Times Like These

by Laura Carter

  She had considered acquiring a new, thriving label and there were a couple of contenders but there was only one label that really stood out and that particular label hadn’t made it into her presentation for one reason: she couldn’t, wouldn’t poach Sanfia Records from her sister, and she knew not all the money in the world would convince Sofia to sell the family label to a giant like the Stellar label of XM Music Group.

  She admired Sofia’s strength of will. Her devotion to the label their father had founded. Hell, she was almost jealous of the way nothing meant more to Sofia than the people she loved. But Andrea had chosen over the last couple of years, and for the first time in her life, to focus on herself and her career. Things that didn’t fight back. Things that didn’t misunderstand her and threaten to break her heart. But Sofia’s best interests were her kryptonite and damn if that wasn’t causing her a headache for her presentation.

  She tapped her manicured nail on her desk as she waited impatiently for her PowerPoint presentation to load.

  ‘Come on,’ she muttered, checking the small clock on her desk again.

  She hadn’t even seen the dress Hannah – or Rosalie, as it transpired – had recently bought for her to wear.

  ‘Finally!’ she said, as the presentation Hannah had typed, following Andrea’s lengthy notes, opened on her screen.

  She reviewed the first of twenty slides. Perfect. Exactly as she had instructed.

  She moved to the next slide. She recognised it but… ‘That’s number three.’ She scrolled on and realised that only ten of her twenty slides had been compiled.

  ‘What the hell?’

  She stormed out of her office to Hannah’s desk. Empty, like every other desk in the secretary pool. Finding her notes amongst the piles of documents on Hannah’s desk, she flicked through her hand-drawn slide deck.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Hannah!’ she yelled as she realised what had happened. Back in her office, she tossed the pages in temper. Hannah had missed the reverse side of every page. She had missed every other slide.

  Now Andrea had ten slides to make before she could even rehearse her presentation, which was at nine-thirty in the morning.

  Almost on reflex, she dialled Hannah’s cell, which went straight to voicemail.

  ‘Hannah, for God’s sake! This presentation has to be done first thing and I need to check it before relying on it. How could you miss every other page?’

  ‘Problem?’

  She would have gone on an endless rant to Hannah’s voicemail but Hunter’s appearance at her doorway stole her thoughts, her heartbeat and her breath, all at once.

  He strode toward her as she dropped her landline into its holster. His navy dinner suit was trimmed with black lapels and cuffs. The line down the leg of the pants was black and his bowtie hung untied and loose down the sides of his open shirt collar.

  Hunter sure did know how to wear a suit – he was as knock-out as Sinatra or Martin.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?’ he asked with a familiar hunger in his eyes that was a match for her own feelings.

  ‘I should,’ she replied, gathering herself before she could form a coherent sentence that wasn’t a lust-fuelled torrent of rubbish.

  Hunter nodded, his gaze growing heavier and the focus moving down to the bottom-most unbuttoned fastening of Andrea’s blouse.

  ‘The presentation tomorrow?’ He asked.

  ‘A catastrophic fuck-up by Hannah.’

  He turned his back on her and she watched him cross the room toward her vinyl player. He ran a finger along the LPs neatly lining her shelf stack and pulled out John Coltrane – a classic.

  She didn’t have time for this but suddenly time had no meaning. She had forgotten why she was mad and at whom. As Hunter set the music to play, Andrea drew her office blinds and locked the door.

  * * *

  Whilst they dressed, the infamous post-coital vulnerability that attacked all women – stoics and home-wreckers included – began to creep into Andrea’s mind. As if he knew, intuitively, Hunter unprecedentedly approached her from behind and pressed his lips to her neck, running his hands down her arms.

  ‘Hunter? Do you think we’ll ever…?’

  How did she ask if he thought they could ever be a couple? How did she ask him to leave his wife for her? How did she do anything without becoming what she promised she wouldn’t become?

  ‘Shhh… Don’t spoil it.’ He kissed her temple and backed away, ending the conversation that never got started.

