Which, admittedly, is becoming increasingly frequent.
“Drink this,” Gemma says, placing a milky coffee down in front of me. It’ll have three sugars in it. The rich aroma wafts into my nostrils in a sensational way.
My battle drink. My sweet kick of fury. My caffeine booster.
I nod, murmuring a thanks to my loyal colleague as she returns to her desk. I roll my shoulders, slap my palms together a few times and sip in between aggressive typing. Then I hit print on our ticket sale statistics for last week.
Once I’m ready, I leave our corner of the skyrise office opposite Liverpool Street station and head towards the other side where Michael’s conference suite resides. I try very hard not to bristle when I spot James already sitting in the chair closest to Michael’s, leaning back casually as if he hasn’t purposefully beaten me by arriving seven minutes early. He has his usual classic salesman appearance. Matt-black hair gelled immaculately. Gleaming shoes. A fine, expensive-looking three-piece suit with a teal tie that brings out the blue in his eyes. I’ll give him something, he has a nice nose. It’s long, with a little bump in the middle. James’s appearance oozes with an irritating confidence that I’ve always thought gives off Matthew McConaughey vibes.
“Gloatman,” I say.
He smiles, but it’s not a friendly smile, more calculating. I imagine he’s saying my nickname in his head. The fact that I don’t know what that is only irritates me to the extent that I want to turn this building upside down in order to retrieve it.
But no… deep breaths.Deep breaths.
Finally, his smile fades as he turns his chair back towards the table where he has a notepad. He fiddles with it in his lap, using his long fingers to spin his pen. “Felicity.”
“It’s Fliss.”
“I know,” he replies without looking at me.
Then say, FLISS!
My christened name is Felicity and nobody except for my parents (and Gloatman) have called me it in about twenty years. Granted, it was an error on my part. James started at Starr a few months before me, and on my first day, as I was being shown around and introduced to everyone, my nerves got the better of me. I said my name was Felicity. And he’s never forgotten it, even though I sign off my emails as Fliss.
I take my seat opposite his. This way I’m close to Michael if not exactly closest thanks to the oval shape of his office. I’m a stark contrast to James, in his dark tweed suit, with my flowery patterned dress that flares from the waist down to my knees. My dark brown hair, which I attempt to straighten every morning into a semi-acceptable state, is naturally thick, pulled neatly backwards by my fuchsia Alice band. My nails are currently painted a pastel blue, my kitten heels are from Irregular Choice and are exactly that, covered in sequins.
James always looks as if he’s about to step onto an episode ofThe Apprentice. Whereas I look more like I’m going to a summer wedding.
“Did you see my email?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in a telling way.
I look up, fixing him with a narrowed stare. He knows I’ve seen it. “Did you get a chance to read my reply?”
He makes a face, a sort of arrogant smirk, which suggests he did. Damn it. I should’ve added a read receipt. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had the pleasure. I’m sure it was incredibly insightful.”
Bastard!
Before I can load a useful response on my tongue, the rest of the team starts filing in. There are five main departments at The Starr Agency: Events, Sales, Marketing, Operations, Finance and HR. HR is literally Mel in her own little office where people go to be fired or hired.
They take their seats, sipping on their drinks whilst I watch my nemesis across from me. We smile overly politely. The room is too hot, or at least I am, so I remove my cardigan and hang it on my chair. James has gone back to making notes on his pad. What’s he writing? Does he have a plan for this meeting? He often comes prepared with his irritating ability to woo people.
Except me, that is.
I see right through his appealing front door, past the lavish exterior, the dark blue eyes and toned arms – tight against his sleeves, and see the arse that he really is. He knows the consequences for me and my team if we don’t hit our targets for ticket sales. We don’t earn as many bonuses as the sales team. In fact, we earn only one a year and our success is hinged on this event he is trying to ruin for us.
“Good morning, Dream Team,” Michael sings in his jubilant way as he enters the room, walking round to take his seat at the head of the table.
Admittedly, Michael’s a strange one. Some would call him quirky. I value his input and calm leadership here. But he does have this tendency to sway between marketing and sales like one of those old-school gameshows with the spinning wheels. He could land anywhere. It makes me both tense and agitated, whilst also maintaining a sense of hope that I have a fifty per cent chance of taking the enemy down.
He’s pretty reliable in some ways. He always wears a white shirt, no tie – a few buttons undone at the top and a pair of standard grey work trousers. Even when this office is verging on chilly, he’ll only wear the shirt. And yet, he’s also the most unpredictable decision-maker I’ve ever met. It makes him hard to work for. Never really knowing what he’s going to do next.
I try not to grind my teeth when he touches James’ shoulder as he passes. “How were your weekends?”
We all look around waiting for someone to speak first. It’s one of those frustrating moments because none of us actually care how each other’s weekends were. However, it is an unwritten rule that we should at least pretend to.
“I went fishing with my cousin,” Rajesh offers. I inwardly sigh. Rajesh is in his late forties but looks older. He’s lovely, but frustrating to communicate with when his stress levels peak at ten, yet mine can launch well over a thousand in a matter of minutes. It’s hard to get him to understand the sheer depth of importance of some tasks. For example, branded signage being positioned in the correct places for maximum visibility. Or sponsored merchandise being worn by our event staff. I suspect he thinks we’re all a bit mad.
“Marvellous,” Michael grins, his teeth glinting.
