“Absolutely not,” Kirsten boomed on. “There is no excuse for not being on the ball. We have maxed out our budget, and I expect you to work within those limits. Period. Now. Wardrobe, are we on track with the collab with Bloom?”
“On it,” someone replied.
“Storm, I expect the storyline to be followedto the word.”
Storm nodded like a puppet. So did the rest of the table. We were well drilled by now.
“And I expect someone to go fetch our runaways. I don’t care what it takes. You bribe them, you threaten them – I need them back. I had plans for Peter Fenton. This kind of behaviour will not be tolerated. George, this one is fully on you.”
It was, yet nobody had mentioned the elephant in the room. Not that I dared to speak up when Kirsten spoke like this. And I knew what it meant. The threat was clearly laid out. Repeatedly flashed at me to remind me that my time here was ticking down.
“Socials, I need a statement ready with regards to Oliver Jacobs. Alastair spoke to him earlier, and he was not amenable to our demands. So we need an obvious threat. Make it believable, and stern. Do not release it. I just need it prepared so we can make Oliver see the situation in a different light. We did good work on Chloe-Catherine. I will not stand for any more childish tantrums.”
“We can’t control…” someone piped up as Kirsten waved her hands in irritation.
“Legal is drafting the new contracts as we speak. If anyone walks out? They lose their fees. All of it. We also sue them for loss of earnings. We tie them in and lock it up. I expect everyone to have signed by tonight.”
She stood up. Flicked her hair and sighed.
“There will be no more questions. Get back to work.”
We did. And the only thing I could think of was that… If I could have? I would have walked out myself. Legal contract or not.
By the time I stumbled up the path towards the building I called home? I wished he was there. I needed him. I needed anything to just soothe me, which was a weird statement to make even for me. He didn’t soothe me. He rattled me to the core. Yet I needed it. Just something. Anything toget me out of this knot of stress work had shaped me into, because I was just too rattled to think clearly. Too worked up and I hadn’t slept well and drank too much coffee, and I just needed things to stop being so goddamn complicated. I needed the world to slow down. I needed to just…have some clarity.
“I need you,” I tapped into the screen. Not that he would turn up, he was hours away. Midweek, his schedule neatly memorised in my head. There was no way he would come to me. He’d returned all my clothes, washed and folded like he was some goddamn housewife. I didn’t dare acknowledge how sweet that had been. The scent of a different washing powder filling my small hallway every time I came home. Everything smelled of him. All the time.
“What’s up?” came back. Like he was a mate. I shuddered. I hated this. All of it.
“You only ever come see me at night. And only when it suits you,” I spat out, letting my fingers jab the words into the screen. I didn’t know why I was suddenly angry with him. Not his fault. We both had lives. Schedules. Things that were just uncontrollable. And now the stress in my head was making me lash out for no reason but the fact that he wasn’t here when I needed him.
“Sorry.”
That was surprising. I hadn’t expected that word. Perhaps I’d expected some lame excuse we both already knew. I sighed, sticking my key in the lock. Stomping up the stairs, the lift once again out of service, and slamming the door shut behind me. I threw myself on the bed, wishing I could roll into his arms. That was all I could think about. Our last encounter played on a loop in my head, every waking hour of the day.
Hated it. Hated myself. Hated…
My phone rang, still in my hand, making me jump. I answered, before I chickened out. He rarely rang me. Always texted.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” Lame. So lame.
“Georgie.”
He just had to say my name, and I crumbled.
“Shit day at work.” That was my excuse when I really meant “I need to know what the fuck is going on here because I am going mad.” Absolutely so.
“Is everything alright?” He sounded concerned.
“Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Baby,” he said. I rolled my eyes at him through the screen. Couldn’t help it, and then he rolled his too.
“I told you,” he said softly. “You’re my baby.”
“Idiot.” I smiled. He smiled. Stupid.
