The Single Girl: A dishy new colleague wants me but I want more

I am The Single Girl, and this is my column. Every week you’ll find another warts and all story from my dating life. Learn more about me here or just carry on reading!

Evelyn, my sulky goldfish, was at his (yes it can be a boy’s name too) dismissive worst this week, which was hard to bear given that it was this week I most needed his even-handed, if taciturn, counsel.

My bestie Clementine was AWOL overseas and I needed something a shade more considered than Davo’s advice, which is always, and only ever, “Go for it!” (“Davo, I’m thinking of going on holiday to central America,” “Go for it!” “Davo, heels or moccies for my job interview?” “Go for it!”). Sometimes I wonder if he’s even listening.

Here’s the sitch: There’s a new bloke at work, dreamily, darkly handsome, maybe a tad too well-dressed, charming, if a little culturally cosseted (they all are in Finance), in the same role as myself, but in a different team.

What’s the hitch you ask? A bit of eye candy just makes the day go faster. And yes, you’re quite right. Only it seems Thom, the aforementioned work hunk, has taken a bit of shining to me.

I sense I may be beginning to try your patience: And yes, you’re right; ordinarily having a dishy new colleague fawning (okay, perhaps not fawning exactly, but showing unabashed interest) would be at the very least, flattering.

Only, there’s a complication, a beautiful, intelligent, pepper-pot, complication, called David.

Not to come over all cloyingly Love, Actually about it, but I’ve been in (something approaching) love with David for four years, seventy six days, 14 hours and about umm, 19 minutes!?

David is older. Significantly older. Not ew older, but yes, on the maturer side of 45. Whilst not technically my boss, he’s vastly more senior, and we work together often – and over the course of the last four years I’ve formed the view that David is, objectively, everything anyone could want in a partner.

I will quickly list some of his traits by way of evidencing this assertion. David is: Fiercely and unapologetically intelligent, cultured yet doesn’t habitually denigrate popular culture, handsome – lithe yet extraordinarily broad (he attributes his physique to super-rules footy, squash and yoga), politically diffident, ideologically firm but always willing to listen to new evidence, kind, selectively hilarious – his sense of humour runs the full spectrum from razorblade coarse, dryly witty to completely silly.

In short, I adore him. A point I rather laboured at our work’s Christmas shenanigans a couple of years back.

Apologising in person the Monday after he, I thought gallantly, denied any knowledge of any such conversation having ever taken place. Whilst I attributed this to his wanting to save my blushes, Clem was less charitable, calling him a coward.

Her view was that I was brave putting my feelings out there, and he, who she feels, having read several of his emails and a very many of his texts, feels similarly, refused to reciprocate.

A refusal perhaps owing to his wife! Eek. What must you think of me? Please know, I have never once thought of acting on my feelings – I had a boyfriend, who I loved. And my Christmas blurtings were utterly agendaless – simply a moral cleanse. Everyone knows that is what work Christmas parties are for.

The wife, because I know you must know: Agency-side, a capital H high-flyer, splitting her time between Singapore, HK and Melbourne. Well-bred, well-read, and hot in bed – not 100% the last is true, but she looks it (and I’m a sucker for a rhyme).

So, now you know who David is.

But David is married, so how is Thom a problem?

This is why: This week Thom has found any number of adorably spurious reasons to harangue me. Where do I get my coffee? Where’s good for a protien-rich lunch? Do I know a local purveyor of cocktails suitable for a first date?

It was during one of these inquiries, Thom, perched on the arm of my neighbour’s vacant chair, that David came striding across the office, ashen faced.

“I’ll need you at a meeting on 23 in five mins,” he said, interrupting.
“David, have you met Thom, our new me in Karl’s team?” I said, motioning to Thom, who’d stood up and was offering his hand.
“No I haven’t,” he said, marching off.

We stood in shock. Inquiring later in the day with his Amazonian PA, Lilly, as to what might have caused his shortness, she dropped a casual bombshell:

“Ah, his divorce was finalised this morning, I think he’s finding it hard.”

Divorced. David. Is. Divorced.

You don’t celebrate these things of course. You’re devastated for him. You certainly don’t buy a $60 bottle of Chardonnay (yes, Chardonnay – Chardonnay is good, it is buttery and delicious and it is not the Merlot of white wine) to celebrate/commiserate with your sulky goldfish.

You also don’t spurn the interest of a handsome and far more suitable new workmate.

You don’t, but I did. Oh dear.

Installments of The Single Girl:

Welcome to my dating world 

How I oh-so-coolly handled a stage five clinger

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