I feel sick. He’s clearly in love with this woman. Of course, he is. Who wouldn’t be?
‘Clara, get on with redoing the call sheets, just in case,’ he throws out.
Well, that’s me sorted, I think, feeling my shoulders cave at the thought – Mrs Dogsbody.
Betsy frowns. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
Marco scowls.
‘Clara isn’t even on the payroll.’
Marco shoots Betsy a hard look. ‘Then get her a contract. We’ve got work to do.’
Fitz laughs. ‘I love it when you act all big and bossy, Marco Delagado. I’ll just…’ She waves her arm behind her. ‘Little girl’s room.’
Seriously? Little girl’s room? It’s like someone abandoned a toddler at a theme park. I eye Marco cautiously. Perhaps that’s it, they’re both like children when they’re together. Is this how all rich people act? Maybe it’s because they simply don’t have to come face to face with reality. Okay, so it was me that caused the panic, but for some reason, Fitz has no true grasp as to what kind of a problem she’s just minced out of. The woman is supposed to be a shareholder! She may be beautiful, but she does seem a little vacant. We may have located a voice, a voice that is, of course, totally unsuitable because it’s mine. But all this is beside the point. Does Fitz have any idea as to the severity of the situation? She may be gorgeous to look at, but what’s a man like Marco doing with that… that… I so want to call her an airhead. I really do, but somehow, there’s something so childishly joyous about her that I can’t help thinking it would be wonderful to be Fitz. Even for an hour. Just to be that carefree. Just to have a man like Marco on my arm and a glowing life ahead of me, one in which it doesn’t matter if any given situation goes belly-up, there’s always pancakes for breakfast in a perfect world.
People like Fitz skate through life. It will never be her dealing the bad news; standing in front of the media-hungry press gangs, telling them we’ve lost the auditions and have no idea who should have won. It wouldn’t even occur to her to get worried. It was somebody else’s problem.
‘And, Clara,’ Marco says, rewinding the tape. Playing it, letting my recorded voice spill out once again into the room. ‘You’re with me tonight, scouring the clubs.’
There’s no, do you mind? Or, are you busy; or, sorry to trouble you with this, but could you? Nope. Marco is a man who just expects star jumps if called for. Normally, that would get so far up my nose I’d probably be incapable of breathing, so why in the hell am I standing there all bright-eyed and simpering, nodding my head as though I’m two bacon and egg sandwiches short of the full, cognitive Monty?
CHAPTER 10
CLARA
‘But you can’t go back out,’ Minty shouts at me as I push past him on my way up the stairs. ‘You’ve only just got in.’
Sometimes, my brother is the master of the understatement.
I stop and give him a hard stare. He’s standing at the bottom of our narrow staircase, his hands filthy from changing oil on some jalopy. The sooner this planet gets itself eco, the sooner our bathroom won’t end up looking like a grease monkey’s paradise every night.
‘You do a quick turnaround on the night out front all the time,’ I say.
In reality, he never stops working. His nights out are normally with Tim in front of the TV with a beer, which is not a night out. His idea of a great date is for a girl’s car to break down. Not so that he can take advantage, no, so that he can get his head under the bonnet and get the thing fixed.
‘That’s different,’ he says, massaging his fingers with a rag so dirty it doesn’t belong in a domestic dwelling. ‘You work too hard, Clara. You’re always stuck behind a desk.’
‘No.’ I take a moment to pause on the stairs and turn towards him. ‘This new job is different. Flexible hours, a lot more independence and responsibility.’
‘They given you a contract?’
I clear my throat awkwardly. ‘Not yet but…’
‘It’s not a job then. No contract, no job.’
Minty is always being done over by people wanting a quick fix, so he’s wary of anyone standing in part-time. I know my unpaid, uncontracted promotion is going to be a tricky thing for him to digest. He’s happy with me in an office – secretarial work, reception – and being paid for the hours that I clock in, but he has a problem with jobs that promise big titles but end up spiralling into unpaid overtime and promises that never come to fruition. So, I’m keen to avoid discussion. I don’t need Minty to tell me that my move to the seventeenth floor could be temporary. If Marco and Co find out it was me that left the door open, I’m toast. Betsy will take joyous told-you-so delight in giving me the boot. Once that CCTV footage comes in, being helpful isn’t going to stop my speedy decline. But maybe that’s all beside the point. Maybe I just need to live for the moment. I’m about to go out to some fancy club with the most gorgeous man I’ve met in ages. Strike that – the most gorgeous man I’ve met in my life. Okay, so he’s bad-tempered, moody, arrogant, a little too fond of the bottle, and is in the habit of throwing stationery. However, putting all of that to one side, Marco is the first man who’s had my heart racing in forever.
‘You would not believe the day I’ve had.’ Minty leans on the banister below me. He always says this. I truly believe that I know exactly what kind of day he’s had. It’ll involve boiler suits, an inability to get a part, and a long tirade about the price of rubber. Unfortunately, tonight, he’s in no need of an interested ‘Oh?’ from me. He’s already dashing forward with the next subject in hand. The topic he is refusing to let drop – me and my evening plans.
‘So, who are you going out with?’ He sniffs, and I get the distinct feeling that if Minty isn’t satisfied with the answer, he might, despite the fact I’m in my twenties, attempt to ground me.
‘The boss,’ I say, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible when my heart is racing faster than a drummer in a rock band finale.
‘A man?’ His eyes narrow.
‘Sure, why not?’ I shrug. ‘It’s just work related.’ I turn and head up towards my room. I don’t have long to get myself glammed up.
