by Nina Kaye
For my incredible family, with love.
THE GIN LOVER’S GUIDE TO DATING
Nina Kaye
CONTENTS
Dedication
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
‘Anya, have you seen Mark?’ I address my colleague urgently through my earpiece.
‘Mark? No.’ Anya’s reply is swift. ‘Isn’t he due on the podium right now?’
‘He is. And he’s disappeared. What is it about Chief Execs that makes them impossible to track down at the most crucial of moments?’
‘Tell me about it.’ Anya’s giggling voice crackles in my ear. ‘I’ll see if he’s in the foyer.’
This is all I need when I’m trying to show I’m worthy of a promotion. Cursing under my breath, I hurtle through the backstage door and out into the corridor leading to the toilets. As I’m rushing along the circular walkway of the Edinburgh International Conference Centre, I spot my target, casually chatting to Jen Collins, the IT Director.
‘It’s fine, Anya.’ I hiss into my earpiece. ‘I’ve found him. Hasn’t the slightest clue he’s late, as usual. Will have him there in two.’
‘Received.’ Her reply crackles in my ear.
I approach the two senior leaders and gently touch Mark’s elbow in a bid to extricate him from his conversation – without appearing rude.
‘I’m so sorry to interrupt…’ I purr. ‘But Mark is meant to be on stage – right now.’
‘Goodness, Liv. That time already?’ Our bumbling Chief Exec gives me an apologetic look. ‘I’ll come right away.’
‘No problem, Mark.’ I flash him and Jen a super cool smile. ‘We’ve only lost a few minutes. You’ll just have to stick to the script, as we agreed.’
‘Right. Yes, of course.’ Mark suddenly looks intense. ‘Is my tie straight?’
‘As ever.’ I smile at him. ‘Now go and inspire them.’
‘Inspire. Tell a story. Stick to the script. Got it. Thanks, Liv.’
‘A pleasure as always.’ I beam at him as we make our way through the backstage door.
Once in position, Mark clears his throat a couple of times. Then, prompted by Anya, he steps onto the stage to polite corporate applause.
‘And… crisis averted,’ I say through my earpiece.
‘Well done!’ Anya whispers back excitedly. ‘Well done on the whole conference, Liv. So smooth and professional. People have been talking about how much you have put into this – and the very impressive result!’
‘Really?’ I’m delighted to hear this.
Able to stand down for a few minutes, I slip into the auditorium to listen to Mark’s speech on the future of leadership – in an environment where my own company, McArthur Cohen, and our merging partner, JG Harper Group, will come together to create a new force in the world of management consultancy.
As Mark speaks, I hear some of my own carefully crafted statements being repeated back at me, and I almost burst with pride. There’s nothing I love more than constructing a really effective communication.
Now, having spent the last few weeks supporting Mark with his speech, it’s obvious that our hard work has paid off. He’s not entirely sticking to the script, but that’s fine. I only tell him he must, so he doesn’t go off on a complete tangent. He needs to be real, as well as getting key business messages across. Surely, this is enough to show I’m ready for the next step. I’ve put my heart and soul into leading this event. Glancing at my watch, I realise I need to check everything is in place for the breakout sessions. I slip out of the auditorium and make my way along the corridor to check on the group facilitators – Mark’s own team of directors.
On my way, I spot my manager, Derek, coming towards me, completely engrossed in his phone as usual.
‘All right, Derek?’ I address him as I rush past.
‘Oh… Liv… yes, good thanks.’ He barely looks up.
I chuckle to myself as I walk on, wondering how a senior manager of communications can be so uncommunicative.
‘Actually, Liv?’ Derek’s voice comes from behind me suddenly.
‘Yes?’ I stop and turn on the spot.
‘I’ve put some time in your diary this week. There’s something important we need to discuss.’
‘OK, sure. What’s it about?’ I ask, but Derek is already lost in his phone again, and swiftly disappearing from sight.
Something important we need to discuss? I wonder what that could be… oh, wow! I don’t want to jinx things, but isn’t it obvious? From our discussion at my appraisal, all the extra work I’ve done on the merger, and now the hugely positive reactions to the conference.
I must be finally getting my promotion.
Chapter 1
‘Liv, hi! Oh, you sooo missed out last night!’
I turn to find Anya has joined the coffee queue behind me. She’s immaculately dressed in a smart outfit similar to mine, her hair slicked back in an elegant bun and thick-lensed diamanté-studded glasses perched on her perfect button nose.
‘What do you mean I missed out?’ I’m immediately alert and alarmed. ‘Tony’s retirement do is next week.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t planned,’ Anya chirrups. ‘Tom and I were working late on the merger completion press release, then Derek popped his head around the door and suggested we get a drink in.’
‘Right. Awesome.’ I smile brightly, determined not to let my disappointment at missing out leak into my voice. ‘So, a good night, you say?’
‘Only. The Best. Yet.’ Anya’s so wound up and excitable, she looks like she might take off. ‘Derek opened a bar tab. It was basically Laurent-Perrier on tap.’
