‘I am, how did you –’
Tabby shrugged. ‘Little Miss Sassy Pants downstairs called Harry to tell him you were on your way up. Don’t worry about her. It’s in her job description to make people feel overwhelmed when they arrive. I don’t think they specified it was meant to be overwhelmed in a good way.’
Imogen managed a smile. ‘It’s fine. It’s really lovely to be here. And meet you. It’s really such an honour, I’m such a fan …’
She trailed off, feeling herself die a little inside. All she’d had to do was not turn into a blabbering fangirl in front of her writing idol. But nope, not even that was possible. She cringed, twisting her fingers.
‘Thank you!’ Tabby grinned, leading Imogen by the shoulders. ‘It’s rare I get to meet anyone in person who actually reads my blog – most of them stay on the internet where we all feel safer and less awkward.’
Imogen looked at the woman, who could only be a few years older than her, and thought about the fact that she was writing every week for a major newspaper where thousands of people read her work. And she’d managed to match her lipstick shade to her shoes. This was not a woman who was awkward. Imogen said nothing, just smiled and nodded. Safe bet.
‘So we’re going to meet Harry, who’s the deputy editor of the paper. He loves what you’re doing and really wants you on the team, so don’t be nervous. And if he’s a bit of a …’ Tabby trailed off, searching for the right word.
‘A what?’
‘I was trying to decide whether “arsehole” or “flirt” was the better word,’ she shrugged. ‘He’s lovely; he just likes to suss people out. So be yourself and don’t be afraid to call him on his bullshit.’
Imogen squeaked, ‘You can talk about your boss that way?’
‘He’s only technically my boss,’ Tabby laughed. ‘Plus he’s my boyfriend. It is my job here to stop his ego from inflating to the point where he can’t fit his head through the door. Especially since becoming deputy editor.’
‘Oh.’ Imogen didn’t know how she felt about meeting the man her idol was dating. Although, she’d read that love letter Tabby had written years ago that catapulted her to stardom, so maybe that’s who this guy was. It was like being in a reality TV show.
‘Just be Twisted Barista,’ Tabby shrugged and led her into the office, a sleek glass affair with a huge black glass desk taking up most of the space. A ridiculously handsome man in dark-rimmed glasses and a suit that probably cost more than Imogen’s monthly rent sat behind it, his feet up on the desk. He made an apologetic face as he finished off his phone call. ‘Yes, yes, well I absolutely understand. Of course you’re appreciated, darling. You know we couldn’t survive here without you and the job you do. I just meant that maybe we don’t want to reinforce the stereotype here. We’re a friendly place. And you have such a gorgeous smile, it’s a shame that people don’t get to see it …’ He rolled his eyes, and made a ‘one minute’ sign to Tabby, gesturing that they sit down.
‘Uh huh, yes, I see. Well, why don’t you try smiling at people for the rest of the day and see what happens?’ He cleared his throat a little. ‘No, I don’t think the company health insurance will cover the cost of fillers to remove the smile lines, but if you want that, then I’m sure someone is hiring a receptionist at Vogue.’
His voice took a sharper turn, and he nodded as the voice at the other end started to babble. ‘That sounds fine, Katya. You do the best you can. Goodbye.’
He put down the phone and took a deep breath, blinking. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m Harry Shulman. Lovely to meet you, Imogen.’
‘You, too,’ Imogen squeaked, annoyed with herself. The man looked like he just walked out of a Disney film, all wrapped up with a princely bow. He took off his glasses and put them in his shirt pocket, rubbing his eyes.
‘Little Miss Sassy Pants moaning again?’ Tabby asked, flopping into the chair next to Imogen.
‘She doesn’t know why people keep complaining about her,’ Harry sighed, ‘and it’s hard to say “because you act like a bitch all the time”.’
‘Well, sounded like you handled it well.’
‘She’s going to try smiling, but if she starts to get wrinkles, she wants compensation,’ he huffed, shaking his head. ‘Anyway, let’s get on to you, Imogen! The Twisted Barista!’
He tapped his hands on the desk, suddenly energised. ‘We love what you’re doing, as I’m sure Tabby’s said. It’s fresh, new, engaging. People are obviously connecting with it. Do you know how many hits you’ve had?’
