The Workplace
‘Bloody hell, Vic, you look like death warmed up.’ Ray Glover, the impeccably groomed, exuberant forty-five-year-old boss of Glovers Design, stopped at her desk on his way through to the kitchen of his design studio office. ‘Oh yes, of course, Brighton this weekend. How was it? I have to say, me and my Marcus were a tad jealous. We just stayed in with a Waitrose risotto and perved on Ian Waite’s arse onStrictly.’ He waved his hand camply in the air. ‘Coffee, darling?’
‘Yes, two sugars, please.’ Even to her own ears, Vic sounded groggy.
He placed the coffee mug on her desk. ‘It was two-spoonfuls good, eh?’
‘Erm, yes.’
‘Victoria Sharpe, is there something you’re not telling me?’ Then, in full Elaine Paige musical belt, he burst into song: ‘I know you so well.’
‘Ray, I love you, but not now, OK?’
Sincethatnight, Vic’s infidelity had sat heavy on her chestlike a lingering heartburn, and even thinking about it was more uncomfortable than she ever could have imagined, let alone talking about it.
‘OK, OK, Grumporia.’ Ray raised his eyebrows. ‘But, whilst I remember, we need to get the final rebrand carton designs off to Krispy Wheats today.’
‘Really?’ Victoria sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy working at Glovers, because she really did. But the nine-to-five had been getting her down lately, especially when all she wanted to do was spread her artistic wings and have a break from the monotony of it all. Plus, Glovers seemed to be getting a name for carton design, and that was so far removed from the freehand creativity she loved. But rent and bills weren’t going to get paid on uncertainty, and Nate’s salary couldn’t be relied upon to support them both if she did decide to go out and get herself established in her own right. One of her biggest regrets had been not saving. But with the expense of living in a big city, anyone who lived in London on a regular wage and claimed to save was either a liar or a hermit.
Ray headed for his office, then turned back. ‘And, oh yes, Jerico Flint called earlier. He wants to talk to you.’
Vic grimaced. Jerico was her favourite client but she didn’t have the energy right now. ‘Can’t Penny find out what he wants, and I’ll speak to him tomorrow? He’s a lot to deal with when I haven’t got a lot in the tank.’
‘Penny’s off on her half-term gallivant, darling, and you know how Jerico loves you.’ He put his hands in the air. ‘Why oh why I only employ women beggars belief. They’re either moody, pregnant, menopausal or on school holidays. You’re not up the duff, are you?’
‘Ray! You can’t say or ask that.’
‘I just did.’ He gently closed the door of his glass office shut and blew her a kiss, leaving behind a lingering whiff of the most gorgeous cologne.
Victurned on the shiny new iMac G5 that Ray had recently bought for the office. Then, tentatively sipping her coffee, she checked her watch, logged into her email, and texted Mandy.
Emergency Maccy D’s, Marl Road at 12.30?
Mandy’s reply was instant.
Abso fucking lutely!
Taking a deep breath, Vic searched for the last email from Jerico Flint, got his phone number off his signature and reached for her desk phone.
‘Jerico Flint, at your service.’ Vic smiled at the man’s deep and sultry telephone voice, which would soon go to whatever voice or accent he wanted to use, depending on his mood or inclination.
‘Hi, Jerico. It’s Victoria from Glovers.’
‘He missed a trick not calling it Glovers Covers, didn’t he?’
Vic forgot her woes for a minute. ‘Like I said before, Jerico, we don’t just do book covers here, we do all kinds of design. So, how didMr Pigeons and the Glasgow Kissfare in the big wide world of publishing?’
Vic fingered the first in his detective novel series that she had illustrated for him, and which had sat on her desk unread for the past six months. Realising who she must be on the phone to, Ray put his thumb up to her through his glass office and showed off his perfect white teeth in an exaggerated grin.
‘I got to seven thousand inDetective Taleson the Amazon paperback chart, and number two hundred and two inScottish Mystery Fiction, but I’ll take that. The whole project has so far made a significant loss, but on I go. It’s about the art, not the money, anyway, isn’tit?’
‘That’s what us creatives are trained to say, but most of us are either lying, or it makes us feel less shit about ourselves if we are not getting the success we feel we deserve.’ Vic let out a large sigh.
It was Jerico’s turn to laugh. ‘Ha, yes. To make my fortune writing full-time, give up the day job and run off to St Lucia with Gillian Anderson. Just imagine!’
‘Gillian Anderson, fromThe X-Files?’
‘The one and only! I find her both alluring and terrifying, all at the same time. Quite a magnificent combination. And if you’ve never been to St Lucia, Vic, then you have to go. It’s got so much soul.’ Jerico left a thoughtful pause. ‘Hmm, Maybe Mr Pigeons could go there and set up a donkey sanctuary or similar, but I was thinking I’d set the next one in London. I mean, I haven’t even been to Glasgow, so I was kind of winging my research by just using Mr Google anyway.’ Jerico stalled, his voice now softer. ‘And dare I ask why the big sigh, Queen Victoria?’
