Oh, and hey… A few years ago I was a quarter-finalist on Bake Off. Almost ten years as a sapper in the Royal Engineers. Considered myself both British and Indian.
I launched into a canned speech about myself. She had introduced herself as Laura, but hadn’t given her surname or role. I couldn’t even hazard a guess at her age. Unblemished umber skin several shades richer than my own. Tight curls of black hair tied back at the nape of her neck. I looked at the woman sitting next to him. ‘But do continue.’ My gosh, he was full of himself. ‘Please, just Nigel is fine.’ There was that smile again. We were both intrigued by your message.’ Well, I certainly was. He was shorter than I’d expected, but still… I supposed he was handsome enough – if you were into old, rich white guys. Nigel Hartley-Richards had long been a staple in business news and on current-affairs shows and even an occasional topic of conversation for the celebrity gossip sites. His accent was that broad transatlantic or mid-European or whatever, suggesting he was well educated and had lived in a lot of places. Then I’ll tell you what we’re working on and why we thought you might be interested in joining us. Think of this as more than a job interview. ‘What I’d like is for the two of you to tell us about yourselves – your careers, your motivations, and your relationship. Looking out the window, I admired the view of the Tower of London. I glanced downwards at my foot tapping out a silent rhythm on the rich woollen rug atop sanded floorboards. Above me, the ceiling was open and industrial with expensive, carefully aimed light fixtures. I cast my eyes around the room, taking in the exposed brick wall and trendy artwork. Shifting my weight, I touched the faux leather of the designer chair I was sitting on. He looked as if he were posing for a camera rather than conducting a job interview.
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