by Naomi Joy
I didn’t answer. David waited patiently for me to accept. ‘I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you. At least at Olivia’s I know you’ll be safe.’ He put one hand deliberately on the desk and moved the other to my cheek, pushing the hair that had fallen loose round my shoulders behind my ear. ‘I couldn’t save Olivia, but I can try to save you, Ava.’ I shivered, his sensitivity taking me by surprise. ‘I’ll go with you. I can help you settle in, if you like,’ he said softly.
I took a deep breath in, feeling myself about to accept. Did I have a choice? This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? ‘All right,’ I said, forcing a smile.
‘You just need to get over the hurdle of seeing the place again.’
I nodded and went to stand up, pressing my palms into the table in front of me.
‘You must let me pay you rent.’ I said. ‘Just tell me how much or take it out of my paycheque if you like.’ I rose to standing, leaving two sweaty handprints behind on the wood.
David shook his head.
I moved to the door but David didn’t budge. His arms folded determinedly. I recalled an article I’d read a few years ago which valued him into the hundreds of millions. I knew he wouldn’t take the money, but I wanted to offer, I didn’t want to feel doubly indebted to him. ‘I’m serious, I don’t want you to feel I’m taking advantage of your kindness.’ I reached out to him, pressing a hand to his arm. The lady doth protest.
‘Look, Ava, darling, I don’t need your money, and I don’t want it.’ I smiled at him. Thank God. ‘Come for a drink with me tonight,’ he said after a moment’s pause. ‘To celebrate.’
I stuttered and, just as I considered spinning David a lie, some reason why I was far too busy or far too tired to go with him, I realised he hadn’t really asked me to go for a drink: he’d told me.
‘OK,’ I agreed, playing his game. ‘I’d love to.’
As David’s eyes silently interrogated me, I felt the light from my computer screen intensify until I was bathed in it, the stark brightness exposing every twitch and every tell in my expression. I held his gaze. If I broke eye contact it would be over. The light burned whiter still; I know what you’ve done, it hissed, and the heat crawled up my neck, my heel bouncing up and down like a manic wind-up toy. Then, just as soon as it began, it was over: the bright-white died and David’s lips returned to a satisfied line as he left.
4
Jade
My phone rang and Ava’s name flashed up on the caller ID. I stole a look into her office; she was rubbing her forehead as if distinctly irritated.
‘Yes?’ I asked impatiently. ‘I had a missed call from Kai, he said he was going to try your phone instead. Did you speak to him?’
I grinned. I started to line up the pens scattered round my desk in order. ‘I did. He was worried about the attendees we had in place for the front row. I said I would handle it: top media and A-list only.’ I felt smug; finally it was me calling the shots on the account. I pulled the final pen in line: a row of plastic fingers.
‘What?’ she asked, her voice agitated. ‘Why would you agree to that? You know we can’t afford A-list at this launch; his budget is about five pounds.’
My confidence in my decision ebbed but I persevered, trying my best not to be put off by Ava’s condescension. ‘He told me he wouldn’t pay them anything, actually, he just wants people there who care about the brand.’
‘Excuse me?’ she asked, seemingly flabbergasted. I held the receiver tighter in my hand. Had I done something wrong?
‘Jade, what were you thinking? AthLuxe hasn’t launched yet. No one knows the brand exists, let alone cares about it. And, even if it were established, everyone is paid, Jade. Always. No matter the celebrity, no matter their status. Surely you know that? Haven’t you done a launch like this before?’ Truth be told, no. She continued as I shrank in my seat, grateful no one else could hear this conversation. ‘Why are you even getting involved in this area, anyway? This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing,’ she ranted, exasperated. ‘Stay in your lane, Jade. You’re making a fool of yourself—’
‘And where exactly does it say you’re in charge of telling me what to do?’ I snapped. ‘You act so high and mighty but if you’d done your job by taking Kai’s call instead of holding some secretive meeting with David then none of this would have happened. This is on you.’
Georgette’s eyes sparkled as they appeared above her monitor.
