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“Thank you, Raymond,” I say awkwardly, feeling like a bit of a fraud. Apart from mentioning Blue Media to Daniel during polite dinner conversation, I really haven’t done anything to win this lucrative deal.
“Choose which day you’d like to take off as a reward, Audrey, and let Stacey know so she can mark it in the diary. Right. I’ll set up some meetings.” Raymond smooths down his black, narrow tie, he always does this when he’s ready to wrap things up, “Fearne and Audrey, you can work on this one together. We’ll tackle SEO, Callum, and I’ll get onto the agency for graphics. Does anyone have any questions?” We all murmur no in unison. “Good. Job done.” Our seats screech against the floor as we all scramble to our feet and make for our desks. “Oh, and, Audrey, before I forget.”
“Yes, Raymond?” I hold the door open, Fearne and Stacey slip by, a smile dances on my lips.
“This is for you.” He reaches under his seat and pulls out a plastic Waitrose bag.
“What’s this?” I ask, surprised. I let the door close and walk towards him. Surely not another company gift?
Raymond shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve no idea.” I take the bag from his outstretched arm. It feels light and fluffy. There’s a card stapled at the top with my name and company address written in thick black marker. “It arrived for you by courier this morning.” He rolls up the blind and squints as the sunlight pours into the room.
“Seems you’re very popular today. Thanks again for the referral, this means we’ll top our target this quarter. I’ll make sure you get a good bonus in your pay packet next month too.” He guides me out of the boardroom, arm hovering over my back, then heads off down the corridor to his office barking orders at Stacey who’s trotting behind him in five-inch heels. I scurry back to my PC, Waitrose bag in hand.
“Lunch already?” Fearne asks lightly, gesturing at the Waitrose bag. I look at her in a daze, still trying to absorb everything that just happened in that boardroom. She gets to her feet, grabs a pen from my desk tidy, then straightens her black knee-length skirt, which she’s teamed up with a cream blouse covered in whimsical squiggles. My eyes focus on her dark, ash blonde hair hanging stiffly against her shoulders like straw as she sits back down and starts babbling on about the new project. Her roots are dark but the tips are broken and have turned a shade lighter since returning from a holiday in Seville with her husband and step-daughter; clearly, she’s spent too much time in the sun. “Audrey?” she frowns, “You okay, love? You look a bit pasty.”
“Erm,” I croak, clearing my throat. “I am feeling a bit lightheaded, actually. I think it might be the start of a cold.” And nothing to do with last night’s alcohol consumption, of course. I avert my eyes to the bag, tearing off the stapled card as Fearne wades through The Theodore Group’s notes.
“I love this client already,” she says, as I rummage inside the bag removing layer upon layer of old newspaper. “They’ve left most of the design decisions to us, so no lengthy meetings. Only requirements are Flash on the Home page, and a corporate feel, preferably using blues and blacks. All images are on this.” She waves a USB stick at me. “In JPG. Brilliant.” I can still hear Fearne’s voice but I’m not listening anymore. Instead, I’m staring aghast at the item in front of me. “So what do you think, Audrey?” Fearne looks up from her desk and her eyes widen. “Wow.”
I gape silently at the red Jimmy Choo shoe perched on my desk, surrounded by pages of last Saturday’s Financial Times. There’s a gift card attached:
Keep them anyway, Audrey, I’d like you to. No strings. I promise.
Take Care. D. No kiss this time.
15
Daniel peeks at me from above the menu, his smile reaching his eyes, crinkling at the corners – warm, friendly, cheeky.
“This down to earth enough for you?” He whips the menu away, flashing a smile. We’re at a pizza bar in Marylebone, sitting at a table for two by the French window - great for people watching if things get a bit tense or boring. One of the conditions I had when I agreed to this business dinner was that it’d be somewhere ordinary. I wanted the venue to be as unromantic as possible, no soppy background music, no dim lighting, and no candles! This fits the bill perfectly.
