‘Hmm.’ I turn to see King standing behind me. ‘That didn’t exactly go well.’
‘It was a business meeting,’ I say, grabbing my own jacket. I’ve ruined everything. Pushed too hard, too fast. Just like my father.
‘If you say so.’ King leans against the booth. ‘But I hope you’ll permit me to offer this small observation – you are one crap businessman.’
He has no idea how right he is.
CHAPTER 12
CLARA
The midday sun beats on the pavement as I rush through the busy street towards Nelly’s warehouse, the low heels of my sensible work shoes clicking hard against the concrete. I tighten my grip on the garment bag containing the pantsuit Nelly lent me last night. I’m desperate to get the thing back. It probably cost more than a year’s wages. I can’t afford to have anything bad happen to it, and the way my house operates, mishaps are par for the course. Although it’s autumn, the sun is bright and low, shining directly into my eyes, which are dog-tired. I was up late last night – what a disaster, and I turned up at work early today, pretending to find the missing songbird. Which is clearly not going to be possible if I stick to working through the mound of recordings from the two-week audition stint. There is nothing so depressing as doing a job that simply doesn’t need to be done. I’d also been pestering Stan all morning. I kept leaving him messages about the CCTV tape. I need to get to it before Marco sees it. I’m guessing the police can’t have got hold of it yet. As soon as they do, they’ll be hauling me in for questioning.
Then there was the club last night. My cheeks burn at the memory. What even happened there? I am so confused. I’m getting such mixed signals. I know what I would love to happen. I would dearly love for Marco to wrap those wide, strong arms around me and pull me in for a kiss, but I’m not even convinced he likes me. Oh, that needs a correction. He does like me, as long as I’m manning a stationery cupboard or organising an office. If he knew the trouble I’d got him into, I’d be out of a job.
The thick metal door of Nelly’s warehouse creaks open, blasting me with a welcome gust of air conditioning. ‘Clara, darling!’ Nelly emerges from behind a rack of gowns, arms outstretched. ‘How was the ball? Did Prince Charming sweep you off your feet?’
I look blankly. Does Nelly know something? He can’t. ‘Prince Charming? Ball?’
Nelly waves his hands dismissively through the air. ‘Figure of speech. Don’t mind old Nelly.’ He fixes on me with his wide brown eyes. ‘How was the evening? Is the outfit intact? And Marco? Did he behave?’
‘Perfect, gent,’ I say, handing him the garment bag. ‘The outfit’s fine, not one spillage.’
‘Good to hear.’ Nelly hangs it on a rail.
‘As for Marco, it’s just a work thing. Purely professional.’
Nelly tuts, ushering me to a plush velvet stool. ‘Such a disappointment. I had hoped there might actually be a pulse underneath those flashy cufflinks of his. It certainly isn’t beating for Fitz.’
‘He’s my boss, Nelly,’ I say firmly. ‘It’s just business. And despite you being so dismissive about him and Fitz, there is some kind of relationship there.’
Nelly squeezes my shoulder; sympathy etched into his brow. ‘You say that to yourself enough times, you just might end up believing it.’ He drops his lips to my ear. ‘Not me, though. I can see you’re carrying a torch for him.’
I sink further down onto my stool. ‘Is it really that obvious?’
Nelly raises one eyebrow. ‘To anyone with half a brain.’
My breath shoots in an uneven gulp of panic down my throat. ‘Do you think he knows?’
‘No.’ Nelly shrugs. ‘It’s the half-a-brain thing.’
My mouth drops aghast.
‘Teasing, teasing,’ Nelly says, waving the comment away. ‘But bless him, he’s not very good at picking up the signs.’
‘And there’s Fitz,’ I remind him yet again.
And once again, Nelly waves away the comment. ‘I keep telling you. Despite all evidence to the contrary. That is not a thing. Marco is complex. I blame his father.’
‘Isn’t it normally the mother that gets the stick?’
Nelly winks at me. ‘I like you. You’re funny.’ He takes my pantsuit out of the bag and begins to check it over. ‘His father was a king in business. Uber successful in life. He had the kind of Master of the Universe face that all the billboards loved. Seriously.’ Nelly stops for a moment, garments draped over his arms. ‘It was like Big Brother. The man was everywhere. Marco was always seen as “the son”, never as Marco. And…’ Nelly hangs my borrowed pantsuit on another rack. ‘Then there were the women. There were a lot of women. People took him to court, but…’ Nelly shrugs. ‘It all got hushed up.’
I can’t help wondering if Marco isn’t perhaps a chip off the old block. It really felt like he was making a play for me last night. Or, actually, was that me making a play for him? Grrrrr, why is this all so confusing?
‘Marco just needs someone to fall for,’ Nelly says wistfully.
Well, that’s not going to be me. If I ever manage to amount to anything in Marco’s mind, it would simply be the light entertainment. The hors d’oeuvres before the main course, an amuse-bouche. Besides, when he finds out I left that door open, he’ll be giving me my P45.
