Twenties Girl 68
“He told me he walked out,” says Janet flatly.
“He… left the meeting, obviously.” I cough. “As we both did. You could say we both walked out-”
“He told me you were on the phone to another client throughout and he never wanted to do business with you again.”
My face flushes red. Clive Hoxton is a mean sneak.
“Well.” I clear my throat. “Janet, I’m baffled. All I can say is we must have had mixed messages-”
“What about this Nigel Rivers?” Janet has clearly moved on. “Is he the man with the dandruff? Applied to us once before?”
“It’s a lot better these days,” I say hastily. “I think he’s using Head and Shoulders.”
“You know our MD has strong views on personal hygiene?”
“I… er… was not aware of that, Janet. I’ll make a note of it-”
“And what about this Gavin Mynard?”
“Very, very talented,” I lie at once. “A very talented, creative guy who has been… overlooked. His résumé doesn’t reflect his… wealth of experiences.”
Janet sighs. “Lara…”
I stiffen with apprehension. Her tone is unmistakable. She’s going to fire me right now. I can’t let it happen, I can’t, we’ll be finished…
“And, of course-I have another candidate!” I hear myself saying in a rush.
“Another candidate? You mean, not on the list?”
“Yes. Much better than any of the others! In fact, I’d say this candidate is definitely your person.”
“Well, who is it?” says Janet suspiciously. “Why don’t I have the details?”
“Because… I need to firm things up first.” I’m crossing my fingers so hard they hurt. “It’s all very confidential. This is a high-profile person we’re talking about, Janet. Very senior, very experienced-believe me, I’m excited.”
“I need a name!” she barks angrily. “I need a résumé! Lara, this is all highly unprofessional. Our in-house meeting is on Thursday. Can I speak to Natalie, please?”
“No!” I say in panic. “I mean… Thursday. Absolutely! You’ll have all the information on Thursday. I promise. And all I can say is, you’ll be bowled over by the caliber of this particular candidate. Janet, I must dash, great to talk.” I put the phone down, my heart thumping.
Shit. Shit . What am I going to do now?
“Wow!” Kate looks up, eyes shining. “Lara, you’re such a star. I knew you’d do it! Who’s this amazing high-profile candidate?”
“There isn’t one!” I say desperately. “We have to find one!”
“Right.” Kate starts looking urgently around the office, as though a top-level marketing executive might be hiding in the filing cabinet. “Er… where?”
“I don’t know!” I thrust my fingers through my hair. “There aren’t any!”
There’s a shrill electronic burble as my phone receives a text, and I grab it, hoping for one mad moment that it’s a top marketing executive asking me if I have any jobs in sports retail going. Or maybe Josh, asking me to marry him. Or maybe Dad, saying he now realizes I was right all along and would like to apologize for ever having doubted me. Or even Diamanté, saying she doesn’t need that old dragonfly necklace after all, should she send it around by courier?
But it’s none of them. It’s Natalie.
Hi babe! Am doing some yoga on the beach. It’s so mellow here. Have sent u a pic, look at the view. Awesome, huh? Nataliexxxx PS Everything OK in the office?
I feel like hurling it out of the window.
By seven o’clock my neck is aching and my eyes are red-rimmed. I’ve made a new, emergency long list of candidates, using old issues of Business People , the Internet, and a copy of Marketing Week I made Kate run out and buy. But none of them will even take my call-let alone talk about a job, let alone allow me to quickly slap them onto a short list. I have less than forty-eight hours. I’m going to have to invent a top marketing director. Or impersonate one.
On the plus side, they had a half-price offer on pinot grigio at Oddbins.
The minute I get home, I turn on the TV and start glugging down the wine at speed. By the time EastEnders starts, I’ve got through half a bottle, the room is swinging from side to side, and my work troubles are receding nicely.
After all. I mean. All that really matters is love, isn’t it?
You have to get things in perspective. In proportion. Love is the thing. Not work. Not marketing directors. Not scary conversations with Janet Grady. I just need to cling on to that and I’ll be OK.