‘The boss paid? That’s new.’ For a moment, I’m so shocked that I almost forget how gutted I am. Derek barely ever comes out; and when he does, he never gets a round in.
‘I know, right?’ Anya bounces up and down a little on the spot.
‘Where did you go?’
‘That new rooftop bar near the Grassmarket. It’s a-ma-zing.’
‘I thought it hadn’t opened yet.’
‘It hasn’t. Last night was the VIP pre-opening event. Derek got an invite, the lucky sod.’
‘Right, yeah, that worked out well.’ I hope Anya misses the forced tone in my voice.
‘It’s a shame you were meeting your friend, or I’d have called you. Did you have a good night?’
‘Me? Yeah. It was fab.’ I pretend to stifle a yawn, inwardly cursing myself for my two errors of judgement: leaving work at a sensible time and agreeing to meet Dylan – who never works a minute past five – on a week night. ‘Late one, you
know.’
‘I know how you feel.’ Anya leans in conspiratorially. ‘I got to bed at three this morning and was up at seven.’
‘The usual?’ I ask her, having reached the front of the queue and been prompted for my order.
‘Oh, thanks, Liv. I’ll shout you next time.’
I give our order to the barista, hand over the cash, and we move along to the end of the coffee bar to await our drinks.
‘So, any gossip to share?’ I decide that even if I couldn’t witness the goings-on first-hand, at least I can join in the day-after-the-night-before chat.
Anya suddenly looks all coy. ‘Actually, there is. I snogged Tom.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘I did!’ She reddens slightly and the bounce returns, intensified. ‘We’re going on a date.’
‘OMG!’ I clap my hand over my mouth. ‘Check you.’
Our names are called. We scoop our drinks up and march confidently out of the office café, masters of our skyscraper heels.
‘Well, much as I’m dying to hear the rest…’ I turn to Anya as we reach the lifts ‘…I’ve got a meeting to get to.’
As I say this, I feel my anticipation rising. A sense of excitement stirs within me. Even my disappointment about last night cannot quell my expectations.
‘Anything exciting?’ Anya asks.
‘Not really.’ Being slightly, and probably unjustifiably, miffed that Anya didn’t at least text me the opportunity to join them, I decide I’m keeping this one close to my chest. ‘Talk to you later.’
As I head for the ground-floor meeting rooms, my phone pings in my handbag. Pulling it out to switch it to silent, I see it’s a text from Dylan, my childhood friend, who rather annoyingly assumed the self-awarded status of being my ‘surrogate big brother’ at just seven years old. Still irritated that he was a key factor in my missing the events of the evening before, I almost don’t bother reading his message. But seeing I’m several minutes early for my meeting, curiosity takes over. I open the message and read it.
Good luck today, Squirt. You’ll smash it!
Despite being peeved at him, I smile at the words in front of me and quickly tap out and send a response.
Thanks. I shouldn’t need luck. This is hopefully just to formalise it. I’ve already done all the hard work.
As I read back my response to him, I feel a swell of excitement. Getting my promotion will be real recognition of the progress and effort I’ve made in the last year. I’ve worked my backside off to deliver hard-hitting projects, completed the leadership development programme – supposedly a guaranteed ticket to the top – and my manager, Derek, agreed at my last appraisal that I’m ready for that next step. Perhaps a senior management role in internal or external communications? And my own team of consultants reporting to me. Amazing.
As I get lost in my ideas, my phone lights up in my hand with another message from Dylan.
Confident bugger. Still think it’s a load of corporate nonsense, but hope you get whatever poncey role you’re after.
Rolling my eyes at Dylan’s indelicate (but unsurprising) observation, I stuff my phone in my bag and stride along the corridor to my meeting, my mind now firmly focused.
‘Liv, come on in and take a seat.’ Derek ushers me inside the moment I reach the meeting room, and quickly closes the door.
‘How are you?’ I consider asking how he enjoyed the previous evening’s events but think better of it; I don’t want to seem bitter that I missed out.
‘The usual, really.’ Derek, brisk as ever, gives nothing away, though his under-eyes look slightly dark and puffy, suggesting too much booze and not enough sleep.
He doesn’t ask me how I am in return, but this is nothing unusual.
I sit quietly for a moment, expecting Derek to start the conversation, but he’s scrolling through his emails on his phone. I study him surreptitiously, wondering where this elusive party animal emerged from the previous night. He strikes me as more of a hot-cocoa-on-the-couch-with-a-copy-of-Reader’s-Digest-kind-of-guy.
As he’s still not showing any urgency to kick things off, I decide to seize the opportunity to score some additional points before we get down to the important stuff.
‘That was a great response we got on the merger survey. Some really useful insights we can use.’
‘Sure.’ Derek nods absent-mindedly, barely looking up from his phone.
