Latte and Toast

“Sorry we’re late!”

“The traffic was hell -”

“He wouldn’t get up on time -”

“Hey!”

“It’s true…”

“Yeah, but you said you wouldn’t let the driver stop so I could get breakfast -”

“Oh stop moaning…”

Four casually dressed men hand me their jackets and they each sink into a leather armchair. I lay the warm coats on a spare chair for now and yawn, as the guests all rub their eyes. The two blondes that had been arguing when I met them are now throwing playful insults at each other in a childish manner – but it makes me smile. From what I’ve grown to expect of them, they’ll be waggling their tongues and blowing raspberries next.

“Can I get anybody anything?” I ask, just as I have been doing countless times one day a week for the past month. As the words leave my lips, they sit up and pay attention. Again, I almost laugh as I take their order – the process takes a lot longer than I expected it to do due to my notepad going walkabouts and a mobile phone going off. I look at my watch – they’re due upstairs in about ten minutes.

“So that’s a black coffee, one herbal tea, a glass of sparkling water… and for you?” I sigh finally, looking pointedly at the shortest member of the group as he ends the call he’d been having.

“Uh… I think I’ll have a latte with extra cream,” the blonde yawns as I impatiently tap my pen on the notepad. “Oh, and can I get some biscuits or something too? I’m starving. Actually, make that toast - with chocolate spread,”

“Dude, this isn’t a restaurant!” chuckles his neighbour in a broad Bolton accent.

“I’m starving! You wouldn’t give me chance to get any breakfast before we left!” the bassist protests.

“That might have been because you refused to get up until ten minutes after we were due to leave…”

I sigh, half amused but not surprised, and the other blonde of the band gives me an apologetic glance. I smile back politely.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks – and I’ll see what I can do about your toast, Mr Poynter…” I reply, turning to walk away.

“Jeez - call me Dougie already!” he calls after me, laughing, but I keep on walking, a pink tinge creeping up to my cheeks. I sigh and run my hand through my hair, smiling my good-mornings at various members of staff who aren’t too tired to acknowledge me this early in the morning. My black ponytail swishes in the breeze from an open window and I take a breath of the fresh air, before dipping into the staff room.

“Morning, Pip,” Rosie greets me from the kettle, stifling a huge yawn.

“Hey, Rosie,” I reply to my fellow guest PA, filling the kettle right to the top and rooting around for various cups. “You sound tired, as usual,”

She grins at me. “Well, what can I say? Chris and I put our day off to good use…”

“I bet you did,” I smirk. “Have you seen the coffee granules?”

“By the sink,” she informs me, and I reach for the jar. “How are you today?”

“I’m great, thanks,” I smile, pouring coffee and then plugging in the toaster. “Who’re you chaperoning today?”

“Uh… well, I’ve got to got an meet Hugh Grant in ten minutes and look after him for his channel 2 interview, then while he’s doing that I’m up on the fifth floor with some thrash metal band because Sarah’s off sick. I somehow have to find the time to call Fall Out Boy’s driver and make sure they get here on time because the guy who’s picking them up from the airport isn’t one of our staff and doesn’t know the city very well, before looking after them for Tim’s show at four. And then of course I have to make endless beverages for all the staff, as usual,” she says quickly, sighing. “What about you?”

“Ugh, I still have McFly – for six hours,” I moan, trying to get the latte machine to work. “Five bloody weeks they’ve been doing this slot on the chart show with many more to come, and I’ve been answering their beck and call… I think the boss has just allocated them to me now,”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Rosie says, cocking an eyebrow. “Surely it’s not as bad as you say it is,”

“I have no problem with three quarters of the band, you know that,” I reprove at her remark, pouring the latte as the toast pops. “Have we any Nutella?”

“Um – I don’t think so…”

“Oh, his highness will be disappointed,” I mumble, opening the fridge to get a bottle of sparkling water.