Ava paused. I was onto her. Then she hit me with a threat I wasn’t expecting: ‘I don’t think David would see it like that.’ The way she delivered the line, with such cold, callous precision, hit me right where it hurt. I puckered my lips, reaching for a comeback, but it was too late and Ava carried on as I flailed. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to get petty here, it’s not about who’s telling who what to do: it’s about what we agreed. You knew not to get involved with attendees but you did it anyway. Now I’m going to have to spend the rest of my day fixing your mess.’
‘Well…’ I mumbled.
‘Which I could really do without.’ I could taste the glee in her voice, sticky-sweet, delighted to receive the ammunition I’d just handed her on a silver serving platter. ‘I’ll call Kai later, explain that you made a mistake—’
My eyes widened. ‘No!’ I blurted desperately. ‘I’ll do it, I’ll call Kai,’ I said firmly, trying to claw back a couple of scraps of my dignity. ‘I’ll fix it, I promise.’
She faltered. Let me back in. ‘OK,’ she said, like a parent talking to a toddler. ‘But if it’s not done tomorrow, I’m taking over, understand?’ And with that she hung up on me, the dial tone left ringing in my ear.
I was furious with myself, my inability to stand up to Ava once again rearing its nervous little head. Why did I let her talk to me like that? Rolling over for Ava must be one of my specialist skills. She wasn’t better than me, but proving it seemed impossible sometimes.
‘What was that about?’ Georgette yapped as soon as I put the phone down, her painted brows arched impossibly high.
‘Nothing, it’s nothing. Just leave it,’ I said, knowing full well she’d do anything but.
I put on my headphones to make it clear I didn’t want to talk. I watched Ava running her fingers through her hair and scowled. Good PRs see glass. Bad PRs see other people. When I got the job as Team Head – a positive mental attitude is half the battle – my first order of business would be to move into her crystal-cut room and watch how she dealt with being stuck on the outside looking in. I watched her closely as she picked up her phone, her expression changing from fierce to friendly in a millisecond, and a series of dark thoughts crossed my mind. Ava and I had always had an understanding not to get personal at work – there were certain topics we knew were off limits – but now we were competing against each other, was she shifting the goalposts and leaving me in her wake? As if it wasn’t enough to convince David I deserved the job on my own merit, now I had to worry about Ava burying me in order to make sure she won.
I pressed my nails into my palms as I plotted my next move: I had to play Ava at her own game and, if she was busying wrapping David round her little finger, I needed to ensnare a Stein of my own. Which was far easier said than done, of course, especially as I’d been desperately head-over-heels for the other Stein in this office ever since he first flew through W&SP’s imposing double doors and landed on my team all those years ago. We’d worked together back then as I’d shown him the ropes and helped him to fit in.
I looked over at my target now, his laid-back laugh and dimpled cheeks radiating warmth across the room. My Stein was Josh Stein, David’s adopted son, man of my dreams and, following a successful six years at the company, now a major influence on promotion-related decisions. And his star was only set to rise: now that Olivia was no longer around, David would elevate Josh up through the ranks, grooming him to take over the firm eventually. Nepotism was alive and well here at the offices of W&SP, that’s for sure. If I could just marry into the fa
mily, I’d be golden… So, enough dilly-dallying, enough procrastinating, enough ‘waiting and seeing’. I’d officially run out of time. Now being with Josh was more important than ever before and I had no time to waste getting on with it. I lost myself in thought as I planned phase one of my operation. First, I’d sidle up to his desk, cranking my pencil skirt just a fraction higher, and bend down next to him, resting on my heels, my elbows on his desk. I’m sure I’d heard that putting yourself in a naturally suggestive pose, i.e. at waist height gazing up, would make your target subconsciously think of you as a potential sexual partner. I’d open with something relaxed. How’s life? How’s it going? How’s tricks? That was the one, I decided. How’s tricks? Offbeat and stand-out. He’d remember it. Next, I’d ask him for help with something—Josh liked to fix things. I’d tell him my Wi-Fi signal won’t reach my bedroom and that I… get bored at night. Was that too forward? Yes! OK, I wouldn’t say that. I’d figure something out.
