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I heard he’s worth a billion. Is he really worth a billion?
Like I gave two shits what he was worth.
Everyone within a fifteen county radius knew David Faverley, and sometimes I was dumb enough to let it slip that I shared some of his shitty DNA. But not today.
Today I was just a girl who’d give David Faverley the finger and tell him where to stick his shitty little blackmail endeavour.
Asshole.
Rick changed the radio station and grabbed his laptop and started it up in front of me. Emails pinged in, and I caught sight of some of them, product briefs and blind testing feedback, and pictures of his adverts on billboards. Rickwas amazing, and from the emails I saw it seemed that everyone else thought so, too.
In that one tiny moment I wished I was someone with a career, someone who could impress Rick and Carl the way they impressed me. But that wasn’t who I am.
Rick didn’t seem to care anyway.
He looked at his watch. “Seven thirty a.m. So, I’ve got you for a few hours?”
I nodded.
He closed his laptop and his eyes were hooded and gorgeous. “I think it’s about time I gave you a proper tour of the house.”
And now I was late, the woman on my navigation software blurting about a load of crap that didn’t make any sense to me. I’d been around the block twice, looped the entire Favcom complex, and still I couldn’t find where the crap I was supposed to park. Bollocks.
I was about to text him and say he could stuff his stupid meeting when I spotted a sign for visitor parking. Gleaming four-wheel drives, and little convertibles, and pushbikes, with a garish companycycle for lifeposter on the side of the bike rack.
Mine was the only heap of crap car there.
I was wearing my worst jeans on purpose, the ones with holes in the knees. I was wearing my most faded shitty t-shirt, too, once bright pink with ‘bite me, baby’ on the front. And I had my scuffed pumps on.
I hadn’t been here for years, not since I was small enough that it scared the shit out of me. Reception was now chrome and marble, and the reception desk was a huge aquarium with brightly coloured tropical fish swimming about. Talk about overkill. The receptionist was wearing grey, with one of those stupid ruffly neck ties. She smiled across the counter, but she was all gritted and condescending, I could see it in her eyes.
“David Faverley,” I said, and she raised an eyebrow.
“David Faverley?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have a meeting with him.” She flashed me a look designed to draw blood, but I didn’t flinch, just smiled.
“And who should I say is here for him?”
“Katie,” I said. “Katie Smith.”
She pursed her lips and eyeballed me before she picked up the handset. “I have aKatie Smithhere for Mr Faverley. Claims she has an appointment.”
Claims. Cheeky cow.
And then her eyes turned wide and she was pale, unsettled. She put down the handset and it looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her tone was light and her smile was bright and far too big for her face.
“Your father will send someone down for you soon,” she said. “Please take a seat.”
I took a seat, and helped myself to a coffee from the swanky machine. I flicked through a load of boring industry magazines that practically sent me back to sleep, and was flicking through the stuck-up, jargon-speak job adverts in the back of one when someone cleared their throat in front of me.
Another little minion, another little grey suit, but this one’s neck scarf was polka dot, trying to be trendy. In fairness, it nearly pulled it off, too.
Minion lady held out a hand, and I shook it.
“Caroline,” she said. “I’m on the intern team. I’ll take you to your interview.”
My interview, what a joke. I checked the clock on the way through reception, wondering what time I’d make it back for Samson, my poor abandoned Samson. Wondering if I’d manage a ride, just a little trot around the school, maybe a slow walk up the lanes. I wondered if Jack had picked his hooves out, and given him his farrier supplement and mixed up his dinner just the way he likes it.