  Andrea hated herself for allowing melancholy to come over her. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. The whole point was that Hunter was never going to be hers. He couldn’t let her down or hurt her. Could he? A quick, very wrong, fling was all they were supposed to have.

  She faked nonchalance, waving a hand. ‘I guess I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Later, kiddo.’

  Hunter winked, shrugged on his jacket and left.

  Now she was really running late and her earlier annoyance at Hannah was mixed with irritation at herself because Hunter was well and truly where he was never supposed to be – under her skin.

  She had walked briskly, as fast as her heels would allow, back to her apartment, feeling and no doubt looking dishevelled – a.k.a. just screwed.

  Outside her door, Andrea ran her fingers through her hair, rubbed around her lips in case of smudged lipstick – not that she and Hunter ever kissed much – and prepared to face Hannah, who had probably listened to her voicemail by now.

  She took a deep breath and entered her apartment to see Hannah, looking beautiful and refined in one of Andrea’s dresses. The royal blue garment had a Bardot neckline, finished just above the knee, and hugged Hannah exactly where it should. She had teamed it with a pair of Andrea’s strappy gold scandals and, for a moment, Andrea felt only happiness for her friend.

  Hannah came toward her, holding out a full flute of what looked like champagne.

  ‘I’m sorry and I’m going to fix the presentation first thing in the morning but let’s not spoil tonight.’

  Andrea pouted and gave her friend a frosty stare, then took the glass of champagne, acknowledging the apology with a curt nod.

  It had never felt like a challenge having Hannah as a friend and an assistant when they had been working at Sanfia together. It had felt more collaborative then. Sofia, Andrea and Hannah had been a family, doing what they enjoyed. But it was tricky at Stellar. Andrea had more responsibility, especially since her promotion. That brought with it more scope for screwing up. She needed Hannah not to dip her nose in above her station but to remain within the remit of her job description. Andrea needed an assistant.

  She also needed her friend. If Hannah hadn’t been on maternity leave, Andrea was sure the mess she was in with Hunter would never have happened. Hannah would have called Andrea out on her bad decisions. And maybe… Maybe she had been lonely without Hannah every day.

  Trying to keep her office and home life distinct, she clinked her glass against Hannah’s and sipped the champagne.

  ‘You look great,’ Andrea said, suddenly desperate to spend a real girls’ night with her friend and reveal everything – Hunter, the affair, that she was sleeping with a married man who just happened to be Rosalie’s dad.

  ‘Take that and go get yourself dressed,’ Hannah said, as ever, the only person who dared to order Andrea around.

  ‘Okay,’ Andrea said, trying to push thoughts of Hunter from her mind and failing miserably.

  Instead, she drained her glass, put it down on the breakfast bar in her open plan lounge-kitchen-diner and followed the low-level floor lighting toward her bedroom.

  Good save, she thought. No one should know about Hunter.

  But as she walked away, Hannah said, ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

  If dread could emanate as a physical feeling, Andrea’s stomach would have dropped right out of her and hit the floor. She stopped still, her back to her friend. Her affair with Hunter had gone unnoticed for the four m
onths Hannah had been on maternity leave and, though she knew tongues had been wagging with rumours in the office in the weeks Hannah had been back, Andrea had hoped it would all blow over. Bitterness at her promotion and nothing more.

  But here she was, faced with the reality that the woman who knew her better than anyone else in the world, who not only knew but diarised her every move, suspected her affair.

  ‘I overheard people talking in the office,’ Hannah continued sheepishly. ‘They said you were seeing one of the execs. They said you slept your way to the top… I told them exactly where they could shove their Chinese whispers, that you earned your position and deserved their respect.’

  Andrea turned to face her friend across the room. She said nothing but could feel heat rising on her neck where Hunter’s lips had been less than an hour ago.

  ‘I believe that, Andi. We both know it’s true,’ Hannah reassured her.

  Andrea nodded her thanks because her mouth was too dry to form words but she didn’t feel assured.