‘Almost nearing the hundred thousand mark now,’ Imogen smiled, mentally thanking Dec for forcing her to figure those things out.
‘Clearly, the kid’s a genius,’ Harry remarked to no one in particular.
Kid? thought Imogen.
‘Kid?’ said Tabby, arching a perfect eyebrow and putting a judgemental hand on her hip. ‘She’s only five or so years younger than you.’
‘Yes, five years’ worth of experience that she doesn’t have in the industry …’ – he turned to Imogen and nodded – ‘… yet.’
‘Ignore the spiel you’re about to get. We like what you do. And it was pretty hard to track you down.’
‘My friend,’ Imogen cleared her throat, ‘he did all the … computery stuff. I’m not so much with the technology.’
‘Well, that’s okay, all you’d have to do is email in your column every week. And I know already you can email.’
‘My column?’
Tabby grinned, adjusting her glasses. ‘Imogen, we want you to write a weekly column for The Type. Well, we want Twisted Barista to write a column.’
Harry took over, leaning in, hands splayed on the table. ‘You’ll get paid, of course, and we’ll protect your anonymity. So for as long as you’re a barista, you’ve got a writing gig.’
Imogen felt her stomach wobble – a writing gig! Getting paid to write her thoughts for one of the best newspapers in the city. But only as long as she stayed at BeanTown. The minute she left, she was pointless. If she stayed a freelancer.
‘Imogen?’ Harry looked at her, concerned, as Tabby sat on the arm of his chair echoing his expression. ‘We kind of thought you’d be jumping up and down for joy here – isn’t this what you want?’
‘It is,’ she insisted, almost clasping the table for fear they’d suddenly take back the offer. ‘But … I have a few questions …’ – she checked their expressions – ‘… and conditions.’
‘Conditions! Demands!’ Harry grinned. ‘You hear that, Tabs? I love a good negotiation. Go ahead.’
Imogen couldn’t figure out if Harry Shulman was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, or just believed he was. She’d certainly never seen someone so polished before in her life. She thought suddenly of Declan, his rough hands tracing her fingertips that morning as he handed her a coffee and wished her luck. She definitely preferred her men ruffled and rugged.
‘Liability – if BeanTown sues me …’
Harry looked at Tabby meaningfully and she splayed her hands. ‘It’s a risk, Imogen, we know that. But as long as you’re careful about avoiding any direct references to their names, language, anything that is specific or trademarked, you should be fine. We know from the amazing response your blog has been getting that people find these characters universal, you know? They probably frequent a lot of coffee shops, and restaurants and bars.’
Imogen nodded, but that sick feeling in her stomach didn’t subside.
Tabby sought her eyes and looked at her seriously. ‘Imogen, I will personally check your pieces before they’re published, just to make sure there’s nothing in there to give you away.’
‘But if they go after me, the paper can’t defend me, can it?’
‘Probably not, no. There may be exceptions …’ Tabby trailed off.
‘If I make you enough money to be worth the lawyers’ fees?’ Imogen smirked.
Harry laughed, a single bark. ‘I like you,’ he said simply, ‘so talk about these conditions. What is it yo
u want?’
Imogen took a deep breath, digging her nails into her palm. She’d got the job at BeanTown by being straight talking, so she was going to carry on the trend.
‘I’ll tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want to be a one-hit-wonder. I came here to be a writer. And what you’re offering me is a job that only works if I keep my shitty day job.’
Harry blinked and Tabby grinned widely.
‘What can we do about that, Imogen?’
She held her head up high. ‘An internship. Once a week in the office. Doesn’t have to be paid, but I want to shadow you.’ Her eyes met Tabby’s hopefully.
‘Me?’
Imogen raised an eyebrow. ‘At the risk of sounding like a total fangirl, I love what you write and I want to learn from the best.’
She crossed her arms and waited for a fight.
‘Imogen,’ Harry interjected, cover-boy smile in place, ‘you do realise you’ve basically just said you’ll only work for us if we make you do extra work for free? Sure you want to stick with that?’
She jutted her chin out. ‘Absofuckinglutely.’
