“And bearded dragons,” I agree.
Something occurs to Effie. “If Anders is away, who’s looking after Smaug’ette?”
“Anders has a friend, a herpetologist. Whenever he’s away, his friend checks on her.”
“When is he coming back?” Her blue eyes gaze up at me. She’s asking all the big questions today.
“I don’t know. He might not come back … if his dad is too sick.”
Effie’s head tilts to her shoulder. “Are you sad, Mummy?” Effie may not always show emotion, but she sometimes recognises it in others, particularly those she knows well.
“A little,” I say, “but I’m also very tired.”
“Don’t be sad. Anders is nice. Nice people don’t forget their friends.” She clambers up onto the sofa beside me, then reaches her arms around my body and gives me a hug.
I blink furiously to hold back the tears.
I end up going to bed at the same time as Effie. For an hour or so before my eyes fall shut, I read my book. Then I sleep solidly until the alarm drags me awake.
I check my phone.
Anders never called.
No matter what is happening between Anders and me, I still have a job to do. He may be busy replacing me in his love life but for the moment, I am his assistant and I need to assist him by running Cerium.
Scarlett is waiting for me when I walk into Anders’s office. “Anders was always in by seven,” she remarks, looking at her watch.
“Anders doesn’t have a four-year-old,” I reply sharply, dropping my bag to the floor under the desk. I'm not going to apologise for being a mother and I’m not going to pretend that Effie isn't important. “Did you need something?”
She chews her lip. She hates being here, asking me for favours. And she suspects Anders and I are involved but she can’t ask without overstepping. It must be killing her.
“Anders asked me to review our promotion partners. He wanted to look at revenue versus profit for the spend. That is, those bringing in the most money, may not be bringing in the most profit because they cost us more.”
I roll my eyes. “I know the difference between revenue and profit.” How stupid does she think I am?
I wait for her to continue. When she doesn’t, I prompt, “And?”
“And what he suspected was right. But Piotr wants to push advertising spend forThe Obsidian Sigilto the highest revenue earners.”
“Is he trying to maximise reach?” Sometimes you have to accept lower profit levels because you can’t get there any other way.
She shrugs.
“Okay. I’ll have a word with him.” But I’m not going blundering in without being sure of my ground. Piotr is not my biggest fan and while I don’t need him to love me, I also don’t need him jumping ship because I’ve undermined him. And I don’t entirely trust Scarlett not to set me up. “Send me the data you gave Anders. I’ll look at it and we’ll go from there.”
I’ve not even taken my coat off when Scarlett is followed by Ramesh. So much for them handling their own problems. And so my morning goes on. By the time we get to lunch, I’ve had enough. The only way I’ll get a break is if I’m not in the building.
I grab my coat. The forecast this morning was for rain and as I push through the door onto the street, a fine drizzle descends. I walk rapidly up the street, away from any coffee shops or fast-food places that are likely to contain Cerium employees. It’s maybe half a mile before I feel it’s safe.
Ducking into a mini market, I grab a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich and a bag of crisps. At the counter, I hesitate for a moment, and then pick up a chocolate bar. There’s every reason to suspect that by mid-afternoon I will need the calories. And I’ll probably burn all of them off in nervous energy by the end of the day.
Despite the rain, I eat my sandwich while window-shopping, staring in at houses and flats I’ll never be able to afford to buy. But a girl can dream. I fold the empty wrapper up and slide it into my pocket to dispose of later at work. Before opening my crisps, I check my watch. How time flies when you’re having fun.
I turn around. If I don’t get my arse in gear, I’m going to be late back. But as I pass a coffee shop, I glance in and I jolt to a stop.
There, in one of the comfortable chairs, is someone I recognise. My brain can’t quite place him; a bald man with a beard and distinctive black glasses. He’s talking to somebody, but their guest is sitting in a wingback chair, and I can’t see them. It’s niggling at me, but I can’t quite reach it.
Remembering I’m already late, I push the puzzle aside and pick up my pace. As soon as I walk into the office, the problems arrive. My afternoon is just as hectic as the morning, and I forget all about the man in the coffee shop until late that night.
