Engagement Rate (The Callaghan Green Series Book 1)

by Annie Dyer

  I shook my head, tears still streaming and then I blubbered out what happened on Thursday and the real reason why I wasn't in the office on Friday. Then I'd spent all weekend working or in the gym. And got exceedingly drunk on tequila with Sophie before passing out for most of Saturday.

  "Hang on," Alice said. "You ended it with Jackson because he told old family friends that you were his girlfriend and showed them the copies of the ads we've done for his company and said how good they were? Van, I've just recommended Seph to a client who's having issues with one of their suppliers and raved about them. Was that the wrong thing to do? Oh, and I did the same with Simone's restaurant – I told Denis Hoffman to book it for his wife's anniversary."

  "Richard used to do this. If I secured a contract with someone he knew through his family, he'd always take credit. I didn't want to always have to be thankful to someone; I wanted to succeed on my own merit and to not have someone else trying to take that away from what we do," I said, wondering if it was too early to start drinking the wine a client had dropped off for us to say thank you.

  Alice put a large cup of strong coffee on my desk and sat down, her eyes like two lasers boring into me. "Vanessa, you have singlehandedly brought this company from being four weeks short of closure to being impossibly successful. Yes, the odd client might have come our way because of who Richard knew, but they wouldn't have agreed unless what you were doing was bloody amazing. Look at our portfolio. Look at the campaigns we've done. That's your leadership, business sense, and skill. No one's trying to take that from you. Jackson was telling someone he's probably known since he was in short pants that you're his girlfriend and he's proud of that, that he's with someone who's talented, successful and gorgeous."

  "I've cocked up, haven't I? There's no way he will want me back after this. I wouldn't." I wiped my eyes, spreading mascara everywhere.

  "You need a plan," Alice said. "You always have a plan, so where's your plan for this?"

  "I don't know. I need a few days I think. And I could do with stopping crying. I must be more dehydrated than the Sahara."

  "You want me to cancel the meeting with Little Bears?"

  Absolutely not. I needed to do what I knew I did best and then at some point I'd decide what to do about the mess I'd made with Jackson.

  ***

  Wednesday

  Gran: Have you sorted yourself out with Jackson yet?

  Me: Not yet. I've been busy at work.

  Gran: Shall I send you up a new vibrator?

  Me: Gran! I've just coughed coffee everywhere! You can't text things like that! Or say that to your granddaughter!

  Gran: Given that you'll bury your head in the sand until Christmas by which time he'll be over you and on top of someone else, I can offer you that. Marian's started doing those kinky sex toy parties. I'll order you a hare and send it to you.

  Me: It's a rabbit, not a hare.

  Gran: No, this is a hare. It's a bigger, faster version of a rabbit. Less tame.

  Me: FFS, grandmother.

  Gran: FFS – Frederick Frank Sawyer. He was an old boyfriend of mine. Why are you using his initials?

  Me: It's an acronym – for f@ck's sake.

  Gran: PMSL.

  Gran: Seriously, grandchild, you need to sort out business other than your work, you know. And I like Jackson.

  Me: I know. So, did I.

  She didn't respond and I figured she'd gone out on one of her 'jaunts' with her friends from the village, probably lamenting the stupidity of her only grandchild. It was Wednesday and I still hadn't decided on what to do about the catastrophe I'd created. I clicked around on the computer, making a rough copy of a potential poster for Roger Davies' brief.

  "Vanessa!" Alice peered into my office and hollered my name, as if I was on a different planet.

  "Is there a fire?" I said, not moving. A fire would at least give me more time to not come up with suggestions to solve the Jackson Problem.

  "Come into the reception."

  I stood up, dragging my feet, completely in my own world until I saw what must have been a hundred red roses. "They're beautiful," I said, almost on autopilot. "I didn't know you were seeing anyone."

  Josh stood there, arms folded, looking far more muscular than I'd noticed. When had he started wearing t-shirts that didn't advertise some obscure creepy band? "They're not for Alice," he said.

