Just Friends (The Agency Book 1) Page 23

  “Yeah, that’s not exactly selling it to me.”

  He laughs, and I can feel his breath on my skin. It smells of Spanish merlot mixed with courage and excitement.

  “What about Max?”

  “There’s a job for him if he wants it.”

  “Really?” I can’t help but grin as I imagine Max’s reaction to this. He’s going to be buzzing.

  “Yeah, all three of us come as a package. It’s going to be amazing – we’ll have the time of our lives.”

  I realise the only thing I’m fighting against is my own fear and self-doubt. I want to follow him. Hell, I’d follow him to the four corners of the earth, but there’s still all this crap with Malcolm to deal with and . . . honestly? I don’t deal well with change. It unsettles me. I need time to think. “When do you have to let Stella know?”

  “She didn’t say, but I don’t want to leave her hanging. I think she was a bit surprised when I told her I wouldn’t work for Tribe without you. I also have to find two hundred grand to buy in as a partner. I’m up to the hilt in debt, so short of selling my own body parts I have no choice but to ask my mum and stepdad for a loan. I’m sure my mum would stump up an interest-free loan if I begged her, but my stepdad is so tight I’d need a spanner to get a penny out of his hand. Selling a kidney to a Saudi prince would be more enjoyable than asking him for money.”

  I giggle at the analogy. Ethan’s stepdad owns an estate agency specialising in executive properties in London’s most sought-after postcodes. He’s a good guy, but he has the personality of a chequebook.

  Ethan flips a beer mat between his fingers as the sound of rain pebbles against the timber-framed windows. “I know this is a huge leap for you, but it’s an even bigger leap for me,” he says as he settles the mat under his wine glass. “I know everyone thinks I’m super-confident, but I’m not, not really. Partnerships come around once in a lifetime, and Stella’s chosen me. What if this is my one shot? If I don’t take it, I could end up staying where I am forever, and I can’t rot in the background at BMG, Vi. I can’t and I won’t.”

  “I’ll let you know tonight.” He looks disappointed again, but it’s the best I can do. Ethan leaps without looking. I prefer to leap after I’ve assessed the risks, weighed up the pros and cons and then brought in independent expert analysis.

  His face pales slightly as he registers my apprehension. His hands return to the beer mat, which I find funny. I’ve never noticed how much he fidgets when he’s worried. What do we do now? This is hellish awkward. Should I venture into discussing our relationship? No. Don’t be stupid, Violet. Now isn’t the time.

  His eyes return to me and I see the heat immediately. I love the light in his eyes – there’s always a bright intensity locked inside the blue of his irises, but as our gaze locks, it’s as if that familiar spark has flared into an uncontrolled flame. So much has changed, and so much is different about him.

  I gather my bag and take a final sip of wine, leaving the glass a quarter full. “I should be getting back. Wendy is panicking because you’re not there to see the Quest ad through post-production. I said I’d stay late to help her.”

  He says nothing.

  All he does is stare at me.

  And fidget with that bloody beer mat.

  “Is there . . . um . . . anything else?”

  “Hmm? Oh . . . okay . . . right . . .” He trails off, and his brow crinkles. “I’m sorry, there is something else. Stella’s onto us.”

  “Onto us?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I think back to last night. Or rather I think about what we were doing last night when Stella rang the doorbell.

  “She asked me outright if we were having a relationship and if we’d ever . . . um . . . slept together”

  “She didn’t?”

  “She did. And she was very direct about it. I told her we were just friends.”

  My stomach caves with disappointment, but I know that’s unfair. He can’t tell Stella what our relationship is when we don’t even know. “What did she say?”

  “She’s slapping an inter-office relationship ban on her partners. No fooling around with clients or employees. The whole Quest fiasco stemmed from Ridley having an affair with Carly Hayes – and me too – so she’s dead set on it. She’s writing a clause in her partners’ contracts: instant dismissal and a return of our investment if we ever – how did she put it? – ‘land any personal drama at her feet’.”

  That’s a humdinger of a get-out-of-jail-free card Stella has issued him with. “I guess it’s just as well you already signed up to my celibacy law.”

  “Don’t be like that,” he says.

  “What do you want me to say, Ethan?” I stand up and walk around the table to face him. “You started . . . whatever this is, and if you need to end it, then that’s what you need to do. Like you said, this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing for you.”

  “Just tell me what you want. I have no idea what you’re thinking. I don’t even know how you feel.”

  My entire body sighs – a mixture of frustration and weariness. “I don’t know what I want, Ethan. I don’t know how I feel. I followed your lead and you took me here.”

  He stands too. I try not to notice how hot dressed-down-casual-Ethan looks in his tight tee and relaxed-fit jeans, but it’s impossible. “Do you understand why . . . ?”

  “Yes, Ethan. I understand.”

  Easy words that do not in any way convey how totally muddled my brain is. Do I understand? No. Not even a little bit. I don’t have the first clue what is going through his mind and I don’t know what to say to him . . . No, that’s a lie. I know what I want to say. I want to tell him I love him. I want to tell him he’s everything to me. I want to tell him that when we’re sitting at our desks and I catch him smile at me or wink at me or talk to me as if he knows me inside out, that in every single one of those random moments, I know I love him.