Rosie laughs. “So Dougie’s still the main irritation?”

“You bet he is,” I sigh.

“Well personally, I don’t think he’s that bad,” Rosie ponders. “He’s not exactly harsh on the eyes…”

“You just haven’t spent enough time with him – you only like him because he’s cute and you caught him checking you out on the first week they started here,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Rosie sticks her tongue out at me. “Whatever, Pip. Anyway, I better be off; I don’t want to be late for Mr Grant…”

“Have fun!” I call, buttering the toast and preparing the other coffee as she walks away. I thought at least she’d be able to resist the ‘charms’ of Dougie Poynter, what with her heavily tattooed boyfriend who looks as though he could take multiple members of McFly out with one single punch; it seems that I’m the only woman in this building who hasn’t come close to fainting each time the band’s bassist’s shot them a flirty look or checked out their figure as they walked by. When I discovered I was to be taking care of the band when they weren’t busy on set I was really excited – they were people I actually took an interest in and made music I actually listened to. It soon turned out by the end of my first day that my experience with them wasn’t going to be totally pleasant, due to the band member I’d been most looking forward to meeting turning out to be a total – for want of a better phrase – man whore.

I pile all the drinks (and the toast) onto a wooden tray and exit the room, passing a few people who peer inquisitively at the toast but say nothing, assuming correctly that I’m catering for a hungry and demanding guest. In the time I’ve worked at this broadcasting corporation I’ve dealt with some particularly rude and difficult people, insisting far more of me than Dougie has been the past month – but his behaviour has irked me no end. His blatant flirting with everything with breasts in the building, his crude jokes, his self-important attitude; all far more out of character than I’d have expected of him. He always seemed so shy and sweet before I met him, but from the other guys’ reactions, I can tell that his behaviour is normality. They don’t seem to mind – well, of course they don’t, they’re his friends – but it makes me wonder if they’re the same underneath and have learned not to do it in public, or if Dougie’s only an attention seeker in public places.

My pager buzzes but my hands are too full to answer it. Instead I hurry to the lounge where I left the musicians – only to find the room empty; someone’s probably taken them up to make-up. Frustrated, I shake my fringe out of my face and hurry to the lifts, where I see numerous people swarmed around the only working elevator.

“Oh, for God’s sake…” I mumble, peering round at the suited and the booted. I look down at the tray and my mouth begins to dry up at the sight of the milky coffee, topped with a thick layer of squirty cream… I suppose I could always tell Dougie we had no lattes left – I’m bound to be able to drink this by the time all this lot get through the elevator queue…

The lift dings and the crowd grows as people arrive from other floors – and as a tall redhead moves, I spot a mop of smooth blonde and some dark curls; the two guitarists and singers from McFly, Tom and Danny. I edge round the crowd, careful not to get in anybody’s way and spill the drinks, when the mob surges and Tom and Danny disappear into the lift. The urgent crowd is reduced as people cram into the lift, clearly late or desperate to get where they need to be – until it is packed full and there is only one more person trying to get into it.

“Jesus!” He yells in annoyance, as I hear three distinctive laughs echo in the metal box and the elevator doors close. I curse silently under my breath as the wearer of a blue polo shirt and long shorts spins on the spot – and then he slowly grins and sidles up to me.

“Oh, you did come through on the latte and toast, then?” Dougie asks, picking up his mug from the tray. “Harry bet me you wouldn’t,”

“Well, I was planning to drink that if I was stuck in the lift queue…” I reply sarcastically as he slurps at his coffee.

“Cheeky. I’ll report you for not doing your job properly,”

I roll my eyes and lean against the wall, tray still in my hands. I close my eyes and sigh, wishing that the people would unload quickly so I didn’t have to be alone uncomfortably with Dougie. After a few minutes I feel myself fidget, and he laughs.

“Tired?”

“Yep. I’m just going to go to sleep against this wall,” I mutter.

