It’s been a shitty month. Her Treat’s sales have been down, and I’ve barely been sleeping for worrying about it. I have an upcoming collection set to release in a few months, and I’m struggling to keep on top of everything. And I’ve been dating for so long. I’ve been on 120 dates in the last fourteen months. And not one of them was successful. I’m trying not to let it get to me, but it’s starting to hurt a bit too much.
I think of the ten-year plan lying crumpled in my bag. The last unchecked box burns in my mind. Get married.
I’m a failure. And I hate failing.
“Hey,” Zack says softly. I look up at him. His bright blue eyes are full of concern. “You okay?”
I nod. “Just… I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
Zack studies me for a few more seconds, then nods to himself.
“Alright.” He reaches for the half-full bottle of wine sitting between us and picks up my glass, slopping in a generous amount. He pushes it across the tablecloth to me. “Down that, then get your coat on.”
I watch, bemused, as he throws back his own glass in one long gulp, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “What are we doing?”
“We’re gonna enjoy your dumbass date’s expensive wine, and then we’re getting some real food. None of this piped wasabi and foam shit.” He stands, pushing out the chair. The waiter reappears behind us, and Zack blasts him with his megawatt grin. “It was lovely, mate.”
The waiter nods, looking dazed. “I’ll pass on your comments to the chef,” he murmurs, then lifts his notepad and pen. “Um, could you—”
“Autograph?” Zack guesses, and the man nods frantically. I tip back my glass and gulp down my wine as Zack scrawls his name across the page. “No problem, mate. Thanks for letting my girl down gently.” He offers me his hand, helping me to my feet. “Come on, love. Your night’s about to get a whole lot better.”
THREE
LAYLA
It’s almost midnight by the time we finally make it back to our building. Instead of getting food, Zack managed to convince me to stop at a bar on the way home, where I proceeded to take advantage of the Happy Hour two-for-one drink special. A few times over. My head is fuzzy as I stumble up the six flights of stairs to our floor, Zack’s arm wrapped tightly around my waist.