Engagement Rate (The Callaghan Green Series Book 1)

by Annie Dyer

  "It isn't. But I think I know who it might be. Can you forward me the email?" I could feel anger knotting in my chest, the exercise in the gym now negated completely.

  "Sure. But you must promise to give me a story or the hook for one when this is done. Especially if I can nail Alan Fucking Lacey to the wall. He's the scum of the earth and should be sent down for something," Jeanne said, hatred in her voice.

  "You know I'll do what I can. In the meantime, if you catch him with any other women let me know," I said as the email pinged through.

  "Will do. Let's catch up soon. I need to bitch, moan and whine about life in general."

  "I'll bring Claire. She's got that down to a fine art," I said, opening the email and looking at the forwarding address and the time it was sent: Friday night at nine-thirty pm. I said goodbye to Jeanne and locked my computer, heading to find Max.

  His response was what I expected. "Hand it over to IT," he said. "Get them to look at what was scanned in after work on Friday. We know who it is: who else would put Van's name in it and we know it's not her as she was drinking with us at Dad's."

  "She wouldn't do this anyway," I said, anger eating into me. "I can't be involved in it. If it's Kirsty, I can't be trusted to not say something unprofessional."

  Max nodded. "Hand it over to IT and HR. We'll get her off the premises pending investigation as soon as we've evidence that she scanned that picture. Go do what you need to. I'll see Gino." Gino was our IT guy, a tattooed biker who would lift weights with us and keep our systems secure and working efficiently. He also had the patience of a saint when PCs didn't work and had learned to avoid telling the associates and secretaries to switch it on and off again. He followed me out of his office, ignoring Seph who was just making his way in.

  "What's up with you two?" our youngest brother asked. "He looks like he's on his way to war and you look ready to start a battle."

  "You'll find out soon enough. How's your diary today?" I said, trying to take my mind off Kirsty and the shit storm she could've created. There was the worry that she would've sent the photo to other papers, which meant we were playing a waiting game to see if anyone else got in touch with us. If so, we'd have to take out an injunction, which wouldn't be a problem. The next issue would be letting Claire know.

  "Morning!"

  I turned around to see Kirsty arrive, all smiles and over-styled hair.

  "Do you want me to run out and get you coffee, Jackson?" she said when I didn't respond.

  "No, I don't." I walked into my office and slammed the door.

  Forty-five minutes later Max walked into my room and sat himself down. "It's sorted," he said. "She's gone."

  I nodded, feeling relief, my shoulders sagging. "That was quick."

  "She wasn't sophisticated. She took the picture from Claire's office on Friday night. The security cameras picked her up after she fobbed in. She saved the image to her account and didn't delete it thoroughly. The Gmail account was set up purposely to send the email out to three journos. Claire's threatened the other two with an injunction already – she's fuming by the way, so expect that fall out at some point. It might be an idea to get Killian in so she can at least take her temper out on him, seeing as he's immune to her wrath. I've sacked Kirsty, gone over the non-disclosure and confidentiality agreements that she signed and the ramifications of what she's done. She's in flood of tears, begging to see you and saying some vile shit about Vanessa, but she won't do any more damage," Max said. "Not bad for before ten o'clock on a Monday morning."

  I tipped my head back and let the breath I'd been holding fill the room. "Thank you."

  Max shook his head. "Not a problem. I quite enjoyed that. Let's me exercise that nasty side I have. How's your lovely lady since the weekend?"

  The grin was automatic, then faded as I remembered the previous evening and what I'd told her. "We talked about Mum."

  "Mum as in Rachael?"

  "Mum as in Rachael."

  "Did you tell her everything?"

  "Yes, but not in detail. She hasn't read the letter and I've not said what Rachael was like before, but I didn't leave anything major out," I said, acutely aware of Max's reaction. We talked about Mum, but never how it had made Max feel. I'd always thought he would at some point tell us what he'd gone through, but it had never come. He'd just been there for me and Claire, taking his big brother back seat.

  "Is she the first person you've told?"

  "Yes," I said. "I've never wanted or needed to tell anyone else. She was good. She didn't try to understand, she was just, Vanessa, I suppose."

  "And she's moving in?"

  I nodded. "She hasn't got cold feet about it yet. We've talked a lot about it. It's a big thing for both of us."

  He scratched his head, looking twitchy. "I'm pleased for you, Jacks. I like her. I think she's right for you."

  "But?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "There was a but there. Spit it out, Maxwell."

  He let out a long sigh. "It's a sea-change. You're the first to have a relationship that looks serious and adult. Do you love Vanessa?"

  I hadn't told her yet and I knew I should, but I didn't know how. The words weren't there. I could probably write them up in a contract and outline them with clauses about how I would treat her and what I would give for her, but I didn't know how to say them simply. "Yes."

