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Lila lets go of a tear. She’s mostly angry she let it get this far, isn’t she?
“Stacie told me last week, she didn’t even know he was engaged. She knew he had a girlfriend but thought that was me, mistakenly. And she always thought what he and I were doing was just sex.” She sighs. “The web he weaves, eh. Probably felt more comfortable telling me about the wedding because I’m married already so I have things to lose, don’t I?” I nod along with her. “Anyway, when she saw his ring, that was it, she was ready to combust. I thought I was so above all that, so above… beyond being hurt and all of those things… I had it so certain in my head he’d come back to me eventually once the wedding blew over. I was convincing myself of all sorts, you wouldn’t believe…”
I’m anticipating a shocking twist to all this. “I don’t know what to say—”
She raises a hand for me not to speak, shaking her head. “Then I think back… the timing… and now it’s obvious. You came along and actually turned his head. Didn’t you?”
“I don’t know about that.”
She stares at me, not with hatred or disgust, but with a plea not to patronize her.
“Please, Mirabelle. Don’t play coy. As soon as you spoke today, I knew. Everyone now knows. How could he not be changed by a woman like you? You’re different… special… that’s why you lasted so long with Sharon.”
I’m stunned into silence. I’m about to argue it’s only my indifference that he enjoys. Everyone else is too easy, but I’m already taken body, heart and soul by another… I’m a challenge.
Did I even deserve such a swift promotion, or did he have a hand in it? So that on the evenings when I headed for launches and whatever, he could come with me under the pretence of showing me the ropes?
“Rumour has it that when Albie went missing last year and missed his Glasto set, it was because he’d gone on a big bender with this dad dying. But I don’t think so—”
“Please,” I beg, “Lila, come on.”
“You and he love one another, that’s why you stayed so long, but it’s complicated.”
My lip wobbles and she even touches my hand, soothing me. “It hurts, I know.”
I nod my head without speaking.
“So this is what I think, Mirabelle,” she whispers, barely audibly, even though it’s just us here. That’s just how serious she deems this; how darn dangerous, too. “Suppose we believe in fate, right? Then maybe you were sent to us to teach Miles a lesson. You’re the only one who can. I mean, for all we know, the next PA I recruit might be a Kim Kardashian lookalike, but… there’s something here, I know it. He’s going to fall to his knees and beg you to take him back at some stage, and I think, if you’re brave enough… you might take on the challenge and do what me and all the other girls have been praying for, you know?”
I tip my head back and laugh darkly. “He won’t change, Lila. Trust me. He doesn’t know how to love.”
“No, but you can teach him… and then take off when you have him just where you want him. Because deep down, you’re Albie’s… and that makes you utterly immune to Miles. Nobody else is.”
She leaves the stool and goes to grab her bag and coat from the sitting area on the other side of the room. I’m sitting here shellshocked when she murmurs from the door, “It’s because you’re the full package. Clever, beautiful and unobtainable. But also, much, much stronger than him. Not many people are.”
Chapter Nine
When your week starts out like a bomb exploded right over your head, you don’t expect it to progress to an even more heightened sense of drama, but…
It’s a few days later, Thursday, when what Lila warned of begins creeping up on me. We’re running the PR for a huge charity event at the Tate Modern, matching up press with interviewees and so forth, making sure everyone knows what to say. CSR is forefront these days and for many potential big sponsors, their involvement can link up numerous causes and it’s this enormous cumulative and mutually beneficial network that if handled currently, purrs like a dream. I’m smiling since it seems to be going so well, when he sidles up to me as I’m on a tea break, hanging back in the shadows with a paper cup while I catch my breath.
“Can we talk?” he asks quietly.
“No,” I mutter, and move away.
Smartly, he doesn’t follow.
In attendance today are Miles, Chrissy herself, myself (because the client is one of my accounts), plus a couple of our in-house press specialists and an intern who’s running around with a clipboard looking more lost every time she asks me, “What now?”
I’m happy with how everything has gone, but it’s impossible to ignore Miles’s presence. One of the reasons Chrissy might never be able to get rid of him is that he knows everyone in this business—and they all love him. He’s clever, I give him that. His ideas drive our strategies and Chrissy streamlines them, then dorks like me with a strong desire to please make it happen.
One of the bosses of a very well-known artistic charity walks on stage and music begins to play, signalling he’s about to make a speech. Most people in the room take a seat including Chrissy who makes sure she’s right at the front. During this slight lull in other activities, Miles tries again, sidling up to me as I’m going through notes on my iPad at the back of the room, where I thought I’d be hidden.
“Please,” he begs gently, desperate not to be overheard.
“Talk, then,” I agree, but continue scanning my notes.
Of course, I did not wear a tight red pencil dress today with matching shoes knowing it would drive him insane, nor did I especially pin my hair up in a sophisticated chignon to look even more elegant that I already do. Nor did I intend for my crimson lipstick and nail polish to match…