  "There for you." Alice passed me the card.

  For Vanessa.

  I recognized the writing. My heart thudded and I almost dropped the card.

  "I think I've thought of a new name for the company," I said, trying to completely ignore the bloom of red in the middle of reception. "Vanalish."

  Neither of them responded. They just stared, Josh's arms still folded; Alice's hands on her hips.

  "You need to put them in water. There's a vase big enough in the kitchen," Alice said, then both of them departed, as if they had practiced synchronizing their exits.

  The roses were beautiful; as only red roses could be. I put them on the small table under the window in my office and took a picture. A week ago, I would have to text it to Jackson – this wasn't the first time he'd sent me flowers – but now I didn't know what was protocol, so I sent it to Sophie instead.

  A minute later my phone rang. "Text him to say thank you. Or even better, put the photo on Instagram or Facebook with a smiley face and a heart."

  "I'll think about it. Do you want to go for drinks after work? I'll see if Josh is free for your manscaping conversation," I said, changing the subject.

  "Is Josh good looking?" she asked, the question loaded.

  I thought for a moment. He was Josh, my grizzly, geeky head of creative. "I suppose so. He's really beefed up. And he's wearing different things which look better."

  "Bring him. I'll see you at Luigi's." As she hung up my door opened and Alice entered again, an expression on her face that reminded me of my head teacher when caught six of us behind the school gym sampling Derbyshire's finest cannabis.

  "What is it? Was the name really that bad?" Neither of them had given me their opinions yet.

  "You have another delivery. And this one is definitely for sharing."

  This time I walked quickly into the reception. There was an enormous hamper in the middle of the floor filled with bags of different coffee beans and chocolates, along with another note. Enjoy.

  I routed through the hamper. He'd included my favorite brands, plus the ones he knew Alice and Josh liked, as well as some of the tea Alice went mad for but was hard to find.

  "Seriously," she said, smelling a bag of coffee beans. "If you're done with him do you mind if I have a shot?"

  I ignored her.

  ***

  Thursday

  Sophie's suggestion had made its way onto my Facebook page; a picture of the roses surrounded by some of the chocolates and bags of coffee, artfully arranged. I hadn't tagged Jackson in the post, simply putting 'thank you', and leaving it at that.

  He hadn't responded or texted.

  Common sense told me that he was possibly willing to forgive me, why else send gifts, unless it was just a way to be cruel. But that was never a trait I'd associated with Jackson; he cared, he was fair and he was passionate. Never had I seen him be cruel.

  I was at reception myself when the courier entered, carrying two smallish boxes. "Vanessa..."

  "That's me," I said, interrupting him and hoping to get the packages before Josh or Alice came through. "I'll sign."

  He looked grumpily at me, holding out the device for me to sign on with my finger.

  "Thank you," I said to his back as he scurried out. "Have a nice day."

  I took them into my office and say down at my desk, wondering what he'd sent – if it was Jackson at all. The address was typed and stuck on, different fonts suggesting different sources. I opened the slightly smaller one first and felt my heart thud as I saw what was inside.

  One evening we'd been talking about books, and I'd mentioned that my
favorite book when I'd been younger had been What Katy Did. My mother had read it to me before she had become too poor and I had loved the story of Katy and how she had overcome herself. Inside the box was a hardback copy, a beautiful reproduction of the first edition. A piece of paper slipped out when I opened it, a note written on it in Jackson's handwriting: Give me time and I'll find you a first edition. Until then, this can tide you over.

  Tears filled my eyes and I wondered what my mother would say to me now, what her advice would be. I missed her and I grieved for the relationship we hadn't been able to have and then I thought of the man who had understood that.

  Pulling myself together, I opened the second box and laughed quietly. It was filled with little luxuries: a small bottle of Jo Malone's Pomegranate Noir; my favorite body moisturizer; the Charlotte Tilbury makeup palette that I had nearly used up and my favorite lip balm. There was no note, there didn't need to be one.

  A knock sounded at my door and Alice entered, her eyes going straight to the book and perfume. "More gifts?"

