January 3rd. Still single. Still chunky. Still humiliated by a smug lawyer man with a frozen heart and no manners. Goal for the year: find a man to snog, lose 10 pounds, and achieve one minor act of revenge on William Darcy.
This was my official list of resolutions as I scribbled furiously in my diary over breakfast. Note to self: stop buying pastries. The croissant crumbs stuck to my notebook felt like mockery.
Back at work, I unloaded the disaster that was the family dinner onto Lucy, a fellow reluctant cog in the BBC machine. Lucy, perched on the edge of my desk, sipped a caramel latte as she listened, her perfectly arched brows occasionally raising in sympathy—or mockery.
I stared at Lucy, skeptical. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”
Lucy leaned in conspiratorially, her grin widening. “You’ve got the sarcasm. Use it. The man’s a narcissist, Sophie. No one ever challenges him. If you’re different—if you play hard to get—you’ll throw him off completely.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Lucy, please. I don’t have the patience or the energy to play some flirty mind game with Alex Carrington. Besides, even if I did flirt back, he’d probably just take it as a challenge and double down.”
Lucy smirked. “Exactly. And then? You get to be in control. He chases you, not the other way around.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “This sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”
Lucy shrugged. “Or, it could be fun.” She grabbed a crisp from the bag between us and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Actually, that’s something you should add to your New Year's resolution.”
I groaned. “Oh, God. No more resolutions.”
“Yes, more resolutions,” Lucy insisted, wagging a finger at me. “Be fun. Be playful. Stop taking everything so seriously. And most importantly—make Alex sweat.”
I snorted. “And what if he doesn’t have sweat glands? He probably gets his body temperature regulated by an underground lab or something.”
Lucy laughed. “Then it’s your job to find out, isn’t it?”
I rolled my eyes, but even as I protested, I couldn’t ignore the tiny, devious spark of intrigue forming in my chest. Because as much as I hated to admit it…
Lucy had a point.
Later that day, when Alex strolled over to my desk with his signature smirk, I decided to give it a shot.
“Looking good today, Hollis,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to my blouse, which I’d actually managed to iron for once.
“Careful, Alex,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were actually interested.”
Alex blinked, momentarily thrown, and I felt a tiny surge of triumph. “I’ll let you believe that if it makes your day,” he said finally, his smirk returning.
Then, with a quick glance at my blouse, he added, “By the way, your bra’s showing through that top. I like pink, but if you’re trying to get my attention, wear red next time.”
I was so flustered I forgot how words worked. He strolled away, leaving me at my desk, speechless and red-faced, as Lucy whispered, “Oh my God. Did he just win the game you were supposed to be playing?”