Helen reached forward and slammed the lid of her laptop closed.
“To be honest,” Helen continued, “if there were no monetary loss involved, I’d do it. I’m positive she slept with her high schooler in our bed. God knows what they did and where in that house. I saw a fingerprint on the window the other week, and I wondered if it was hers… the high schooler.”
“She’s not actually a high schooler, is she?” Kim asked.
The topic of Helen’s separation and then divorce was spoken about often, but the new woman on the scene was simply referred to as “the high schooler.” Kim knew nothing about her, other than the fact she was, presumably, very young.
“Nineteen,” Helen replied sourly.
Kim let out a low whistle. “That’s young.”
“They met in a coffee shop in some trendy part of Shoreditch. High School smelt money and desperation, I suppose.” Helen shook her head and leaned forward. “Love doesn’t always last, Kim. I never thought I’d get divorced. If we ever split, I assumed we’d talk amicably and like sensible adults who cared about each other. Now I’m fighting for everything I have, everything I built up in my life. Because my ex is dating a high schooler and my ex-father-in-law is a lawyer who never liked me.”
Kim wished she could say something to make Helen feel better, but she knew there was nothing to be said. Helen was a nice person who was being stabbed in the back by her ex-wife. There weren’t words that could fix that.
“Do you want me to hire a hitman?” Kim joked.
Helen smirked. “No. Don’t deny me the pleasure of doing it myself!” She chuckled bitterly. “Anyway, you’re not here to hear about my woes. Did you need something?”
Kim waved her iPad. “Your diary for the rest of the month.”
Helen nodded and looked through the papers on her desk for her leather journal. Kim’s heart bled for her boss.
Helen unearthed her journal. She put her glasses on and started flipping through pages to find the correct day.
Kim felt the pit of guilt in her stomach starting to grow. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep the truth from Helen.
Chapter Nineteen
Fiona sunk into a leather chair in the ground floor’s reception to try to catch her breath. It was ridiculously hot outside. She’d be pleased when summer had a break. A storm would be nice about now. Some rain. Anything to stop the relentless heat.
She closed her eyes and sucked in a few breaths of air conditioning.
Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, clumping her hair to her face. She reached up an hand and tried to sweep her hair back. She dabbed at her forehead with a tissue. She imagined that she looked a mess, but she didn’t care. All that mattered now was taking a few moments’ respite from the heat.
Honey wasn’t the plushest office she’d ever worked in, but they always had heat in the winter and cool air in the summer.
The meeting she’d just attended at one of London’s leading advertising agencies had been horrendous. The air conditioning had broken. Everyone was grouchy, sweating, and exhausted. Then she’d had to get the Tube back to the office in much the same conditions. The walk from the station to the office was short, but it was also in direct sight of the midday sun.
Just before she entered the building, her vision had started to blur, and she briefly wondered if she was going to pass out. Mercifully, the seats in reception saved any potential embarrassment. Though, she still felt like death.
A nice, cold glass of water, she thought. That will help.
She dragged herself up from her seat and walked over to the elevators. In hindsight, it would have been wise to stop on the way back to the office and get a drink. The queues out of the door of the first two places she saw put pay to that idea.
Soho was a tourist trap, especially in summer months. The idea of getting lunch from the local sandwich shop in hot weather was not worth thinking about.
She entered the elevator and selected the third floor. Thankful to have the car to herself, she leaned against the wall and waved her hand over her face. The air conditioning was welcome, but she still felt like she was suffocating. The doors opened, she stepped out of the elevator.
As she approached the kitchen, she heard a familiar voice.
Nicola.
She toyed with her necklace nervously. She hadn’t expected Nicola to be in the office. Or, more accurately, in the kitchen. Where she needed to go to grab a glass of water.
Peals of laughter fell from the kitchen. Fiona leaned against the wall and cursed her luck. She walked a little closer, careful to remain out of sight.
There were two voices. One was unmistakably Nicola, the other was unfamiliar.
She took a breath to steel herself and walked into the kitchen. She went straight to the cabinet and pulled out a mug, then glanced at the table in the corner of the room.
The new girl, Chloe, and Nicola sat next to each other, looking at a number of printed photographs strewn across the table.
What has she got to do with photography? Fiona groused to herself. It’s completely out of her remit.
She filled her mug with water from the cooler and took the opportunity to eavesdrop.
“I just think I got the lighting all wrong here,” Chloe said.
“Yeah, you did. The first thing you need to remember when lining up any shot is the lighting. Is it natural? Artificial? Where is it coming from? How much light is there? Once you work with light, and don’t ignore it, you’ll find your photography will improve.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Chloe said. “I think it’s more than just lighting issues. Look at these prints if you want proof!”
Nicola chuckled. “Well, yeah, but I think you deliberately picked out some of the worst so we could laugh about them. See, this one, this one is okay.”
“I’ve always liked that one. I have a larger print in my bedroom.”
Fiona sipped her water.
