"That," Ben said, "is terrifying."

He looked at Aman's desk; it was littered with plush toy monkeys, their red mouths grinning out at him. One was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Another was perched against Aman's desktop computer, drinking a cup of coffee. His secretary picked up a monkey wearing pajamas, examining it.

"It is, innit?" Aman asked, sounding pleased.

Ben gestured at the coffee-drinking monkey. "Can you turn that around? It's staring at me."

Aman considered this. "No. I like it where it is."

Ben sighed. Of course he did. "Let me guess. It's National Doll Day."

Aman shook his head.

"National Monkey Day?" Ben tried.

"Nah."

"I know." Ben clicked his fingers. "National Creep-Out-Your-Colleague-Day."

Aman gave him an affronted look, straightening the bowtie on the nearest monkey. "It's National Sock Monkey Day." Obviously, his tone implied.

"Right." Ben turned back to his laptop. He could feel the monkey staring at him, and he sighed, dragging his gaze from the screen again. "Do I even want to know where you got seven sock monkeys from?"

"I made them." Aman patted the head of the bowtie monkey fondly. "This one's proper cute, isn't it?"

Ben clicked his pen. "It's hideous."

"Really?" Aman tilted his head. "I think it looks a bit like you, actually."

"Gee," Ben said dryly. Thanks."

"Langford?" a voice called.

They both straightened. Victor White was leaning against the door of his office, dressed in a black suit. This, Ben reflected, was not good news; his boss only wore a full suit to weddings, funerals, or if someone was getting fired.

"My office," Victor said. "Now."

His boss vanished. Aman set down the sock monkey, giving Ben a grim look. Then he saluted him. Actually saluted him.

"Good luck," Aman said. "My thoughts and prayers are with you."

"Cheers," Ben muttered.

He pushed back his chair, trailing Victor into his office. He didn't come in here often — about once a week to drop off files or bring Victor a coffee — but the office rarely changed. Ben could have drawn it with his eyes closed: the water cooler filled with sparkling water; the large glass windows with a view of Hyde Park; the framed photo of a cocker spaniel.

This, Ben reflected, might be the last time he ever saw it.

"Sit down," Victor said.

Ben sat.

"So." His boss scribbled something down, his eyes fixed on the desk. "You know why you're here, I take it."

Er, no.

He didn't actually.

Ben mentally sifted through everything he'd done wrong lately. Had Victor found out that he'd killed the office plant? Or that Aman had taken to filling his water bottle with wine on Friday afternoons? Admittedly, Ben thought, he should have tried to stop Aman from drinking in the office, but it would have been pointless; trying to dissuade Aman from doing something was like trying to dissuade the sun from setting.

And then it clicked.

"Oh," Ben said. "If this is about the McKinsey file, I've already contacted the client directly, and I'm meeting with him tomorrow. Legal says—"

"This isn't about McKinsey," Victor cut in.

"Oh."

There was a pause. His boss finished writing, setting down his pen. He interlaced his hands, and Ben couldn't help but notice that there was a pale strip on his finger. As if Victor had been wearing a wedding ring until very recently.

"You've heard that Peter is leaving?" Victor asked.

Ben blinked. "I did."

He didn't see what the resignation of a 65-year-old partner had to do with him, though. Maybe Victor wanted him to throw Peter a leaving party or order him an expensive gift. His boss cleared his throat.

"Are you aware of what his job role included?"

Ben frowned. This had to be some sort of test of his intelligence. Like a pub quiz, but the only prize was not getting sacked. He rattled off Peter's list of duties while Victor watched him, his grey eyes unreadable. Then he nodded.

"Good," Victor said. "I want you to replace him."

It took a second for the words to sink in.

Ben shook his head. "But that's..."

A huge pay increase. A ridiculous career jump. A massive fucking promotion beyond his wildest dreams. Ben felt as if the oxygen had been punched from his chest.

"Wow," he said. "I— wow."

Victor smile. Or, at least, Ben thought he did; it was difficult to tell, with his boss. "We'll need to make the job offer external. Interview a few other candidates for the sake of transparency. But everyone's in agreement; the job is yours, if you want it."

Ben considered this. "What are the hours like?"

"The hours?" Victor repeated, as if Ben had asked whether he might employ a legion of sock monkeys to work under him.

He rubbed at his jaw. "Will I be expected to work late?"

"Well... yes," Victor said slowly. "You'll be running a small team, Langford. I imagine you'll have your hands full."

For a second, Ben let himself consider it. He'd get a shiny new office with the promotion, as well as more say in the business. He'd make a name for himself. This right here — this promotion — was what he'd worked for his entire life.

Then he thought of Louise.

She'd be happy for him; of course she would. Louise would probably insist on taking him out to dinner to celebrate. But what about their routine? What about Louise's job? Ben thought of the look on her face that day when he'd stayed late at work, when he'd broken his promise to her. Thought of the words she'd said.