“Ah, so you do have a humorous side, Miss Jullien, which I finally get so see after five weeks of your delightful acquaintance…” he replies, to which I open my eyes. He smirks, and takes a piece of toast from the tray. I watch him walk over to the elevator, before jabbing the button with his thumb repeatedly.

“I’ll report you for damaging property,” I say, but he ignores me and continues the action. After a moment, I hear something move on the floor above, and then the lift doors ping open.

“Ah, but it worked!” Dougie replies, striding inside. Reluctantly, I follow him, standing on the opposite side of the lift before pressing the button for floor ten.

I sneak a look at him as we ascend. He’s sipping intently at his coffee, blue eyes focused in the mirror that makes up the back wall of the lift. He plays with his fringe for a few seconds, before the reflection of his eyes move and looks directly into mine. I quickly look down at the tray and feel my cheeks go pink – I never before realised how hot it can be in here when you have a thick top on.

All of a sudden, there is a whining sound from outside and the lift jolts to a complete stop, making the drinks slop over onto my tray. The light in the ceiling buzzes, flickers and goes out, leaving us in total darkness. Oh God… please…

I almost drop the tray as Dougie laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls loudly. I try to regain my normal breathing pattern as my head twists round in the dark pointlessly, and I put the tray down at my feet.

“You think this is funny?” I gasp, reaching out and touching the keypad with my fingertips. I jab and poke at the buttons frantically, trying to get the lift to move – but nothing happens. It’s like a bad sitcom.

“Hilarious, stuck in the dark in a confined space when I’m meant to be getting ready for a slot on a TV show,” he retorts, “but I guess it would have to happen with you,”

“Excuse me?” I ask, genuinely offended.

“Well, you’re not exactly a bunch of buttercups around me, are you?” he says as-a-matter-of-factly, before I hear him slurp from his drink.

“Well you’re no ray of sunshine, either,”

“I beg to differ. I am yellow, I come from the sky, I’m most certainly hot…” he replies, and I groan inwardly. If he doesn’t stop with the bad jokes, this herbal tea will find itself saturated in his prized haircut that Rosie occasionally tells me she adores.

I sit down on the floor in the corner, head in my hands. Dougie paces, gulping noisily at his drink, before there is a succession of loud bangs and the lift wobbles a little.

“What the hell are you trying to do?” I ask frenziedly as my heartbeat tries to slow down from shock. “Punch the floor out so we can drop thirty feet?”

“No… but it was worth a try,” he shrugs. I don’t understand his point – but when have I ever understood him?

“Well I’d rather you try something sensible, like having a go at the lift buttons like you so skilfully did a few minutes ago,” I bite back, not feeling the need to withhold my emotion anymore. “Or maybe that’s what broke the lift in the first place,”

“Don’t be daft,” he replies. “It was probably everybody cramming in, before. Tom actually weighs quite a lot, you know…”

I sigh and hear him walk round the edges of the lift, trying to find the buttons. It is quite unnerving to only hear him and not see him, my image of him firmly set in my mind as I hope he doesn’t come any closer. I’ve seen what he tries with women here in daylight – and God forbid I get to find out what he tries in the dark.

“It’s by my head,” I inform him, and he stumbles in the direction of my voice. “Don’t trip over the tray,”

There is a clatter and the glass of sparkling water falls, spilling all over the wooden tray and, I suspect, onto the floor. I swear and fumble around to pick it up, only to find Dougie’s trainer in my grip instead.

“Sorry,” I mumble, and he bends down to pick up the glass for me. There is a soft scraping noise and the tray moves, before I sense him sit down next to me. There is a silence as I fold my arms and try to shift to the right, only to find that I’m crammed right up against the mirror as it is.

“Are you alright?”

I whip my head round at his suddenly tender tone, though of course I can’t see him as there is no light source whatsoever.