‘I’ve had some ideas about the follow-up work,’ I continue, undeterred. ‘It would also be a great external PR piece to show the work we’re doing. You know: a business at the forefront, putting people at the heart of our success. I can write it and let you see the first draft—’
The meeting room door suddenly bursts open, interrupting me.
‘Sharon.’ Derek almost leaps out of his seat, as his own larger-than-life manager enters the room.
‘Sorry, I’m late,’ Sharon blusters. ‘Those damn lawyers of ours, can’t make a decision on their own. Makes me wonder what I’m paying them for.’
I look from Derek to Sharon, confused. ‘I’m meeting both of you?’
‘Liv, apologies. Did Derek not mention it?’ Sharon throws him a sideways look.
‘No, he didn’t.’ My tone is deliberate; but lost in his phone once again, Derek misses this prompt. ‘That’s fine, though.’
What’s going on here? Is this a good sign: my promotion is in the bag, and the Director of Communications has turned out in person to offer it to me? Doesn’t really sound like something she would do.
‘Right, shall we get down to business?’ Sharon directs this at Derek, who has to almost surgically remove himself from his emails.
‘Eh, yes, sure thing, Sharon.’
‘So, Liv.’ Sharon leans over the table, giving me an unwanted eyeful of her huge, tanned and dimply cleavage. ‘You probably know all mergers come with a need to review the company structure.’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Then you’re probably also aware that it’s not as simple as just stripping out half the workforce.’
‘Absolutely.’ I nod along knowledgeably.
‘With that in mind,’ Sharon continues, ‘we wanted to talk to you about what that might mean for you personally.’
Here we go.
I glance across at Derek, who, having said nothing so far, just looks awkward and a bit shifty. I wonder if he’ll be for the chop. For a senior manager of communications and PR, he has the charisma of a four-day-old turd.
‘Of course, yes.’ I lean in, consciously mirroring Sharon’s body language. ‘I’m keen to hear where you think I fit into the new structure. It’s no secret that I’m looking for a step up. The bigger the better, if you know what I mean.’
I let out a punchy, boisterous laugh that echoes round the bare white walls, before falling on an uncomfortable silence. Derek’s lack of reaction is nothing new. But I’m well accustomed to the alpha-female office banter and innuendos that Sharon throws around. Normally, matching her style goes down well.
‘I am aware of your aspirations.’ Sharon clears her throat. ‘Unfortunately, that’s not what we’re here to talk about today.’
‘We’re not?’
‘No, Liv.’
Recognition dawns and something suddenly cuts through my mind: a razor-sharp disappointment. Why did I not think of this before? With there being redundancies, all the senior management jobs will be filled. Frustrating as it is, my opportunity is not happening now. I need a change of game plan – fast.
‘Of course.’ I emphasise my understanding. ‘There probably won’t be any vacancies – for now.’
‘That is indeed the case.’ Sharon confirms my statement. ‘However, we’re not here to talk about a future role for you at all today.’
‘Err… I’m sorry…’ I’m suddenly alarmed for the second time this morning. ‘I don’t understand.’
I glance at Derek, who has retreated behind his phone again.
‘What I’m saying, Liv…’ Sharon purses h
er lips thoughtfully ‘…is that we don’t see an appropriate role for you in the new structure – at all.’
A chill creeps up my spine. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘As you know, we brought you in a grade above the other senior consultants,’ says Sharon. ‘And in the new structure, there are no communications roles at your level.’
‘Right.’ I pause – so thrown by this turn in the conversation that the usual confidence and ease with which I conduct my interactions is starting to waver. ‘Wait… are you saying… I’m displaced?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’ Sharon’s tone and face are neutral, her earlier jovial demeanour gone.
I feel the colour drain from my face. There’s no job for me at all? I’m so shocked, I can’t speak. My mind is locked in a tornado of utter disbelief. It takes all my effort to escape the giddiness and gather myself together.
‘If I’m displaced,’ I venture cautiously, ‘doesn’t that mean I should have the opportunity to apply for other roles through the redeployment process?’
‘Ordinarily, yes.’ Sharon nods. ‘And you still can. If you really want to do that. However, we don’t see an opportunity for you. Unless you want to take a role at the grade below?’
I instinctively wrinkle my nose at this suggestion.
‘I thought not,’ Sharon continues, ‘which is why we’re here today, Liv. To spare you a long and painful redundancy process, we want to offer you a settlement agreement. It means an enhanced financial package and extra time to look for alternative employment. You could go on garden leave from today – rather than working your notice.’
‘A settlement agreement?’ I blanch at this revelation. ‘And what if I don’t want that? What if I want to take the chance that a role might come up?’
‘Then that’s your choice.’ Sharon’s tone has hardened slightly. ‘But it’s very unlikely. If a promoted role does come up, the competition will be very stiff.’
‘But I’d still have a chance?’
Sharon takes a deep breath. It’s clear her patience with me is eroding. ‘Liv, you’ve given a lot to this company, and your efforts have not gone unnoticed, but no, I don’t think you’d have a chance. You’re not a good fit for the senior management roles in the new structure.’