  ‘The thing is, you left me a voicemail more than an hour and a half ago, saying I’d fucked up and you desperately needed those slides to be fixed. Yet, when you walked in here and I told you that I’d fix the presentation first thing in the morning, you didn’t say you’d already done it.’

  Andrea heard herself swallow and wondered if Hannah could hear the deep gulp too, as she stood motionless.

  ‘You’re irritable and sheepish,’ Hannah continued. ‘You’re a big girl, Andi, but be careful. Whoever he is, I’m going to guess you’re not his number one and that’s only going to end one way. He’ll break your heart.’

  Fuck you, Hannah. Fuck you and your self-righteousness and your forever romance with the guy who knocked you up in college.

  Biting down on her lips, her jaw set, Andrea turned her back on her friend and strode to the shower room.

  When she was stood under the uncommonly cold spray, letting the water soothe her stinging eyes, her hot skin, her palpitating heart, Andrea tried to work through the torrent of thoughts surging through her hectic mind.

  Hannah knew she was seeing someone on the executive board but Hannah didn’t know who and it was best that she never did. It was best that no one ever knew that she had been seeing Hunter.

  Was she seeing Hunter? Was that what was happening? Had she resigned herself to being that other woman? For how long? Would she ever be more than just the other woman? Had she really been foolish enough to risk a heartbreak?

  God, she shouldn’t be that person. She shouldn’t want to be that person.

  She needed to end this, whatever it was, with Hunter. And she needed to do it before anyone got hurt.

  She massaged shower oil into her skin.

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to end it with Hunter.

  About three months ago, they had gone two weeks without sleeping together. True, Hunter had been travelling for work for one of those weeks but for the week after his return she had avoided him at all costs – going so far as to dart into the ladies’ restroom, behind walls, under her desk, if she saw him heading in her direction.

  But it hadn’t stuck. He was like sugar, caffeine, endorphins to her mind. A fix she needed.

  It had to end now. She knew that.

  Yet, her hand moved without her conscious thought to cover her heart as she thought about seeing him day after day in the office and not having a claim to him.

  What if he wanted her, too? What if he wanted her to be his number one, not just the other woman?

  The one person she could ask for advice was currently in her lounge, dressed in her clothes and sipping on champagne.

  But Hannah could never know the truth. Never. Knowing the truth would put her in a terrible position. No one could know the truth because the stakes were too high. If Rosalie found out that Andrea had been having an affair with her dad, she would never forgive her.

  Andrea had to make a choice between being a friend and being the other woman.

  7

  Hannah

  ‘Hannah! Are you kidding me?’

  She ran from Andrea’s lounge into the master bedroom, where she found Andrea standing in front of her floor-length mirror. And she thought, Oh, Jesus!

  Rosalie had picked out a stunning dress for Andrea to wear to the concert. The problem was, it was Rosalie-style stunning and very definitely not Andrea-style stunning.

  The black gown clung to Andrea’s incredible figure. The thigh-high slit displayed her slim, long leg almost up to her panties. The neckline plunged to mid-torso, displaying her knock-out cleavage. The long sleeves and high back added a touch of sophistication and the crystal necklace that draped between her breasts added a classy finish.

  ‘Andi, you look a million,’ Hannah reasoned, with honesty, but knowing she was about to cop it Andrea-style.

  ‘I look like… like Rosalie.’

  ‘Admittedly, you are a little more exposed than usual but you really do look—’

  ‘Like I’m gagging for it from every rock star going to the concert tonight. For God’s sake, look at the time, the limo will be downstairs. I don’t even have time to change! Hannah, how could you do this to me?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Forget it,’ Andrea snapped. ‘Let’s just go.’

  Hannah rolled her eyes as she followed Andrea out of the apartment, all the while thinking, So, now she has standards?

  * * *

  After a painfully silent ride to Madison Square Gardens, Hannah was relieved to arrive at the side entrance to the arena – the red carpet being reserved for A-listers and, even Andrea, much to her obvious annoyance, was a nobody when it came to the front pages of glossy magazines.