  But I don’t think he will ever be more than he is.

  And if he goes to Tribe, we can never be more than we are – just friends.

  “When will you let me know?”

  “What? Oh . . . about the job?” I ask, halfway to the pub door. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  24

  WHEN I GET BACK TO the office I head for the studio.

  This is where Max and all of our other Maxes dwell. This is where paint meets paper, Photoshop doubles as a magic wand and Illustrator can turn mediocre artists into modern-day Rembrandts. This is the zone the corporate-suited account managers fear to tread. As if to prove it, there’s a poster on the left-hand wall bearing the slogan “Here Be Dragons”, and it’s a fitting analogy. The doorway to the studio symbolises the edge of the map, with the known world on one side, the murky realms of god-knows-where on the other.

  Max is bending over his desk, the easel fixed upwards and an array of coloured pens and pencils scattered around him like sweets in a sweet shop. His bald patch dips as his arms brush strokes onto paper. I tiptoe over to him, careful not to break his buzz of creativity.

  He raises his arm in front of him when he sees me, and I know to freeze and wait until he’s ready. Interrupting Max when he’s absorbed in one of his masterpieces is as dangerous as taking a bone from a hungry dog. I watch as he furiously scribbles away with a peach marker, adding layers of skin tone to the image of a woman in a 1970s-style string bikini for the Everdene & Hammond sun cream campaign.

  He throws his pen down on the desk. “Okay, shoot.”

  I giggle at the abruptness of his greeting and give him a quick once-over. He still has dark circles under his eyes, but the grey of his skin is lighter and some pink has brightened up his pallor. “I’ve seen Ethan,” I say with a smile.

  His eyes widen. “What did he say? Is he coming back?”

  “He has a new job already.”

  “What?” he asks, his face breaking. “Where?”

  I pull him away from his desk and take him to a quiet area near the fifteenth-floor lobby. “He’s starting a brand-ne
w agency, as a partner . . . with Stella.”

  His eyes grow to dinner-plate size. “You’re freaking kidding me?” He runs his hand through what’s left of his hair.

  “Stella’s left BMG already. Daniel’s going with her. And they want me and you too.”

  “Yes! Tell him yes!”

  “Max, are you high again?” I ask, trying not to giggle. “Don’t you want to know salary, benefits, job title, start date . . . ?”

  He gives me his fake-hurt face. “Firstly, no I’m not high. I’m entirely compos mentis. Secondly, contract terms doesn’t matter. I go where you go.”

  “I didn’t tell him I was going.”

  He squints in confusion. “Why the hell not?”

  “I guess I have unfinished business here and . . .” My thoughts drift as I wonder how much I should tell him. But I need to talk through my options with somebody and Max is the only person I can trust. “Okay, Max, I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to keep it to yourself.”

  “I am all ears.”

  “Remember when you accused me of being in love with Ethan?”

  “I remember,” he says cautiously.

  “Well, back then, I answered truthfully when I told you I wasn’t . . . but a lot has happened over the last few weeks and now I think I could be.” My skin heats up with embarrassment as I reveal my deepest feelings. “And if I am in love with him, maybe it’s best we don’t work together, because . . . because I’m sure nothing can come of this.”

  “Why not?” he asks, his face creased with empathy. “I love both of you. I think you’d be great together.”

  I shake my head. “Ethan’s messed up still. He doesn’t know what he thinks or what he feels. He can’t love me. He’s never thought of me in that way before and I’m not the type of girl he goes for. I’ve always been firmly placed in the friend-zone.”

  There’s a pause, and I know Max knows I’m speaking the truth. “Sometimes people need a huge event to make them see what’s standing right in front of them.” He grips me by the shoulders and delivers a beaming smile that makes my heart skip a beat. “And you can’t move a mountain if you just sit on your arse staring at the fucking thing.”

  I smile at the analogy. I thought I was the wordsmith. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Go where you’ll be happy – with us – and see what happens with the rest. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. But if you want him, you need to fight for him.”

  “The downside could be ruining the best thing I’ve – we’ve – ever had. Our friendship.”

  “Bollocks. That would never happen,” he says, thudding his fist on his drawing board. “You’re soulmates. You’ve been through everything together. Get off your arse and fight for him if he’s who you want, but promise me we’ll all be together.”

  “I have a few things to take care of before I can promise that. If you’re sure about this, I suggest you call Ethan, then make a start downloading all your files from the server – anything that’s your intellectual property – and start packing up your desk.”

  “Everything I need is stored in my brain. Besides, I can’t be bothered to do espionage. I’m not the MI5.”

  “You mean MI6”

  “Don’t be stupid. James Bond is make-believe!”

  “But MI6 isn’t make-believe. Their headquarters are just over the river.”

  Max looks at me as if I’m deranged, and – unusually for me – I decide to leave it. Now is not the time to argue with Max about whether the secret service is real or not.