  I nodded. "From Jackson. What do I send back?"

  "Whatever you want to say to him," she said, inspecting the book. "This is very thoughtful. Given you've not known each other long, he seems to know you well. The flowers, the coffee selections, a book that I assume means something to you, these."

  "I think that's his point. He does know me." I pulled my phone from my desk drawer. There are no messages from him, he's done exactly as he said he would and waited for me to get in touch with him. I opened up the messages between us, seeing the conversation from last Thursday and my heart broke. Amelie was wrong; he wasn't the heartbreaker, I was. I'd broke my own heart.

  Me: Thank you for the thoughtful gifts. I love the book.

  I was surprised when he responded straight away.

  Jackson: Good. I thought you would.

  Me: I have so much to say I don't know where to start.

  Jackson: Take your time and think things through.

  Me: Are you okay?

  He didn't respond. I spent the rest of the day working, carrying on late into the evening, trying not to think about him but I realized it was fruitless. I also realized that I now knew my own mind.

  ***

  Friday

  The morning was taken up with a three-hour creative meeting with me, Alice and Josh, eventually pulling in two others from the design team and allocating a person in charge for each new account we had taken on in the past seven days. My suggestion for Vanalish was shot to the ground by both Josh and Alice.

  "Van Marketing," Alice said. "It's simple and it should just be you. A van moves you forward, carrying what you need."

  I shook my head. "It's too simple."

  "That's the point," Josh said. "Why does it need to be complicated. It also tells a bit of the history of the company as well. Think about it, we have a couple of weeks yet before we need to decide." Josh had gotten along surprisingly well with Sophie, discussing spa treatments specifically for men and why he'd never set foot in a spa. She had him booked in for a series of treatments on Sunday, when there were no customers about and she was dusting off her skills to do the facial and whatever else herself, as Josh was worried about having girls 'work on him'. I was pretty sure he should be more concerned with Sophie 'working on him' as I was sure she'd be bringing out the wax, but I decided not to mention it.

  Sally entered the meeting room and passed me an envelope. "This has just been delivered by courier," she said. "Can I open the next box of chocolates?"

  "Sure," I said, opening the envelope.

  "Have you been served?" Josh said, laughing and trying to peer over my shoulder. "What does it say?"

  "I have reservations at Simone's restaurant at eight tonight," I pushed the paper back in the envelope. It was typed and not handwritten, but I knew exactly who had sent it.

  "Who with? Or is that a stupid question?" Alice said, doodling 'Van Marketing' on a scrap of paper. She was already planning the rebrand party.

  "It doesn't say."

  Sally re-entered, this time with a box. "This has just arrived too. Courier again."

  I left the box on the table and went back to my agenda for the meeting. "I'm seeing Roger Davies this afternoon for coffee. He's asked me to bring the agreement for him to sign. This is going to be a biggie. Who wants to run the account?"

  "Aren't you going to open it?" Josh asked.

  "Shall I phone Simone and find out who managed to sneak in a reservation. It has to be someone who can pull strings – it's got to be Jackson. Shall I call her?" Alice said, her fingers playing with the plastic that surrounded the parcel.

  "Don't phone Simone and I'll open the box later."

  They both stared at me.

  "I take it I'm opening the box now."

  They both nodded.

  I peeled off the plastic and found what I'd suspected; a shoe box. Alexander McQueen. Inside it was a pair of black suede platform heels that caused a small groan to be elicited from my throat.

  "I'm going to suggest that they are way more expensive than I'd ever understood," Josh said, standing up and stretching, his new and nicely pressed shirt coming slightly untucked. "Van, you're lead on the Davies account until it's up and running. Alice and I can oversee the other three. I'll leave you girls to your shoe porn."

  He re-entered two minutes later, with another package. "If this continues, we'll need to hire someone just to sign for your love tokens."

  It was another box, this time larger and flatter and probably containing clothes. I unwrapped it with just Alice watching and pulled out a dress I'd lusted after when we'd been shopping one evening.

