“Oh,” I squeak.
“It’s not all good news,” she cautions me. “Griff didn’t sound all that enthusiastic. I got the feeling he’d rather not go with us, even if we do fit the ‘new and different’ criteria, so he might end up being a roadblock.”
My excitement lessens. An unhappy stylist is never fun to work with, even when the client is enthusiastic. “So what happens now?”
“I told him Thursday at two was good for a meeting. There wasn’t anything in your calendar, but I can change it if?—”
“No, that’s fine.” It’s as good a time as any.
Cal smiles sympathetically. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll give him the usual tour and spiel, then bring him to meet you. I’m sure he’ll have something in mind, but if it doesn’t work for us, it doesn’t work. Same as always.”
Taking a deep breath, I nod. “Same as always.”
CHAPTER THREE
GRIFF
I glanceacross the roof of the car at Damian as he hits the fob button to lock it and try not to be resentful as I fall into step beside him. Pretty sure I’m failing. It’s never a good thing when your boss tags along to a meeting so he can babysit you.
Oh, that’s not his official reason—his excuse for coming with me to Phallacy is that he wanted to check on a couple of client orders, including one for Kane, his boyfriend. But we both know he could have done that over the phone and that he had no plans to visit until I mentioned my appointment during the weekly team briefing. The only thing I can’t work out iswhy. He stopped babysitting me with clients and designers years ago, about six months after he hired me. Is it because Margaret’s changing her look and he doesn’t think I’m handling it well? The public reaction so far has been positive, and she was happy with the number of compliments she got on the press tour. So what?—
“Before we get there, I want to give you a heads-up,” he says, and my bitter thoughts screech to a halt.
“A heads-up?”
“Yeah.” He glances sideways at me. “Calla—she’s one of the owners and the company director—will warn you when we arrive, so consider this your pre-warning.”
Warnme? “I don’t understand.”
“It’s about Phil Marchand.”
“He’s the co-owner and head designer, right?” Designers can be weird sometimes, and unfortunately, the really talented ones get away with shit that’s not okay. Is this Phil guy abusive? Violent? He’s not likely to try any bullshit with me—my size intimidates a lot of bullies without me ever having to even open my mouth. Damian knows that.
Fuck, is he homophobic?
“Yeah, that’s him. Don’t upset him, Griff.”
It takes me a second to realize Damian isn’t replying to my thoughts, and another second to get over being offended. He thinks I’d upset someone I just met? Deliberately?
“Why would I upset him?” My tone is stiff, but I can’t help it.
“I’m not saying you would,” he assures me in the same voice I’ve heard him use with difficult clients. Today isn’t great for my ego. “Phil doesn’t talk much, especially to strangers. I’m just saying, don’t upset him.”
I swallow down my instinctive response and instead say, “Got it.” Seriously, though? Be fucking for real. This Phil guy is obviously one of those egotistical dickheads who thinks it adds artistic mystique to their reputation if they have “quirks.” Doesn’t talk much? Probably to show how much better he thinks he is than the rest of us.
We reach the building and head up to the third floor, where Phallacy’s offices are. As we step out of the elevator, I see a reception desk with a burly older guy sitting behind it, a sofa, and closed double doors set into a wall. That’s it, the whole “public” part of their office. Not surprising for an up-and-coming brand—security is key, and since they would only havea small team at this stage, there isn’t a need for a big office to separate the staff who don’t have security clearance to see the design parts of the business. At a guess, I’d say they’re all still job sharing.
Except for the guy smiling at us from behind the desk, who’s probably security.
“Welcome back to Phallacy, Damian,” he says warmly. “Who are you here to see? Nobody told me to expect you.”
“Thank you, Kyle, but I’m just tagging along today. This is my colleague, Griff Pevensy. He has an appointment with Calla and Phil.”
The smile is turned on me. “Welcome to Phallacy, Mr. Pevensy. If I can get you both to sign in here”—he pushes a clipboard toward us—“I’ll let Calla know you’re here. Could I get you anything to drink?”
I take back my earlier assessment that he’s the security guard when he’s clearly an experienced receptionist. Shame on me for making assumptions. “Please call me Griff. And no, thank you on the drink. I’m good.” I pick up the pen and sign in, then hand it to Damian.
“Same for me. Still enjoying the job?” my boss asks as Kyle hangs up the phone, and his smile amps up noticeably.