“Fine,” I say, my breathing quickening as I feel the walls start to close in on me, the darkness smothering my breathing…

“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

“No,” I squeak. It’s only a white lie; I’m not really claustrophobic, unless it comes to being stuck in the dark in tiny spaces with people you don’t get on with.

“You’re shaking,” he points out, putting a hand on my arm – and for some reason, I start to calm down a little. Why am I shaking? It’s not as if I’m scared of Dougie – I know he’s not a bad person, really… it’s got to be the lift situation itself.

“I’m fine,” I say, snatching my arm back. He drops his hand and I hear him drain his latte, before putting the cup down on the tray.

“Have a drink,” he says gently.

“I’m fine,” I repeat.

“Honestly. Tom won’t mind if you have his coffee, not if it stops you shaking. He’s a generous guy. Besides, anything to stop you panicking. It’s making me nervous,”

I smile weakly in the dark and pick up the cup, even though I don’t usually have coffee without milk. Where has this side of him come from? He’s never been anything other than cheeky and occasionally rude to me in the five weeks I’ve known him, but his behaviour now is bordering on startling. His hand brushes my thigh and I shiver, not at all liking the way my nerve endings react to that slight touch.

“You alright now?” he mutters, and I feel his trainers nudge my heels.

“Uh huh,” I reply truthfully. Instead of being warm I’m actually quite cold now, the only warm bit being the left side of my torso where I can feel Dougie’s body heat radiating from his skin. I didn’t realise he was that close.

We sit in silence for a few minutes while I drink Tom’s coffee and he fidgets. I’m itching to get out of this elevator, to get away from the stuffy darkness and the uncomfortable silence that engulfs us – my ears aware of every breath he takes, every movement of his fingers against the floor, every rustling of his combat shorts. Yet when his knee casually rests against mine, it’s oddly soothing, and I find myself able to breathe normally.

“So, Miss Jullien…” his voice speaks suddenly, lower and quieter than usual, “what is it about me that you find so… repulsive? Irritating?”

I remain silent, feeling incredibly uncomfortable here in this small lift next to him. His question makes me squirm, and I really don’t want to answer.

“Hmm?” he prompts, and I feel his breath tickle my ear. I exhale deeply and open my mouth to give any kind of response, but don’t say anything. I can hear blood pounding in my ears and am ashamed at myself for admiring the sweet, inquisitive tone in his voice – not at all rude or defiant but soft and reassuring. The darkness begins to back off.

“I’m not that bad,” he says when I again refuse to speak. “Honestly, I’m not an arrogant prick all of the time,”

I chuckle slightly despite myself and then curse inwardly – did I really just genuinely laugh at something he said? I turn my face towards his and then a faint trace of his cologne hits me, making me reel. Has it really been that long since I’ve smelt this scent up close? It must be, for never recently had I dared to think it would be this man’s smell that would make my heart beat faster and my breath hitch, like it’s doing now…

“Don’t you believe me?” he mutters in barely an undertone, the skin of his arm brushing against mine and raising goose bumps.

“I – I…” I stutter pathetically, unable to do anything as I lean my head back against the wall and sense him follow – before he follows too far and his cold nose touches mine. I make to turn my head away and scramble to my feet but before I can do so, a new taste is added to my lips as another pair brush them softly, making my body freeze.

Before I can react to the sweet taste, there is a flash of blinding light on the other side of my closed eyelids and the lift judders into motion again. My eyes snap open but his face barely moves a centimetre, his bottom lip still in soft contact with mine. He draws back after a second and I see his blue eyes sparkle beautifully in the artificial light – before the doors open with a ping.

I jump and he moves back, a small grin playing on his lips. My breath jolts and my face flushes with embarrassment as I realise what has just taken place, my thumping heart beating like a traitor as I simultaneously thank and curse the open doors. Dougie gets to his feet and holds out his hand to help me up, and I dazedly walk out of the lift without a glance at him, the drinks tray forgotten on the floor.