Harry grinned. ‘Have I mentioned in the last thirty seconds just how much I like you?’ He looked over at Tabby. ‘So whatcha say, Tabs? Our new rising star wants to learn from you.’
Tabby shrugged, honestly bewildered.
‘She’s loving this, doing wonders for her ego.’ Harry shook his head. ‘Come on, darling, say yes.’
Tabby played with her earrings, little ice cream cones tangled in her hair. ‘What does shadowing involve?’
‘Tabs, for fuck’s sake. Imogen here is saying she will make you coffee –’ he paused – ‘or probably some other beverage, in order to watch you work and occasionally get your feedback. You’ve done enough internships in your life.’
‘Yeah, but I’ve never been the person running them,’ she mumbled. ‘I think I’m having a midlife crisis.’
‘You haven’t even reached thirty yet.’
‘Like that counts for anything,’ Tabby huffed.
‘You could look at it that you’re such a success symbol, a powerhouse, a sign of what young women can achieve in the arts, that it makes sense you should give an internship.’
Imogen piped up, ‘I promise I won’t be a pain in the arse. I’ll be dead quiet, honest.’
Tabby laughed. ‘You don’t have to be quiet. I’m going to have a mentee. I’ve clearly made it in the writing world. How exciting.’
Harry rolled his eyes. ‘So everyone’s egos have been thoroughly stroked and everyone’s feeling very appreciated?’
‘Yes,’ said Imogen and Tabby in unison.
‘Well, good.’ Harry clapped his hands together. ‘Then let’s make some magic.’
The women looked at each other.
‘Never say that again,’ Tabby commanded, and Imogen nodded.
‘I have the terrible feeling I’ve just created a villainous superteam,’ Harry sighed, widening his eyes at Tabby.
‘We can only hope,’ Imogen grinned, holding her hand out to shake his.
*****
‘I’m a writer!’ Imogen launched herself at Declan when he met her outside the Hope and Anchor that evening.
‘I know that, I’ve met you,’ he laughed into her hair, squeezing her a little.
She stepped back, suddenly uncomfortable at the show of affection. ‘But now I’m a real writer, with a real writing job and money! A tiny bit of money, but money!’
He grinned at her, shaking his head, his eyes tracing the sudden distance between them.
‘What’s that look for?’
‘You’re just … you’re amazing. You move down here all by yourself, work your arse off, and now you’re finally getting recognition. It’s just … you’re amazing.’ His look of affection was making her stomach do weird things, and she could feel herself blushing.
He says this to everyone, Imogen, her mind insisted. You’re not special, Imogen, you’re just another girl.
‘Lots of people do it,’ she said flatly, arms across her chest. ‘You moved here without knowing anyone and made a life.’
‘Ah yes, but, love, I didn’t do it with such style!’ he grinned, and she could almost see the determination in his eyes, like he was duelling with her. I will charm you. I will charm your pants off and leave you a sobbing mess.
Imogen thought of her dad, catatonic with grief in those first few weeks after her mum was gone, incapable of doing anything except staring blankly into space with the look of a man who knew he should have been prepared for the future, but never was.
Imogen pressed her lips together. That was not going to be her. She’d gone to see Dec because he’d helped her with the blog, and she’d wanted to celebrate the first thing that had gone right in her London adventure.
‘Look, I think we should be friends,’ Imogen said suddenly, watching as his brow furrowed and he blinked a few times.
‘Riiiight … why is that exactly?’
‘Because I’m not really into …’ – getting hurt, being made a fool of? – ‘… getting distracted,’ she settled on.
‘Ah, so now I’ve helped you with your blog I’m of no use to you any more, is that it?’ This time the look wasn’t disappointment – it was worse than that. She felt small.
‘It’s not that, it’s just …’
‘You don’t fancy me.’ His arms were crossed, looking broad and broody, scowling at her. ‘That’s fine.’
She felt herself getting a little spiteful. ‘You know that’s not the fucking reason, obviously, so don’t start pretending you don’t know how hot you are. I’m trying to explain.’
‘Well, you’re doing a fucking fantastic job!’ he said sarcastically, clapping his hands.
‘Why are you getting angry with me if you just want to be casual?’ Imogen clenched her fists, not quite sure why they were arguing in the middle of the street when all she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and breathe in the scent of him, safe and strong.