She kept her back to them. Her temper was growing as she listened to their chatter. Why was Chloe even speaking to Nicola? Why was she wasting her time, trying to get professional insight into her apparently atrocious skills? And why did the young blonde feel the need to mention her bedroom? It was all completely inappropriate.
She spun around. “Chloe, I think you’re wasting Nicola’s valuable time. She has better things to be doing than helping you change careers. And I’m sure you have work to be doing.”
Chloe’s face fell. “She said it was okay. And it’s my lunchtime.”
Fiona glared at her. She couldn’t believe the girl was answering her back. Making her look like a fool when she was clearly in the wrong and Fiona was clearly in the right.
She approached the table and slammed her mug down.
“Nicola is a professional. She doesn’t need to be wasting her time looking at this… this rubbish. Of course, she said yes, she’s a kind person. But you’re taking advantage of that kind nature with this…” She picked up the first photograph she saw.
“Anyone can see that this is awful. You don’t need a professional’s opinion to see that this is shocking. The framing, the lighting. It’s abysmal. Anyone with eyes can see that. You don’t need a professional to tell you the obvious.”
Nicola stood up and snatched the photo out of her hand.
“Actually, that’s one of mine,” she said. “And I offered to help Chloe because I’m interested in nurturing talent. Which she has bags of. And she doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like that, and neither do I.” She shook her head as she stared Fiona down. “Wow, I had you all wrong.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. She had no idea where her outburst had come from. She wondered if it was the heat. And the insane jealousy that had settled on her like a heavy cloud.
Nicola had already gathered her belongings and was heading towards the door.
“I’ll catch you later, Chloe,” she said as she left.
Fiona covered her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t believe what had jus
t happened. Why did she always do this? What was wrong with her?
Chloe was quickly packing her things away, eager to escape as well.
“Chloe, I am so sorry,” Fiona said sincerely. “I honestly have no idea what just came over me. I’ve been in a two-hour meeting with no air conditioning and then the Tube broke down and… there’s no excuse. I’m sorry, that was inexcusable.”
“It’s fine,” Chloe said. She was still anxiously sweeping up her photographs and placing them in a folder. It was clearly not fine. Fiona knew that Chloe was just saying whatever she could to stop the mad woman talking and get out of her way.
She couldn’t believe her reaction. And to speak to a colleague in that tone was unbelievable. Especially a new, young member of the team. She had to fix it.
“It’s not,” Fiona said firmly. “I’m truly, very sorry. I should never have spoken to you like that.”
Chloe paused. Her eyes slowly looked up at Fiona’s. She’d obviously not been expecting a heartfelt apology and was now analysing the intent behind it.
“It’s okay,” she said, with a little more feeling this time. “I know what you mean about the heat, it’s really bad today. I feel a little tetchy, too.”
Fiona let out a sigh of relief. “Absolutely. I’m not usually like that, I really don’t know what came over me.”
Chloe visibly relaxed, the tension in her body slipping away. She smiled.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said.
“I do,” Fiona admitted. “I feel terrible.” She looked at her watch and then at Chloe. “Do you have anything particular you need to do within the next, say, hour or so?”
Chloe shook her head.
“Shall we get out of here, and I’ll buy you a drink? My apology. We can talk about the new email templates, but over a nice mocktail or glass of wine. If you want to, of course. I just want to apologise and prove I’m not a complete lunatic. I’ll message Natasha and tell her where you are.”
Chloe’s eyes lit up. “That sounds great. I’d love to get out of the office for a while.”
“Me, too,” Fiona said. “Meet you downstairs in five?”
Chapter Twenty
Kim’s fingers paused over the keyboard. She looked up and saw Fiona and Chloe walking back into the office.
“Oh boy,” she muttered to herself.
She turned her chair and looked through the door to Helen’s office. The editor had looked up from her laptop and was staring as the women crossed the office. Her eyes flitted to Kim’s. She quirked her head, silently ordering an immediate meeting with Fiona.
Kim jumped up from her desk and hurried across the office. Before Fiona had a chance to sit down, she approached her with an apologetic look.
“Helen would like to see you.”
“Now?” Fiona asked.
Kim nodded.
Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
“Helen will tell you.” Kim wasn’t about to get involved.
Fiona let out a sigh. She put her bag on the floor by her desk and gestured for Kim to lead the way. Kim turned and walked back to her desk, sensing Fiona’s presence behind her. She paused by Helen’s door and gestured for Fiona to go inside.
“Kim, can you come in here as well, please?” Helen asked.
Damn. She’d been so close to escaping. She walked into the office and took a seat next to Fiona. Fiona looked from Kim to Helen with confusion. Clearly, she had no idea what had happened during her absence.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Nicola came in earlier,” Helen said, almost conversationally. “She told me that she isn’t interested in working with Honey for the foreseeable future.”
“Oh,” Fiona replied.
“She suggested that you might know something about that?” Helen continued.
