We were interviewing for a new therapist today as Jeanine, one of my longest serving members of staff, was going on maternity leave. The interview consisted of a face-to-face and then a test of a massage, as that would be what they’d be primarily doing and we were interviewing six candidates- I’d be on the receiving end of three of those massages.
“Sophie, there’s someone here to see you.” Grace, one of the receptionists called out after putting down the phone. “She’s been waiting a while.”
The expression on Grace’s face told me that she wasn’t impressed with whoever was waiting.
“What are they called? I didn’t think I had anything in my diary.”
“You didn’t. But she said you’d want to speak to her. It’s Amber Morrison – the reporter.” Grace smiled and there was sympathy in it. “I can try and get rid of her...”
“I’ll see her. If I’m longer than half an hour, can you take over for me with the first interview?”
Grace smiled. “Does that mean I get the massages?”
“Sure.” Grace was a great worker and training in makeup at the moment, with a view to doing that in the future. She’d been with us since she was seventeen, turning up and asking for a job because her mum had kicked her out and effectively left her homeless.
I was a soft touch for stories like that for obvious reasons, so Grace had a job and somewhere to live – the flat above one of the spas – until she got on her feet. She was now twenty and a keeper.
Amber was waiting in one of the small therapy rooms that we would sometimes use for counselling sessions or meet ups where no essential oils or physical treatments were being carried out, such as a consultation.
She looked every inch the trendy insta-perfect girl with messy beach curls that had a perfect highlight and clothes that were put together perfectly, but no doubt were the result of a stylist or a stylist friend.
“Hi,” I said, giving her my most charming smile even though my heart was hammering a warning. “You okay?”
She didn’t say anything, just looked at me as if she knew the answers to the universe.
I sat down opposite and waited. Tension began to build. I focused on my breathing and thought about the plans I had for tonight – with Liam. We were going viewing two houses with the idea of him buying and me moving in while we were married. They were close to where Van and Jackson lived, and not far away from Borough and Southwark. I planned on renting my apartment on a sixth month lease – possibly to Seph who was in the process of becoming homeless again.
“I know you and Liam aren’t real.”
Amber’s words broke the silence. She’d lasted a really long time.
“Really?”Give her nothing.
“You might be into him – he’s a massive rock star, gorgeous, wealthy, talented – every girl he meets falls for him – but he’s using you to get what he wants.”
“Okay.” I heard the smile I’d put into the word. “Thank you for the information.”
Amber’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been close to Liam for years. He got what he wanted and you saw how he was with me last night. He doesn’t get emotionally close to anyone, because he can’t. I know I sound like a cow right now, warning you off, and you’re probably thinking I’m a right bitch, but I know him as well as anyone, and I don’t want to see him hurt someone else.”
I paused. Thought. I could let her walk out, having parted with her words of wisdom, or I could tell her what I thought.
I was never going to do the first.
“I suspect you’re hoping that when he’s done using me, he’ll be back with you, helping you out with your career or even making you a more permanent fixture and raise your profile. I might be wrong. You might not be the way you portray yourself.”
She didn’t flinch.
I carried on. “Because I’d be stupid to take you at your word. You don’t know me, and I doubt you care what happens to me, so a favour isn’t what you’re doing right now. You might be right, you possibly are, but you have another motive and that’s why I wouldn’t trust you.”
She looked at me with eyes that were a little too made up for this time in the morning. “Are you seriously going to marry him?”
“Yes. And tonight we’re going looking at houses to buy.”
“But it’s fake. And if it isn’t either you’re going to get hurt, or maybe it’ll be you doing the hurting. And you could hurt him. Badly. He’s not the strong person he makes out to be. Do you know he cried when one of his carers left for a new job when he was a kid. He told me once – I’ve never told anyone else. He adored her and she got a new job. He’s never gotten over that – people are only around him for money and if he thinks you aren’t then you might break his heart. He might break yours. Either way,” she stood up, “I tried to help.”
I let her walk out without following. I had potential employees to interview.
* * *
