‘Jacko, my son,’ he appears to be adopting a more British vernacular. ‘How about a coffee?’ Leila looks up expectantly from the other side of our desk. She gives me the tiniest of nods. ‘Sure, Buddy. Let’s go.’ Buddy’s idea of a coffee is four espresso shots and five lumps of sugar. I wonder idly whether he might die of a heart attack before he finds out that Leila likes him. He did ninety hours in the office last week. His hands are already shaking. ‘Jackie, my boy, I really like that Leila chick.’ ‘You like her, or just want to screw her?’ ‘Don’t be a jerk, Jacko. Of course I just want to screw her. You had a drink with her last Monday. Did she say anything?’ I meet Buddy’s gaze. ‘No, mate. Nothing at all, I’m afraid.’ ‘Are you sure? You can tell me.’ ‘Well, actually mate,’ I put on my best doctor-breaking-bad-news face, ‘I did ask her if she fancied anyone at work, and she said no. Sorry.’ As I walk back to my desk, Leila raises her eyebrows and I give her a sympathetic little shake of my head.