“Yes,” I reply. “It’s perfect.” A moody waiter rearranges the chairs at a nearby table that have just been vacated by a bunch of student- looking tourists. He’s scraping them loudly and annoyingly against the wooden floor, making my hairs stand on end. “Well, almost.” I add, raising my eyebrows at the table-rearranger.
I dip my head over the menu, all the while feeling Daniel’s eyes on me. What on earth am I doing? I haven’t been alone like this with another man in over eight years. What are we supposed to talk about once we’ve finished talking shop? What am I supposed to say? And more importantly, what am I supposed to order? I can’t see a thing without my glasses on. I don’t want to put them on, though. I don’t want him to think I’ve got age-related sight problems, especially if he turns out to be a bit younger than me, which I suspect he is.
Pretending to read the menu, I twiddle with my left earring nervously. I wonder if I’m underdressed. I can see he’s made an effort. Cleanly shaven and smelling gorgeous, he’s looking quite smart in his dark, tailored suit. I, on the other hand, am still in my office gear - black trousers and a deep red H&M short sleeved knit top - and looking a bit worse for wear. It’s been a busy day. Perhaps I should’ve listened to Mum, after all.
“Wear that lacy black top, Audrey,” she demanded when I told her that Raymond had set up a business meeting for me with Daniel to discuss the particulars of his website, “It shows off all your curves.”
“Oh, Mum,” I groaned, “we’re just business associates for God’s sake. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.”
“Well, do make an effort, darling, you don’t want him thinking you’re scruffy, do you?” In my defence, I did try to get into that black lacy number this morning but having gained several pounds since returning from Cyprus, couldn’t. It ended up being yanked over my head in a frenzy and hurled across the room, landing on my bedside lampshade – where it still resides.
I am, of course, wearing the red Jimmy Choos. Well, it would’ve been rude not to, wouldn’t it? Daniel refused point blank to take them back, even threatened to cancel the contract if I declined to keep them. I’ve fallen in love with them, anyway. The three and a half inch stilettos feel like lovely, soft slippers.
A waitress looms over our table, slim hips tied into a tiny black apron. “Can I get you any drinks?” she says in a foreign accent. She looks hot and bothered. Her dark hair is scrunched into a large hair clamp, long fringe falling over her dark, heavily made up eyes.
“A bottle of your house wine would be nice.” Daniel pivots in his chair, smiling up at the young, sultry waitress. She flicks her fringe back and flutters her long, fake eyelashes at him. I sneak a peek at him as he chats to the waitress, first about the wine and then about how busy the restaurant is this evening. He is very attractive.
My eyes fall onto his full, bow-shaped lips. I wonder if he’s a good kisser. Oh, God, no! I quickly look back down at the menu, the words a hazy blur. I mustn’t think about kissing him. I don’t want another relationship. This is just business, that’s all. Business.
“Red okay with you, Audrey?” he asks. I’m not a big fan of red wine. It always goes straight to my head and I end up with a stinking hangover. I’d really prefer something lighter and cooler like a bottle of Frascati or something. But, clearly, he’d prefer red, and I dare not make any more demands, he’s going to think I’m fastidious.
“Yeah,” I say lightly. I’ll just have to make sure I pace myself, “sounds great.” I smile up at the waitress. She has a pin through her arched eyebrow, which looks sore and red.
“And a bottle of sparkling mineral water, yeah? Give us a few more minutes for our food, though.” I like his confidence. It’s quite refreshing, actually. I used to have to pick Nick’s dishes for him whenever we went out for a meal, he was so indecisive.
Daniel leans forward, the crisp, white fabric of his shirt stretches over his well-toned arms. I wonder how many hours he spends in the gym refining that body. Obviously not a daily grind, he’s not bulky enough for that but he’s definitely a man who takes care of his appearance. His shirt is open at the neck but not enough to look tacky, there’s no dangling medallion or hairy chest in view. I suppose he removed his tie before he got here. I bet it’s stuffed in the pocket of his navy jacket that’s draped behind the wooden chair.