  The rear door of the limo was opened by the driver.

  ‘Let’s get some of this frosty air out of here,’ Hannah said, smiling to herself as she stepped onto the much smaller and significantly less bright carpet to that which would have been rolled out at the main entrance.

  Andrea finally put down her iPhone and walked with Hannah into the backstage entrance to MSG.

  The grey corridors, though usually dull and chill, were brightened with poster prints of Sir Presley John with his arm around the shoulders of stars that spanned decades – Cher, Michael Jackson, Dina Carrol, Elton John, Tom Jones, Alicia Keyes. There were images of him performing on stage in the elaborate rock star jackets he was renowned for, sitting at a piano, rocking out with an electric guitar, singing that famous duet with Dolly Parton.

  Stars had started to arrive and reporters interviewed them in the corridors. It was just past eight p.m. now, which meant the celebrity guests – the Pitts, Clooneys and Gagas of the world – would be pulling up in their chauffeur-driven rides, coming into the arena one by one in order of status, under the bright flashes of cameras.

  The concert was being televised live so, right now, support acts would be playing in the main hall, setting the mood and tone, getting the crowd ready for the main event. Ensuring the room was in great spirits and high with anticipation by the time the TV cameras started to roll.

  Hannah and Andrea twisted and bumped their way through the hustle and bustle of suits, fine dresses, stage gowns and, by contrast, jeans and leather jackets of the rock guys. They headed in the direction of the common area where nibbles and drinks had been laid out, and the nearby dressing areas, where Andrea would be able to check on her artists. When she wasn’t calming the nerves of some stars and taming the egos of others, she would be saying all the right things to fellow industry professionals and Hannah would be by her side the entire time, reminding her of the names that matched faces.

  ‘Annndi, Annndi, Annndi,’ came a familiar drawl, followed by the man himself, Tommy ‘Rock God’ Dawson.

  He stepped into their path, his staple attire of worn jeans, cowboy boots (which emphasised his extremely large feet) and a leather jacket in place, his hair as shaggy and purposefully unkempt as ever. In a nutshell, his usual, country-slick, hot self. And, for the record
, that was the objective view. The more subjective tended to fall at his feet – literally.

  He ran greedy eyes up and down Andrea. ‘Mmmhmm, you don’t know how to disappoint. It’s been too long, Andi. You know where I am.’ He mumble-slurred his words, the way guys tended to do after a whiskey or two. It was that mumble-slur in his singing voice that earned him – and consequently Andrea – the big bucks.

  Nevertheless, the content of this mumble-slur, Hannah knew, would lead to her hearing another rant from Andrea about the inappropriateness of that dress later.

  Andrea pulled on a subtle, yet obviously (to Hannah) intentional smirk and flashed the flirtatious glint in her eyes that she reserved only for the botchiest of her male clients.

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she said. ‘Are you set for tonight’s performance?’

  ‘You know I am.’

  He pulled a plectrum from the butt pocket of his jeans and used it to pick his front teeth – something he always seemed to do when he was flirting. Something Hannah couldn’t fathom – frankly, it seemed unhygienic. But it worked because Tommy Dawson was always, always with another girl – usually of the long-blonde-hair and heavily busted variety. Including, she knew, a number of flings he and Andrea had enjoyed in the past.

  He stared openly at Andrea’s breasts, then her thigh-high slit. ‘Baby, where did we go wrong, huh?’

  Andrea laughed. ‘A bottle of scotch and a new woman every night. Just try to keep it clean until after the show.’

  He flicked his plec in his teeth again and grinned. ‘You always were too good for me, Andi.’

  ‘If I were better, I’d have never gone there in the first place.’

  ‘Or back here as many times as you have.’

  He laughed and Hannah watched as the pair shared a familiar and warm smile – they had cared about each other once, deep down, whether Andrea had been willing to admit it or not. Ironically, Tommy Dawson would be a better option than a fling with a taken man.