I turn to see the most gorgeous young woman standing in the doorway, tall and skinny with shiny black hair so glossy you can practically see your face in it. It hangs in a shimmering curtain right the way down to her hips. I can almost hear it swish as she walks. She looks like some kind of human-sized doll. Can skin seriously be that flawless without photo editing? Only, the odd thing is, out of the corner of my eye, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but Marco seems to bristle. I mean, he was bristling before, but with the entrance of this uber-goddess, the man is practically growing porcupine spines.
‘Fitz,’ he says gruffly. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
He jumps up from the chair, leaving it swinging in his wake, and slips an arm around the woman’s skinny, bare shoulders. She’s wearing practically nothing. Then again, if I had her body, I’d be doing the same. Are they an item? It feels like they kind of are. They look amazing together. Two peas out of the same classy pod. She’s sporting this gorgeous crochet crop top vest and a suede mustard skirt. Both items have barely more width than a belt. I suppose the boots are doing a lot of coverage. They’re thigh high, suede, laced, and with platforms so thick, this woman is almost skimming the clouds.
‘Hey.’ She shakes his arm loose and strides into the room. ‘New girl?’ she says, peering at me over the top of her pink-tinted glasses.
‘Clara,’ I say, because I feel I need to say something, just to prove that I do actually speak.
‘Oh wow.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘He sure gets through them.’
Betsy pulls her large lips into a pout. ‘Well, this one here might just be the quickest exit in the planet’s history. She’s lost everything. The whole damn show.’ Betsy scowls.
I squirm.
‘Hey,’ Terry says, coming to my rescue. ‘Actually, that’s not strictly true. Someone broke into the studio late last night. The place was burgled. The logs, the recordings, it’s all missing.’
I like Terry’s story so much better.
‘Oh dear,’ Fitz says on an exhale that’s practically a yawn. ‘Bang goes the big promo breakfast bash tomorrow. Shame, my dress was wowzer.’
She could wear an Elastoplast and it would look wowzer.
She tilts her head to one side. ‘Cancelling, that’s going to look sooo bad.’
I can see why Marco doesn’t want her here. She has an awkward habit of stating the obvious with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
‘It might not be a total wipeout,’ Marco says, taking in a deep breath.
Curiously, I notice that this goddess woman is as slippery as an eel every time he walks towards her. She simply seems to evaporate away.
‘We can bluff through the breakfast, Betsy.’ Marco shoots a look towards her. ‘Call the press, make some kind of excuse.’
Betsy puts her hands on her wide, gate-like hips. ‘Do I get a please with that?’
‘I can give a noncommittal press statement,’ I say. What with all the bickering and blame bouncing around, this is going nowhere. Someone needs to take control of the situation. They all stare at me like I’ve just teleported down from Mars.
There’s an awkward pause in which everyone seems to be wondering what the next step should be.
Then Fitz shoots me a wide smile. ‘Fab, this young woman can do the press thing. Because you,’ she snakes her arms around Marco’s neck, ‘are taking me out for breakfast.’
My heart sinks. So, I was wrong about the avoiding thing, they’re clearly keen to get their hands on each other. Maybe they’re just not keen on company? Of course, he’s in a relationship and, of course, she’s gorgeous. With his looks, she has to be. Only…
‘Now?’ Marco’s forehead criss-crosses into a thousand worry lines. ‘But I have to–’
‘Shareholders meeting,’ Fitz says lightly, but there’s an authoritative air of finality about her tone. She shrugs. ‘Let the others sort out the mess. I’m a shareholder. I demand attention.’
I’ve never seen anyone look so irritated. Marco’s face is colouring an odd shade of puce. His arms flapping around his body like a drowning man tangled up with a man-eating octopus. Most likely, he’s keen to sift through what we have left of those recordings and nail down some recalls.
‘It’ll wait,’ Fitz says languidly. ‘But my stomach won’t. I need pancakes.’
How on earth she manages to keep that figure and eat pancakes mystifies me more than the fate of the audition tapes.
Betsy’s eyes narrow as she fixes Marco under her gaze. ‘I just want it sorted. End of,’ she says before storming out, not offering up her breakfast plans.
‘Has anyone checked the CCTV footage?’ I ask, hoping against hope that the floor doesn’t have any kind of surveillance. Everyone turns and looks at me blankly. Perhaps I’m in luck. I take a beat. Maybe they didn’t understand because, surely, looking at the CCTV footage would be the first thing anyone in their right mind would do?
‘On it,’ Marco says, pulling one hand through his dark curls. ‘Yup.’ He nods. ‘I’ve asked security.’
