Page 25 of The Cottage in the Highlands

“Sorry,” I managed through a forced laugh. “I think there has been some sort of mix-up, but I’m sure it can be rectified.”

Athena’s eyebrows fenced.

“I’m not here about the beauty writer role. I applied for the investigative reporter vacancy.”

Athena’s hand hovered over the gold door handle of the meeting room. “That post has been filled,” she chimed.

I blinked at her. No. This couldn’t be right. “Filled? Already? No, there must be some mistake. I was only interviewed for that role this morning.” If you could call that farce an interview.

Athena pursed her lips. “It transpires we have another applicant who possesses more experience on the ground, as it were.”

It felt as if I were trapped in some confusing dream. I waited for Athena to expand but she didn’t. They had awarded that role to someone else? Who? When had that happened?

My previous optimism at the job offer deflated like a pricked balloon.

I gripped the strap of my shoulder bag tighter. “Sorry,” I stumbled. “I’m a bit confused by all of this.”

Athena appraised me. “I don’t see what’s so confusing about it. You came for a job interview and we are now offering you the job.”

“Yes,” I faltered, struggling to smile. “But that wasn’t the job I applied for and it wasn’t the job I was being interviewed for this morning.”

Athena propped one brow. “We are still offering you employment. I thought you would be delighted.”

“Yes, I am pleased you are offering me a job,” I clarified, my panic rising. “But it’s not the job I wanted.” I cleared my throat. “You’re offering me the job of beauty reporter?”

“It has all the same perks and benefits,” chimed in Barbara from the corner of the room with her clipboard. “Six weeks annual leave, bank holiday entitlement, company pension scheme…”

She then rattled off a salary that was several thousand pounds more than I had been receiving on The Silver Ness News.

Athena, meanwhile, was growing impatient. I noted her right foot was tapping against the polished wooden floor in her lethal heels.

I breathed in as I tried to consolidate my scattered thoughts.

Instead of reporting on injustice, I would be reviewing gold dust facials and vaginal steaming? My stomach pirouetted to the floor. This wasn’t what I had planned. But did I have any other option? Jobs on newspapers and magazines in general were thin on the ground at the moment and the three other jobs I’d applied for looked like they were non-starters.

Two hadn’t even bothered to reply and the third had responded with a polite decline, saying my application had been unsuccessful.

I needed the money and to sort myself out, and working for Athena Mayhew would certainly inject a certain pazazz into my CV.

It wasn’t what I wanted to do, though.

Athena’s smooth jaw was grinding. “Look, Ms Baxter, I don’t mean to appear rude, but I am very busy. If you wish to turn down our offer of employment, I can assure you there will be many more journalism graduates more than happy to step up.”

I licked my lips and tried to calm my breathing. “I’m afraid I don’t have a great deal of knowledge of the beauty industry,” I confessed, stalling for more time.

“That’s evident,” replied Athena, eyeing my hair. “But no matter. You’ll have team support and you can learn as you go.” Her face adopted a sharper throb of impatience. “We also employ the consultation services of one of the best dermatologists in the business. Ms Susie Calderwood?”

A picture of Susie Calderwood appearing on TV shows, giving advice on skincare, popped into my head. She was a cool, calm, and professional brunette who was always being drafted in to comment on new stories covering dermatological break-throughs and the latest beauty fads.

Then visions of me unemployed, struggling to pay my mortgage and feed Harley and myself took over. They lodged themselves behind the backs of my eyes and refused to budge.

If I turned this opportunity down, I could live to regret it, as would my bank manager. Would I be able to swot up on all things beauty related? I would have to. I had no option.

Was this really what I wanted to do? No, it wasn’t. But the post I had originally applied for was gone. Offered to someone else.

Disappointment chimed. What would happen if I said no right this minute? I could be looking for something else for months to come. I might not even secure another job in journalism anyway.

The thought of having to return to somewhere like the advertising agency I worked in before set my anxiety bells into overdrive. I couldn’t face the prospect of that. I didn’t think my mental health could either.