  "It matches the shoes," Alice said. "It's the perfect length."

  "I can't wear it," I said, putting on the table like it was burning my hands. "I can't wear a dress that someone else has picked. I dress for me, no one else."

  Alice picked the dress up and checked the size. "It fits me. And I'm more than happy to wear it for you."

  "Would you wear something a man's picked for you?"

  She frowned at me, her tiny nose turning up. "Vanessa, you told him you liked the dress. He's not picked it out, he's brought you something he knew you'd like. He's hardly telling you what to wear, although if someone decided to spend this much on me, I'd be more than happy to wear it regardless whether I'd chosen it or not."

  "Why's he doing this? It was me who ended it."

  "I don't know. Maybe you'll find out tonight. But first, you need to hop around the corner to meet Mr. Davies," she said, her fingers caressing the heels of the shoes. "Shame these won't fit me."

  I glared at her and walked quickly to the coffee shop where Roger Davies had suggested a meeting, grabbing the agreement on my way out. It was slightly after twelve, so I was late which bothered me. I detest not being the first person there, preferring to have some time to gather my thoughts and get into the right frame of mind before meeting with a client rather than rushing and feeling as if I was trying to catch up.

  The coffee shop was busy, most tables already full. Although I had a copy of the agreement, Roger Davies had already received it, so this was just a formality and possibly his way of being friendly.

  "Over here, Vanessa." I turned around and saw Roger, sitting with a woman that wasn't his wife. It was Marie Callaghan.

  "Hi," I said, my feet standing perfectly still and unable to move. Shit. Shit. Shit. What did I say? Or do? Could I run? Feign illness? She was going to want to kill me for hurting Jackson. Or maybe she didn't know. "Can I get you a coffee?" Lame, Van. So, lame.

  "No, we're both good. You sort yourself out and then come and sit down," Marie said, holding up what looked like a large latte.

  I managed to drag my unwilling feet to the counter and ordered an espresso and a latte, downing the espresso before I'd even paid, pretending it was a shot of tequila. Unsurprisingly, it didn't have the same effect.

  The table they'd chosen was suitably tucked away, dark enough to hopefully
hide the shadows under my eyes as I hadn't slept well since the last time I'd slept with Jackson. I sat down, beaming a smile that I didn't really feel and praying to every last deity available that Marie didn't know.

  "Here's the signed contract, Vanessa," Roger said. "It was very straightforward and myself and the board are happy with it. We also liked the designs you sent based on the family's house, although next week we'd like to have a look at the alternatives."

  I put the envelope into my bag alongside the contract I'd brought; clearly, I needn't have bothered.

  "It's good to see you, Vanessa, although you look a little tired and pale. Jackson said you worked as hard as he did," Marie said, putting one hand on top of mine. I found my shoulders relaxing an inch; clearly, she wasn't going to have me murdered quite yet.

  "About you and Jackson," Roger said. "I feel I am somewhat to blame for what's happened. In fact, my wife's currently not speaking to me. I should make it perfectly clear that we would've hired your firm for this campaign regardless of you knowing Jackson or not. I'm not using you as a favor to him, I'm using you as I think you'll do the best job, based on your pitch and the work you've done for other clients. I also apologize for insinuating that you'd done well by being courted by Jackson. Linda may have taken umbrage with that comment."

  "Apology accepted." I wasn't sure what else to say. I looked across at Marie who smiled.

  "I'm here on Linda's behalf and my own, really. Jackson should've told you he'd spoken to Roger, but the likelihood is he wouldn't have thought it was a big deal. I say likelihood as he'd dodging my calls because he doesn't want to talk about what's happened between you to me, but Claire says he's being atrociously difficult to deal with and she may need a good defense lawyer, so I hope you can sort it out," Marie said. "I'm also here to forewarn you that the daughter of a friend or ours is setting up a new jewelry shop here in Borough and I have recommended that she comes to you for some help with advertising. I hope that's okay? I didn't mention you were – or had been – seeing Jackson as she didn't need to know."