  "Congratulations. I'm happy for you. Payton mentioned something about a house-warming for you at some point, just so you're warned," he said. "I'll have your balls presented to Vanessa then in a case, because let's face it, she's going to be the one who owns them." He grinned and all felt right again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Vanessa

  "It's good to know you can spare the time to catch up," Sophie said sarcastically. It was Thursday, I had stayed at Jackson's every night since we'd made the decision for me to move in. I'd popped back to Sophie's to pick up some more clothes and toiletries and few bits and pieces that I was missing having around, such as a photo of my dad, mum, and gran from before my mother was poorly. I hadn't told Sophie yet, wanting to do it in person rather than via a text or a hurried phone call, hence we were sitting side by side in one of her spas having pedicures before I rushed off to meet a new client for an evening meeting.

  "I know. I feel really guilty, if it's any consolation." I did. Sophie had been there for me after I'd ran from Richard; she'd propped me up emotionally and given me somewhere to stay. I'd questioned myself intermittently since, seventy-five percent desperate to move in, twenty-five percent wanting to run for the hills and not wanting to trust another man. I had concerns about it not working out and being technically homeless again, although this time I had a sum of money in my account that would mean I could put a deposit down somewhere straight away, so financially I was more secure. I knew that life would change again, living with a man who wanted to be part of a couple and not just live with the woman who was running his business. There was a future there for the making with Jackson.

  "Don't be ridiculous. I've been gone lots when you've been living with me." She eyed me and smirked. "When are you moving out?"

  "Am I that obvious?" I said, hiding behind my hands. "I was going to tell you today. How did you know?"

  Sophie indicated her chosen gel polish to the nail technician and sipped her prosecco. "You've been there all the time and you met the family at the weekend. Things are almost resolved with you and Richard the dick, so it's a logical conclusion to jump to," she said. "You always have a room with me if things don't work out and I know you need a backup plan. But really, I like him. I think you're good for each other." Jackson and I had been out with Sophie a few times and they'd gotten along well, ganging up to tease me and then deliberately irritate each other. They were never going to hang out unless I was there, but there would certainly be no issue with Sophie coming around for dinner or wine and a girls' night.

  "You don't think it's too soon?"
<
br />   She shook her head. "No, I don't. I think this is right for you. How was meeting the family?"

  "Good. I've met all of them before except his parents and Callum, who's back the day before the retirement ball. They're a lot of fun. His dads asked me to look at the marketing for the winery they've just bought in the Niagara region, which will mean a trip out there. I don't want their business though just because I'm Jackson's girlfriend..."

  "That's utter shit and you know it. Jackson's dad's a millionaire how many times over because he's running an extremely profitable business. You don't get that rich by employing people as favors to them. Yes, he may not ask any other marketing firms from proposals but he's hardly going to give you the contract unless he thought you were going to do the best possible job, is he? For fuck's sake, you didn't have an issue when I asked you to do the marketing for this place? By the way, I want a new campaign for Christmas so tell your divine creative team to start thinking," she sat back, stretching her foot into the lap of the technician. "I'm thinking of having two of the salons specialize in treatments specifically for men, so that might be something else to have them consider. Although Josh perhaps isn't the right person to head that up, given how he could do with more than a makeover."

  Josh had most likely never stepped foot in a beauticians or a spa in his life, not even to buy vouchers for a girlfriend or his mum. He understood the term 'metrosexual' in a marketing capacity only and I suspected he thought manscaping was something men did on the moon. "Maybe you could educate him. His beard is rather unkempt at the moment and I do worry about receiving a letter from an animal charity claiming that the things living in it are not being properly cared for."

  "Is he trying to be trendy by growing a beard? That's a step forward."

  "I think he's just realized it's an excuse to not have to shave. There's certainly no beard grooming process going on. His girlfriend dumped him too, so he has lost loads of weight and I think he's started to go the gym. Maybe you should do a makeover on him. You'd love that and it'd give him a boost, I think, although you'd have to be nice to him as I reckon he'd be scared at first," I said, feeling all kinds of enthusiasm about the idea.

  "I'll come in your office tomorrow and organize it with him. This could be the start of a new venture."

  We sat back while the technicians finished off our feet and I felt relief ebbing through me. I had been worried about what Sophie would say, as if she had doubts about it being too soon or about Jackson, she wouldn't have shied away from telling me.

  "How's your PT?" I asked, having not heard about him or the orgasmic ability of his penis for several days now.

  "It's over," she said. "He lacked creativity and once I'd come through his repertoire I was bored. I'm abstaining from sex for a couple of weeks. I think it'll do me good."

  If I had been drinking I would have choked. "Sophie, I've known you since we were eighteen and I've never known you go less than two days without sleeping with someone!"

  "Hush and remember that I've been married twice, both for long periods of time so I'm not as much of a slut as you made that sound," she said, seeming genuinely concerned.

  "I'm sorry. I do remember that. But this is... different."

  She brought up her foot and inspected the polish. "I see how happy you have been with Jackson and I think I'd like that again. I might start dating again and find out if there is anyone out there that I'm compatible with in more than just the bedroom."

  "Do you want me to set you up with anyone?" I glanced at her and tried to hold back my laughter. "I hear Richard might be single soon?"

  Sophie snorted. "That's funny. Can you imagine being set up on a blind date with that?"