‘We’re not anything, Imogen,’ he said simply. ‘I like you, we’ve kissed once, I’d like to get to know you. I don’t wanna fucking marry you.’
‘I’ve … I like you, too,’ she huffed, avoiding his eyes, ‘but I’ve heard you’re more about the chase, and I don’t wanna be sitting around shell-shocked like a moron when you go.’
Declan looked at her, a muscle in his jaw twitching. ‘You’ve heard …’ He nodded, unsurprised. ‘Emanuel?’
‘No, but it doesn’t matter.’
‘If someone’s talking about me, then I deserve to know.’
Oh, but moody was a good look for him, arms crossed and scowling because he wasn’t getting what he wanted. This wasn’t like the happy-go-lucky sweetheart who’d been (quite successfully) trying to get into her pants.
‘Look, it’s not really about you,’ she shrugged, crossing her own arms to mirror him. ‘I’m just not really up for anything serious, and …’
‘Which is what I was offering,’ Declan frowned. ‘Something not serious.’
‘Yes, but …’ Imogen stamped her foot a little, incapable of summarising. Yes, he was offering a fling. Yes, she was attracted to him. But she didn’t want to get hurt. He’d say you can’t get hurt if it’s just a fling. Imogen knew that wasn’t the case. Love appeared in stupid places, like holiday romances that led to you moving your whole life for someone else. You fell for people who were no good for you, people who had the capability of hurting you when you were never even close enough to hurt them.
Declan waved away her concerns, irritated, but like he’d given up. ‘Look, Imogen, don’t pretend this is about your insecurities. Emanuel’s told you about my past, about all that stuff back home, and you can’t handle it. That’s fine. Kind of shitty, but I don’t normally broadcast all my family stuff, so –’
‘What?’ Imogen cut in. ‘What family stuff?’
Declan’s eyebrows raised. ‘So it wasn’t that they told you about my life back in Ireland, and
you’re not interested in someone emotionally damaged?’
Imogen half-laughed. ‘No. If you want to talk family issues I have more than my fair share.’ She played with the bracelet on her wrist. ‘Look, I just … I don’t do this, okay? The closest thing I’ve had to dating someone is shagging a friend I wasn’t really attracted to.’
‘If you weren’t attracted, why bother?’
‘Because it was safe. He couldn’t hurt me. I didn’t want him. There were no butterflies or nerves or getting tongue-tied.’ Imogen looked up at him. ‘With you, there are butterflies and nerves and I never say the right thing and feel like an idiot …’
Declan’s smile was soft, and seeing an opening, he moved forward, touching her shoulder. ‘You’re not an idiot, Imogen.’
‘I don’t see you stuttering and dropping jugs of milk everywhere when I walk into a room.’ She felt herself pouting a little, and pressed her lips together.
‘That’s because I manage to wait until you leave.’ His eyes didn’t leave hers as he stroked up and down her arm. ‘Plus, finding excuses to come and see a girl isn’t usually my style. It’s more of a straightforward “do you wanna go out” situation. You make me nervous, Imogen.’
She wasn’t sure whether that was better or worse. She couldn’t be just another fool, sacrificing her life and dreams for someone who would leave. She had to make sure she put her work first at all times. But, well, just dating him a bit wouldn’t be too dangerous, would it? She thought of Demi, who’d punch her in the arm and tell her to suck it up. She thought of her dad, who would tell her ‘love begins again’, which was a crock of shit, really, considering the state he’d been in after her mum. The love he had with Babs wasn’t real; it wasn’t … substantial. It was a distraction that made him happy enough when he wasn’t thinking.
Which was maybe what Declan could be for her. A distraction. A fun distraction who made her heart race and cheeks warm, but nothing more. She could take a chance, couldn’t she?
‘Why on earth would I make you nervous?’ Imogen asked, her voice barely a whisper. Declan grinned at her, moving closer so that his lips hovered at her ear, bottom lip resting on her neck. ‘Because you’re funny …’ He kissed her neck slowly. ‘And smart …’ Another kiss. ‘And sexy, and mad, and difficult as fuck …’
If You Don't Know Me by Now Page 8