Kim couldn’t help but look at Fiona. She was curious to know what had gone on. She liked Fiona. She was nice, professional, and even funny when she wanted to be. But there was something about her relationship with Nicola. Nicola got on with everyone, except Fiona. There was some weird kind of energy there that Kim couldn’t quite place.
“Well—” Fiona began. Her cheeks were starting to blush and she played with her necklace.
“Do you know why we use Nicola as our primary freelance photographer?” Helen interrupted.
“Because she’s the best?” Fiona asked.
Helen barked a laugh. “No. She’s not the best. Don’t get me wrong, she’s very good, but she’s not the best. The reason we use her is because she is very cheap. She’s bisexual, and her personal goals align with the magazine. She wants to see Honey do well, and so she provides us with an enormous discount on her work.”
“Oh,” Fiona said again.
“Have you ever seen a magazine without photography, Fiona?” Helen asked casually.
“No—”
“Page after page of text,” Helen continued. “Like a newspaper from the turn of the century. The previous century.”
“No.”
“Kim, have you seen a magazine without photography?”
“No,” Kim replied.
Kim had never been more thankful to be on Helen’s side and not in Fiona’s seat. Suddenly the idea of coming clean about reading Christine’s email seemed like a very bad one.
“Kim’s not seen a magazine without photography either,” Helen said. “Would you like Honey to create a new trend? The only magazine without a single… sodding… photograph?”
“No, of course—”
“Good. Whatever you broke, however you broke it, now is time for you to fix it,” Helen ordered.
Fiona’s jaw dropped open. She looked from Helen to Kim and then back again.
“But—”
“Fix it,” Helen repeated.
Fiona hurried from the office. Kim wished she could do the same, but she had clearly been called in for a reason.
Helen angrily shuffled some pieces of paper.
“We need to see if we can find another photographer,” Helen said. “But I don’t know where we’ll find the budget.”
“You really think Nicola won’t come back?” Kim asked.
“She was very angry. She might cool down, who knows? I can’t wait around to find out, we need to have a backup plan. We need a new photographer to deal with next month’s shoot, and then we need to look at stock photography websites to plug the rest of the gap.”
“Did she say what Fiona had said?”
“No. Just to ask Fiona. Which I’d rather not do, as I have a hundred other things that require my attention. I’ll give Fiona the chance to fix it, and if she can’t then I’ll attempt to mediate. But we need a Plan B in the meantime.”
Helen tried to sign a piece of paper, but the Biro she was using didn’t work. She sighed and threw it into the bin. She plucked another pen out of the pot on her desk.
“Maybe I’ll have a week where all hell doesn’t break loose sometime soon,” she muttered under her breath.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chloe ran up the stairs, two at a time. She arrived on the platform at exactly the same moment that the train started to leave.
“Damn,” she muttered.
She panted for breath and held onto the nearby pillar to steady herself.
After a moment, she stood up and looked at the screen to see when the next train would arrive. She had a twenty-minute wait.
A small coffee shop on the platform beckoned her.
She’d left the office late due to Pippa’s insistence that she look at another non-issue with the digital edition. She couldn’t tell her that she had to leave to conduct an interview and so she’d had to sit patiently and listen to Pippa tell her why digital was a farce, her leg twitching as she watched the minutes go by. Finally, Pippa had ran out of steam and gone to complain about other things to someone else, allowing Chloe to rush out of the office.
Now, she was late. And hungry.
The moment she left the office, she�
��d texted Donna to let her know that she was running late. A few texts back and forth, and they had decided that Chloe would eat on the way and still conduct the interview that evening as planned. Otherwise the interview would be delayed by up to three weeks because of scheduling.
Chloe couldn’t wait three weeks, she needed to prove her worth as soon as possible. Not to mention the fact that she had spent the entire day worrying about the interview. Would she have anything interesting to say? Would she freeze up? Would her voice sound strange? No one liked to hear the sound of their own voice, but was Chloe’s unusually abnormal? She couldn’t spend the next three weeks worrying about such things. It was best to get it done and out of the way.
She entered the coffee shop and stood in front of the refrigerated unit, staring at the end-of-the-day array of sandwiches, wraps, and baguettes. She leaned in closer, pretending to look at something but actually just enjoying the feel of cool air on her face.
The atmosphere at Honey that day had been as thick as the humidity outside. Something had clearly happened that had gone over her head. Helen was fuming about something. Kim was keeping her head down. Everyone in marketing was silent as the grave. Fiona, who had been laughing and joking over mocktails at the downstairs bar, had become very agitated and quiet after a meeting with Helen.
Chloe didn’t feel she could ask what was going on, so she just got on with her work. Tess had made a coffee run late in the afternoon and had given Chloe a comforting squeeze on the shoulder as she placed a cup of tea on her desk. If tactile gestures could speak, this one would say, I know, don’t worry, this will pass.
But she couldn’t help but worry. Something had happened. It had thrown the mood of the office off. She suspected it was something to do with the financial issues that everyone was trying, and failing, to not mention.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was her parents.
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