  "He'd be charming. Manners, conversation and he looks the part, except he's starting to recede. It's when you get to the fifth date you need to run. Fast." I glanced at my watch. "I'd better go. This client wanted to meet for dinner at Roast. Do I look presentable?"

  She looked me up and down and nodded. "You'll do. You look like a businesswoman who's not had too stressful a day. Text me with how it goes. Where are you staying tonight or is that a stupid question?"

  "Back at yours. Jackson's in Manchester until tomorrow evening at the office there. I know I can stay at his when he's not there, but I'm not officially moving in till after the ball. Are you home tonight?" I asked, unsure as to how far to believe her about the no sex for two weeks.

  "I'm meeting two of the managers from the salons to discuss Christmas and this potential manscaping sideline so I'll be late but I am not hooking up with anyone. Honestly," she said, now convincing me.

  "Okay. I actually believe you. Tell me again after the weekend. And if your vibrator isn't chargeable you need to upgrade else you'll blow your savings in batteries," I said, grabbing hold of my handbag and slipping now silky feet into my heels. "Might see you later but I won't wait up." I stooped to peck her cheek, a gesture that was uncommon but tonight I felt so utterly grateful for her.

  The London evening was cool and damp, the bars busy as it was Thursday and Fridays didn't count as a no-go area for hangovers. The roast was an upmarket restaurant in the center of Borough Market and I'd often taken clients there, especially ones who had a more traditional brand with a potentially more mature target market.

  I'd met with the firm's CEO the previous Monday, along with Josh and Alice, and we'd had a productive meeting where he and his team had asked a lot of questions around branding and image and then a breakdown of the costings. We'd then pitched a few ideas to him, which was the part we all enjoyed most, and he'd seemed positive, not mentioning any other marketing companies that he was in touch with so we were fairly confident we'd get the contract which would mean we'd have to increase our staff. Roger Davies had then contacted me yesterday and asked if he could finalize ideas over dinner. It wasn't something I could say no to, as this was potentially a huge contract for us and his business would throw us into the higher echelons of the sector.

  "Vanessa," he said, standing to greet me and offering a hand, which I appreciated far more than a peck to the cheek. "This is my wife Linda. She was keen to meet you."

  I shook her hand and asked the waiter for a glass of red wine, before starting the obligatory small talk around the weather and business and at one point, shoes. Roger stayed quiet on that one.

  "We really liked the ideas you showed us on Monday," he said once our starters arrived. "And although none are the finished article we are confident that you'll be the best firm to use. You come highly recommended also."

  I nodded, excitement and relief speeding through me like a bowling ball. This was a good omen: we'd done a couple of campaigns for two of their smaller rivals that had been very successful. I wanted to ask who had recommended us, but I held my tongue and hoped it would come out in conversation.

  "I believe you're from Derbyshire originally?" Linda Davies said. She looked a kind, if a shrewd woman, conservatively dressed with her hair in a rather old-fashioned style.

  "Yes, just near Bakewell, not too far from Chatsworth if you've ever been there. In fact, my great-grandfather used to be a gamekeeper for the Devonshire estate many years ago," I said, feeling that this was the sort of thing she'd be interested in.

  "I've been to Chatsworth several times. They have lovely displays at Christmas and a rather splendid market then too. Much less packed than the one in Manchester," Linda said. "Although that is spectacular too."

  "My wife loves the north," Roger said, smiling fondly at her. "She'd much rather live there than London. At some point, I'll retire and we'll find a place in Cheshire. I believe your team has been arranging Edward Callaghans retirement ball. We received our invitations a couple of weeks ago. How've you found dealing with the old devil?"

  I reminded myself to breathe. There had been no obvious connection between the two men, other than Roger's firm would have, at some point, have used a solicitor. Given both companies were old and established it would be surprising had they not have known each oth
er. "He's been in Canada for most of the time we've been planning it, and it's mainly been Mrs. Callaghan who's been involved with the details. He's been a real gentleman though, when I have spoken with him."

  "I imagine he'll be very useful, going forward. With him being retired and your connection to his son, he'll be on hand to offer any business or legal advice you'll need, although I dare say Jackson will be more actively involved," Roger said. "He's become very well respected in a short space of time for what he's done with Callaghan Greene. His father was lauded, but I suspect Jackson will surpass him sooner rather than later."

  "I didn't realize you knew them so well," I said, wishing I hadn't had the prosecco at the spa or the wine now. A clearer head would be good to try and navigate the minefield of company relations.

  Linda nodded, finishing her starter. "We've known the Callaghans for years. Marie and Ed are lovely and they've done such a good job with the children. You must see that for yourself, being Jackson's girlfriend."

  "They're great," I said, making sure I was smiling. I didn't want this. I didn't want my connection with Jackson Callaghan to be the reason why my company received business. Although it would be useful in some aspects, it left us open to criticism and insinuations that we weren't good enough without that support. Yes, I knew this was how business sometimes worked, but I'd had enough of living in Richard's shadow and always being that girl from the north, whose family could barely read or write – which was an exaggeration but one that Richard once made – so let's feel sorry for her. However, I wasn't going to sabotage this dinner. "Really genuine people. Are you familiar with other campaigns we're done?"