I picked up my pocket-size mirror and checked my make-up was still in place. The office bustled in the reflection: Georgette was now at the printer smacking it through a malfunction like a renegade pony, and a meeting was taking place in the area behind me, which seemed to be mostly gesticulations and impassioned facial expressions rather than anything productive. I angled my mirror back towards my face and studied my own image. My eyes were my only notable feature: green, a striking, contact-lens worthy shade. I was always being asked if the colour was real. ‘It’s Celtic!’ I’d say, citing the 13 per cent Irish ancestry I’d uncovered thanks to a dubious DNA test I’d taken three years ago. From the bottom of my razor-sharp black fringe, they shot out now with renewed purpose, like the eyes of a leopard stalking its next meal. I clapped the mirror shut and changed my focus, eyeing my prey over the top of the screen, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. He’d just finished a conversation with the sales drone next to him (5’5, horsey, obvious) and had turned his attention back to his monitor. I’d checked his diary this morning, no meetings scheduled for the next hour. It was the perfect time. I rehearsed the opening line in my head – Hey Josh. How’s tricks? – then rose, determinedly, from my chair and flattened my palms against my thighs to smooth out my skirt, pulling it slightly above my knees.
I used the back of my wrist to dab my face free from shine, paying particular attention to my top lip, then strode over, placing one foot carefully in front of the other like I was walking the runway at Paris fashion week, reminding myself to channel confidence, strength and power. Something moved in my peripheral vision, on high alert as I closed in. Ava was standing up behind her desk. If she came out and tried to corner Josh before me my plan would be ruined. Did she know what I was up to? I upped my pace and locked my eyes on him. He was leaning back casually in his chair, his lightweight, long-sleeve jumper hanging perfectly off his sculpted shoulders. The window behind channelled the sunlight onto his back, casting a lemon-yellow halo around his Adonis-like frame. I wondered what he smelt like today? Usually it was a kind of just-washed shower smell with notes of charcoal and sandalwood. I shivered with pleasure as I imagined sucking in a long, slow breath of it. I shot my gaze towards Ava’s office, she was sitting back down and, as I met her stare, she clipped her head in the other direction. I’d beaten her. I felt like I’d won an Olympic gold medal. My palms glistened and I wiped them once more on my skirt as I approached him. I was ready to do this.
‘Hey tricks!’
I looked at him. He looked at me. The world stood still, the office fell silent, I turned to stone and all I could hear in my head was hey tricks, hey tricks, hey tricks, hey tricks, on repeat, swirling, building in speed and sound, like I was being brainwashed by those two stupid words. Was he going to think ‘tricks’ was the nickname I used for him? Could I start again, please? Rewind that moment? I stammered as if I was suffering the early signs of a brain-altering seizure.
‘I mean—’
He smiled at me. It was a lifeline: I’d hit a rock when I was sure I was about to crash over Niagara Falls.
‘Can I help?’
His voice was like honey and I was drenched in it, sticking to each silky syllable. I dropped down on my knees and stuck my elbows on his desk, just as I’d planned.
‘What do you know about Wi-Fi?’
I gazed up at him adoringly.
‘I’m not much of a texpert but fire away…’
‘Right, yes, well my Wi-Fi won’t reach my, um, bedroom area and it just gets sort of weak…’
I traced my finger round his notepad as if to indicate a bad Wi-Fi connection. It made more sense in my head and it didn’t look as sexy as I’d intended.
‘Have you tried rebooting it?’
He was so assured in his advice, but things weren’t quite going according to plan. His suggestion was very Microsoft Windows ‘98 and it made me seem like the world’s most unstoppable of morons.
Of course I’ve tried that.
‘No, I have not tried that.’ I blinked slowly a few times, embodying the airhead I had decided to channel into my Josh persona.
‘Cool, hope it gets sorted.’ I stayed crouched down by his side, not quite ready for my great expedition to be over. ‘Was there something else?’ He looked right at me, his chair slightly angled in my direction, his muscular legs wide apart.
Bloody hell, stop getting distracted, think on your feet. Is there something else? Of course there is. I love you? That’s something else.
