I’ll give him credit, King didn’t show a single sign of annoyance at what I said. In fact, I’d go as far as to say he was actually enjoying the conversation. I was thankful my opinions hadn’t offended him.

“If this is how you see things, then why come to work here?”

I let out a laugh and decided to make the first move in our game. I picked up a pawn. “Because I don’t live in an ivory tower, Mr King. I live in a tower block. And I can’t afford to be picky. The way I see it, the people who while away their days living by lofty ideals are the ones who have the money to do so. The rest of us are too busy trying to keep our heads above water to have time to play around with moral codes. So yeah, I don’t believe the way the financial industry works is right or good, but if that industry is going to provide me with a way to pay my bills and keep a roof over my head, then I’m in no position to refuse.”

“You’re right,” said King, eyeing the board and seemingly deliberating over his next move.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling a small burst of pride that was quickly deflated.

“But you’re also wrong.”

I glanced up at him, surprised. “How am I wrong?”

“You said we all desire money, but I don’t. My family is very wealthy, and I could live off that wealth quite comfortably for the rest of my life if I chose to, but I don’t choose to. I want to excel, to do better than everyone else. Break records all on my own merit, no cheating, no shortcuts, no unfair advantages. That’s what drives me. The money I make in excelling could very well be empty pieces of paper for all I care.”

“A-ha, but don’t you see, not caring about the money, only caring about winning, that’s a luxury. You come from money, so you have the luxury of only caring about your accomplishments. If you had nothing to fall back on, if the threat of poverty was something to really be scared of, you’d care about the money then. The money would be all you’d care about, because it’d mean the difference between having food on your plate or going hungry.”

Our game of chess felt long forgotten as King stared at me for what seemed like forever. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. He knew I was right. And speaking of hunger, I hadn’t yet had the chance to touch my lunch, so I picked up my sandwich and began to unwrap it. I took a bite, chewed, and all the while King didn’t say a word.

Finally, he spoke. “Have you ever considered joining a debate club? You’d be a formidable competitor.”

I laughed. “Maybe I will.”

King watched me eat for a moment (which made me unusually self-conscious) before opening up the small food container he’d brought with him. It looked like some sort of healthy Asian salad.

“Why did you bring your chessboard here? This is the same one we played at your apartment, right?” I asked as we both ate.

He cleared his throat. “It is. And to answer your question, I enjoyed playing with you. I thought we could make it a regular thing.”

His answer caught me off guard, and yes, I was also a little bit flattered that he wanted to play chess with me on the regular. “And you put it in your bathroom because…?”

He gave me a hint of a smile. “You’re oddly taken with my bathroom. I thought you’d be more amenable to playing if I put it in here.”

I laughed loudly, because even though it was so weird, it was also so right. “Oh, my God, you know me too well. It’s kinda scary.” I waggled my brow at him.

“I wanted to make an effort for my very first Sapphic friend,” he replied.

Christ, if ever there was a lie that would come back to haunt me, it was telling Oliver King that I batted for the other team. Still, it was a little bit funny he believed I was gay, and it was enjoyable to play along. I mean, even though I found him attractive, I had no intention of ever letting it go anywhere, so what was the harm in him believing I liked girls?

“If you’d really wanted to make the effort, you could have popped a few pictures of topless birds up on the wall. You know, so I’d have somewhere pleasant to rest my gaze.”

King chuckled. “My apologies. I’ll remember that for the next time I need to butter you up.”

***

Mum: Dinner’s on the table at 7. Don’t be late.

I got the text right after lunch, and remembered I’d promised my parents I’d come around for dinner that evening. King and I hadn’t managed to finish our game within the hour, so we’d left the board as it was with an agreement to pick up where we’d left off tomorrow.

Was he going to spend all his lunch hours playing chess with me in his bathroom?

The question gave me troubling butterflies in my belly, and I couldn’t deny I was flattered by how much attention he was showing me. I had the feeling Oliver King didn’t show attention to new people easily, so I knew there must be something about me that interested him. I was under no illusions that I was special, but I put it down to being different from the usual women who worked at Johnson Pearse. I didn’t mince my words, I said inappropriate crap, I acted inappropriately, and seemingly King found all of this endearing for whatever reason.

All I knew was, he wasn’t inviting Gillian to spend her lunch hours with him playing chess.

It was five past seven when I arrived at Mum and Dad’s. They lived in Hackney, in the same little house I’d grown up in. It was far from a perfect place. The house was old and worn and in definite need of a lick of paint, but it was home, even more so when it was filled with the aroma of my mum’s cooking. My mouth was practically watering at the scent of her special recipe moussaka.