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“And a pay rise.”
Her thin brows shoot into her hairline. “I don’t think—”
“Cynthia, I work harder than everyoneat Zensi Designs,” I say, hoping she can hear my unsaid ‘even you’. “I’ve been here seven years and I’m still ajuniordesigner. I love what I do, but I can’t make it work for much longer on a salary like this.”
She purses her lips. “Very well. If you can deliver this project on time and to Hawthorne’s satisfaction, you’ll get your promotion and asmallpay increase to reflect your new responsibilities.”
I bite the inside of my cheeks to stop a wide smile from betraying my poker face. “That sounds fair to me.”
* * *
“But how much is shegoing to give you?”
I’m in a ridiculously fancy car with Bailey on our way to the launch event for a new high-end vodka brand. These kind of events aren’t usually my vibe but, between our busy schedules, Bailey and I barely get a chance to see each other these days. I’ll take what I can get, even if it means spending the better part of our night in a crowded bar while Bailey does her thing.
I’ve just finished giving her the rundown on everything that happened with Cynthia today. “I’m not sure,” I say. “We didn’t talk about numbers. I didn’t want to scare her off. Getting her to agree to this was like pulling teeth in the first place.”
“She’s so weird,” Bailey mutters with a roll of her eyes. “And what’s with herstillstealing your credit? You need to get out of there, babe. Start your own company. You know you’d smash it.”
I snort and shake my head, dispelling any visions of the pipe dream I’ve held for more years than I can count now. “Cynthia may be annoying, but Zensi Designs gets brilliant jobs. It would take me years to build up trust and a client base like this. And I’d need money to start my own thing up, and I definitely don’t have that. I’m stuck here, for now at least.”
Bailey exhales a loud breath. “I’m sorry. But at least this project will be fun?”
I shrug. “The building is beautiful and I’ve got so much creative freedom, but the managing director is a bit of an asshole. I’m hoping we won’t have much to do with each other beyond this initial start.”
I imagine Hawthorne will jet off back to America once he’s approved the designs, leaving some probably underpaid lackey here to check in every so often. I feel a brief wave of pity for this unnamed lackey, but it doesn’t last long. All I can think about is how I’ll be able to work in peace without Hawthorne’s interference.
“Sounds great,” Bailey says with a wide grin. “And how’s house hunting going?”
I groan. “It’s not going fast enough.”
Sometimes I feel like I can’t catch a break. Work is shit. Home is shit. Everything’s shit.
Bailey reaches across the empty seat between us and gently squeezes my hand. We’ve been friends since we were kids, and she knows exactly how desperate I am to get out of my mother’s house and have a place to call my own. “You’re nearly there, babe,” she says softly. “This year is going to be it for you, I can feel it. Promotion. Pay rise. New house.” She pauses and wiggles her brows. “New man?”
That gets a giggle out of me. It’s not like I’m actively opposed to dating, I’ve just been so busy I’ve not been able to devote the time to it. My last date was over half a year ago, and while we had at least a smidgen of chemistry, he’d been unimpressed with my haphazard availability, and we fizzled out after four lukewarm dates.
“We’ll see,” I say. “I’m not sure I’m ready to give anyone that much time just yet. Especially not with this new project.”
“Just keep an open mind,” Bailey says. “You never know when you might meet someone.”
The car grinds to a slow halt outside a bar. Even from out here, I can tell that it’s heaving inside. There’s a queue that disappears all the way round the corner and the muffled sounds of music and laughter mix together to create an incomprehensible din.
I shoot Bailey a wary look. “I’mnotstanding in a queue all night.”
She laughs and waves two slim, silver tickets in front of me. “Perks of the job, babe. No queuing for us.”
Our driver hurries over to Bailey’s door and lets us out. All eyes are on us as we bypass the queue. Bailey flashes the tickets at the bouncer, who inspects them briefly before ushering us inside.
“Is this brand any good?” I yell over the blaring techno music as we enter the main room of the bar. It’s filled with people laughing, dancing, and sloshing drinks over each other.
Bailey shrugs. “I’ve not tried it before. The owner reached out to a bunch of us on Instagram and asked us to come down tonight and give it a go. He’s trying to compete with the big names, so he needs some social media hype behind him to get started.”
I nod. It makes sense, and he’s certainly going to get a lot of visibility from the crowd in the room tonight. I recognise a handful of people I usually only see on my Instagram feed as we push through the crowd. They’re all holding up bottles and smiling happily at the various cameras around looking, for all the world, like they’re having a brilliant time.
Bailey leads me over to the bar, where we manage to slide onto two stools just as the previous inhabitants disappear onto the dance floor. We order our drinks — Bailey gets her standard cranberry and vodka, and I get a passion fruit martini — and Bailey immediately begins snapping photos.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says with a grimace as she drags my glass away from me to get it into some better lighting. “I promise I won’t be like this all night.”