‘Is your Wi-Fi always OK at home, all working properly? You hear about these boosters and things, you know…’
‘Is that a euphemism?’ he asked, amused.
Abort.
‘Who dared you to ask me that? This has got wind-up written all over it!’
Abort. Abort.
‘No! There are just so many problems nowadays!’ I was clutching the rock he’d sent me but the swell was building and the falls would claim me soon.
Abort! Abort! Abort!
‘Not if you seek professional help. They can get your Wi-Fi back up and running in no time. I think it involves some sort of balloon contraption. Isn’t that right, Harry?’ Harry (limited potential, 5’10, easily peer-pressured) made some sort of primal mating sound from down the table. I stood up and out of the waterfall, knowing I had to retreat.
‘Very good, Josh, you sussed me out!’ I rolled my eyes like I was their cool mum or fun teacher, then I stood still for a moment, hoping I would suffer a sudden brain aneurysm to distract everyone from what had just happened. I willed blood to spurt from my nose, suffocating me as I drowned in it, praying I’d fall to the ground, my vision disintegrating. I stole one last look at Josh and watched as his facial expression softened. He smiled at me again.
‘You’re hilarious, Jade, great dare. Chat later.’
Hilarious? Great dare? Wait a minute, had it worked? Had I not completely embarrassed myself? As he turned back to his computer, I noticed that was my cue to leave and hurried away. Phase one: complete! I could feel Ava’s eyes like lasers all over me, analysing the situation, weighing me up, staring me down. I didn’t meet her glare and instead kept my focus fixed ahead, contemplating whether it had really been a successful mission. It had, just not in the way I’d intended – I guess I’d come off more as a loveable idiot than a sexy, sophisticated single.
*
Later that day my phone lit up and Instagram delivered the best news of the year: Josh Stein is following you. My heart stopped. Josh. Following. Me? Bloody hell, how did I not know he had an account?
5
Ava
A calendar reminder popped up on my screen, its short melody startling me slightly.
David, Ava, drinks at The Whive, Sloane Square, SW1W
‘Right, yes,’ I muttered to myself, remembering what I’d agreed to earlier that day. I picked up my bag and coat and stole a moment in the toilets to apply some much-needed make-up before I left. I carefully drew a black wing across each eyelid, turned each of my eyelashes to thick spider’
s legs, and dabbed a fingertip of gold shimmer to each of my pale cheeks. I sprayed my white blonde hair with a touch of argan oil, taming any flyaways, and readjusted my bra in the mirror. Why did I feel like I was preparing for a date?
I took a cab from the office and, after surprisingly few traffic jams, arrived at the opulent dining room of The Whive. The building was grand and ancient, frequented by celebrities, and even had a guard outside in a top hat. I knew David would arrive promptly, he always liked to be ahead of time, so I was glad that I was running early too. I saw the back of his head first: so statuesque. His hair perfectly gelled into position. I’d recognise that head anywhere.
‘David.’
He stood as I arrived and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. I bristled as his hand lingered on my shoulder a few seconds longer than it should have.
‘Please, sit.’
I sucked in the dangerously intoxicating smell of him as our movement whipped up the air around us, the sound of classical music playing gently in the background.
He waited for me to make contact with my seat before returning to his own, then stroked his white-cotton napkin back across his lap.
‘So, your housing arrangements,’ David said, not wasting any time getting to the point. ‘You’ll be pleased to know you can move in to Olivia’s as early as tomorrow night, if you like. The alarm and camera systems have been installed and I’m having the place cleaned in the morning.’
An elaborately etched bottle of sparkling water arrived at the table and I didn’t speak until my drink had been poured, using the seconds of silence to gather and steady my thoughts. A plate of charcuterie, fussily presented, was placed between us.
‘Wow. So quick,’ I said, careful not to sound too excited. Because, truthfully, I could have jumped on him in that moment and kissed him all over and, maybe I would have if I hadn’t thought he’d take it the wrong way. My God, was this finally going to happen? I pinched myself. It was! This was it, my escape from Charlie: I could almost taste it.