By asking me to pick up the kids — to leave my work so that you can work — you're saying that my job isn't as important as yours.

Ben frowned. He didn't want to put her in that position. And, sure, they could hire help, but what would that change? Ben would still be working late most nights. He'd miss Christmas concerts and movie nights. Miss birthdays and football matches.

He'd miss his family.

"I'm sorry, Victor," Ben said quietly. "I can't take it."

His boss stared. "You... what?"

"I can't take the promotion." He could hardly believe that he was saying the words, but they were coming out of his mouth, all the same. "Thank-you for thinking of me, though."

Victor's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"I have a family at home," Ben explained. "A young family. They need me."

"Langford," Victor said. "I want you to think carefully about this. These positions don't come around every day. It's great that you love your family — admirable, even — but that's just one aspect of your life. You'll never get ahead in the workplace if you don't make sacrifices."

There was a long pause.

Ben studied his boss. Studied that bare strip of skin, where a wedding ring had once been. Then he rose.

Ben shrugged. "Some things are more important than work." He paused at the door. "Thanks again, Victor. But no, thanks."

He pushed into the main area.

Aman was waiting at his desk, his eyes roaming over a document that he was holding upside-down. He shoved it away as soon as Ben approached, resting his chin on his hands.

"Well?" Aman demanded. "How did it go?"

Ben swallowed. "He offered to promote me."

"Fucking hell." Aman's face split into a grin. "Congratulations, mate." He reached over to slap him on the arm. "When do you start?"

"I turned it down," Ben said.

Aman stared. "What?"

"I said no."

He could hardly believe it. Neither, apparently, could Aman, because he was gaping, his mouth open so wide that he resembled one of his sock monkeys.

"Have you gone absolutely mad?" Aman asked.

"Maybe." Ben smiled. "But you know what? I've never felt better."

Ben left work early.

He whistled as he walked down the pavement, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. Rain misted the brick buildings, gathering on black umbrellas and the wool collars of coats; Ben took a left, following the wind of the road to a cluster of flats.

He hit a buzzer.

The speaker crackled. "Come on in, mate."

Music drifted out from the flat; not the pounding bass of their university years, Ben thought, but something softer. A jazz number. He could hear Ophelia's laughter, accompanied by Andrew's lower bass tones.

He pushed open the door.

Andrew's birthday party was in full swing; trays of bruschetta floated past, accompanied by some sort of sparkling pink cocktail. Someone was standing on top of a table, shouting and waving a handful of cards. Another person was cleaning chocolate off the ceiling. Ben pushed into the kitchen.

"Ben!" a voice called.

Ophelia hurried towards him, wearing a green apron, a top hat, and what looked like a monocle. Her auburn hair had flour in it. Ben arched an eyebrow.

"I didn't realize it was a costume party," he said.

She smiled. "It's not."

Ben glanced at the top hat. Glanced back at her face.

"Do I want to know?" he asked.

"Probably not." Ophelia turned, scanning the room. "Louise is—"

"It's okay," Ben said. "I know where to find her." He adjusted Ophelia's top hat. "Enjoy the party, Mad Hatter."

He walked into the living room, where the crowd was thickest; and yes, there was Louise, perched on the piano bench in a red dress and black heels. Ben paused, surveying her; he knew he'd find her here. People moved towards her, like raindrops sliding down a windowpane. Louise Bentley had her own gravitational pull. A unique, magnetic force.

She looked up. Met his eyes.

"Langford," she said.

She sat it quietly. Ben couldn't hear the word, but he saw her mouth form it, her tongue darting up to touch her teeth to form the 'L.'

He cut towards her.

Louise smiled. It was a secretive smile, and even though she was surrounded by strangers, he felt as if they were alone. Just Ben and Louise. Just them.

"Hi," he said.

Her smile grew. "Hi."

Louise introduced him to the strangers, running through their names with impossible ease, guiding the conversation like a ship through rough water. She was good at this, Ben thought; he'd always known it, but it was different to see it in action.

They stayed for cake. Andrew — who seemed even more flushed and buoyant than usual — waltzed Ophelia around the living room. Someone who Louise had introduced as Digby played "Happy Birthday" on the piano. Presents were opened. Champagne was drunk. By the time ten o'clock rolled around, Ben was stifling a yawn.

Louise bumped his arm. "Time to go home?"

"Please," he murmured.

They said their goodbyes. Ben found their coats, helping Louise slip into hers. They were turning for the door when Louise paused, her eyes on Ophelia.

"One second," she murmured.

She hurried back to Ophelia, whispering something in her ear. Her friend rolled her eyes, swatting her shoulder, and Louise laughed.

"Okay," she said, rejoining Ben. "Now we can go."

Ben held open the door. "What was that about?"

Louise smiled. Linked their arms.

"I'll tell you when we're home," she said.