Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(20)

The house is a three-story Victorian built for a large family, not eight separate lodgers living separate lives. Ironic, given our setup is like the college house-share, except now we pay three times the rent. How can eight strangers know such intimate details about each other? I know Frank the Shagger’s orgasm moan, four people in the house form a nightly snore choir, and everyone knows I have irritable bowel disease. We barely talk but walk to the shower in our towels. Rafal, the Polish guy living on the floor below, doesn’t even bother covering his butt cheeks.

I force myself out of bed, bang on Megan’s wall to wake her up and gather my toiletries. That’s the thing about house-shares, you have to keep everything in your bedroom, or they disappear. Tiptoeing out into the hall, I try the bathroom door on our floor. Damn. Someone is even earlier than me. I venture downstairs, avoiding the creaky floorboard to check the other bathroom. Bingo, it’s free.

Except for the surprise in the toilet staring up at me. I’m entirely bemused. Rafal’s got hands; I’ve seen him use them to steal my food from the fridge. Can he not learn how to use them to flush a toilet?

The joys of communal living are that no one can have a shower simultaneously. Someone is hogging all the water in the bathroom upstairs, so I rotate myself like a chicken roasting on a spit in an attempt to wash myself with my allocated dribble.

I’m nervous as hell. This is the first day of my two-year trainee contract at Madison Legal. The Madison Legal, the most prestigious law firm in the UK! Also notoriously competitive, so I’m damn proud of myself. Madison Legal doesn’t just expect you to have a first-class honours degree. No, you must be an excellent, well-rounded human being. Hence my extensive charity work last year.

Of course, I didn’t follow up on the lying, cheating asshole’s offer of a referral. I’ll never work for Dawson Law if I know he’s got friends there.

I roll my tights up my legs and inspect the finished product in the mirror. The advice online for lawyers was ‘keep it simple with a neutral tailored suit or a timeless sheath dress.’ I’m in a black shift dress with a fake designer leather bag.

Will they spot I’m a fraud?

The house starts to creak as people wake up. I bang on Megan’s door one last time before heading downstairs. She started in a North London hair salon two weeks ago, promoted to a senior stylist. The commute is killing her. It's only fifteen miles, but it takes an hour and a half door to door.

That’s London for you.

I open my bread bin, ignoring the droppings of last night’s dinner on the kitchen counter. There’s no time to get annoyed with the farmyard this morning.

The expensive gluten-free bread I bought yesterday is gone. Thieving bastards! From now on, I’m going to lick every single slice of bread front and back.

I take a cup out of the top cupboard.

What the…?

It’s so dirty I’m better off pouring the coffee straight into my face.

Breakfast aborted.

By the time I reach the Tooting underground station, it is 7:20. My belly is full of butterflies. Can I do this every day until retirement? It was a mission just to iron the dress.

The average walking speed per hour is two to four miles; Londoners accelerate to 1000 horsepower minimum in rush hour so either you keep up or you'll end up trampled on the ground.

I join the fight to board the train. How can the Northern Line be so busy already? It’s incredible what we subject ourselves to in rush hour. In any other circumstance, I wouldn't allow myself to be spit-roasted between two strangers. On the underground, we are just one big angry mass of germs, saliva, sweat and much worse.

My phone buzzes as I’m nearing the stop for the Madison Legal headquarters. Surely Mum has remembered this is my first day at work? Nope, it’s Megan wishing me good luck.

Emerging victorious through the sea of London commuters, I stride down Fleet Street, the heartbeat of London’s elite law firms.

Then I’m standing in front of it.

Madison Legal London headquarters. Sex on bricks. That’s not me exaggerating; it won ‘London sexiest office space’ last year. Even if you don’t work in law, you’ll know the building, thanks to its sexy architecture.

The imposing twenty-storey building with the sleek logo stares down at me defiantly.

I follow the crowd through the revolving doors into the elegant lobby with its double-height ceilings and am swept along to the large reception area at the far corner.

“Hi,” I squeak to the brunette behind the desk. “I’m meeting HR at 8:30.”

Behind her is a fish tank that stretches from floor to ceiling. She flashes me a bright smile. I wonder if Madison Legal is paying to get her teeth whitened. “Name please?”

“Elly…Elena.” I show my ID as instructed in the email.

Her eyes flit to the screen then back to me. “Okay, Elena. Take the elevator to your right to the tenth floor.” She smiles kindly at me and hands over the pass.

After a few swipes of the pass at the barriers, I am in an elevator with the swarms of Madison staff. With each floor, my anxiety levels rise.

These people could write the manual on the lawyer dress code.

The elevator dings open, and I’m on the tenth floor. I'm greeted by a view of St Paul's Cathedral through floor-to-ceiling windows. Holy shit…this is my office? People pay good money for this view.