  ***

  I start tidying away Ethan’s desk, boxing up stationery, photos, files and all the bits and bobs that have been collecting dust in his drawers over the past seven years. As I pack I realise . . . I’m definitely leaving. How can I stay here if Ethan and Max are gone? I start uploading my own files from BMG’s server to the Cloud too. To be doubly safe, I copy our most important work onto pen drives. The disappointing news from my monitor is that my “espionage” is going to take over three hours to complete, so I leave it to work while I tie up loose ends.

  First loose end is visiting Daniel and Gabriel, who look to be committing espionage of epic proportions from Stella’s office. I knock on the half-open door and both of them look up and smile at me. I enter the room, stepping over half-packed boxes on my way. “You two look happy.”

  “That’s because we are happy,” says Daniel, packing a bunch of ring-bound files into a plastic box.

  “Is Malcolm okay with you doing this?”

  “What choice does he have?” Gabriel asks in his throaty Catalonian accent.

  Daniel smiles again, and I figure he knows. Of course he knows. “So, are you coming along? I’ve put a great account management team together. Ethan needs you. And I’m guessing you need him.”

  There’s something in his tone which unsettles me. I think back to how kind he was about that ridiculous date Ethan set us up on. He didn’t hold a grudge or try to get his own back like many men would have done. But he did tell me he thought Ethan was “into” me, and I laughed it off.

  “I haven’t made my mind up yet. I was hoping to talk to Stella; is she around?”

  “She flew out to New York with all the senior partners this morning. They’re finalising the buyout and merger agreements. She’s not going to be back until the middle of next week. I can talk to you though. Gabriel, could you excuse us for a minute?”

  As soon as we’re alone, Daniel manoeuvres his way around the obstacle course of boxes and paper piles to Stella’s sofa.

  I take a seat next to him and dive straight in. “I’m guessing Stella has told you everything about . . . um . . .”

  “She did,” he says carefully.

  I sigh with disappointment. How many other people has she told?

  “I already knew about Ridley’s affair and it isn’t his first. Ridley has been my boss for three years, and if the opportunity to work with Stella at Tribe hadn’t come up, I’d have been looking for a new position. I was raised to look for the good in all people and that’s what I try to do, even though it’s difficult to find it in some. With Ridley Gates it’s impossible. The man is rotten to the core.”

  My stomach knots as Daniel reiterates what we all know about Ridley, confirming why I can’t stay here. “What do you think will happen to Malcolm when we all go?”

  Daniel leans forward, his face lined with unease. “We can’t think about that, Violet. Stella said you’ve been battling Malcolm’s problems on your own, and you shouldn’t have done that.”

  “He begged me, Daniel. He begged me not to say anything, but I did . . . and now look what’s happened.”

  “You have nothing to feel guilty about. Malcolm did this – it’s all on him. And he might still get away with it. Whatever happens, it was never your burden to carry.”

  I tell myself he’s right. Part of my brain knows he’s right – the smart part of my brain I always used to use. But then I see Malcolm’s face begging me to keep his secret, and my heart slows to a pathetic “please kill me” beat.

  I leave Daniel sure of what I need to do. One last thing before I leave the agency – the one thing that will hopefully make all of this right.

  I wait until six, when my downloads are complete and I’ve finished clearing out mine and Ethan’s desks. I take the stairs to the fourteenth floor, passing Lucille on her way up. She stuffs a note in my hand as she walks past. Fearing the worst, I immediately open the note and read it:

  If there’s a place for me at Tribe, I would be honoured to join you. I’ve spent 24 years at Barrett McAllan Gray, but I’m done with these people. – Lucille x

  I relax a little – thank goodness it’s nothing bad. I can’t help but smile as I read her note. I love and respect Lucille and I hope we can find a place for her. Actually, given what I’m about to do, I think we’re going to owe her a place.

  Zoe greets me as I arrive at Malcolm’s office with two sealed documents – one is in a large A4 en
velope, the other is a letter.

  “Violet?” she says with her eyes fixed to her computer. There’s something about her tone I don’t like. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “I’d like to see Malcolm.”

  “And what could you possibly want, I wonder?”

  She looks hurt. I assume it’s due to the outcome of yesterday’s bathroom brawl. “I take it you know about Ethan getting fired.”

  “I do,” she says, her red-lipsticked pout accentuating her movie-starlet face.

  “And you know about Tribe?”

  “I do.” Her blue eyes flash me a look which says, “Come on, of course I know.” She takes a sip of water from a pale-green insulated water bottle that co-ordinates with the objects on her desk – a delicate vase, a ceramic letter rack, a tissue box and a china rabbit ornament. I wouldn’t be surprised if her knickers match too.

  “Well, maybe there could be a place for you too . . .”

  What the . . . ? Why did I say that? She’s the last person I want to work with.

  “I have absolutely no desire to do that. Why would I?”

  “Um . . . I just assumed . . .”

  “You assumed what? That I’d put myself in a position to have my heart broken by him yet again?” She buzzes through to Malcolm to tell him I’m here, then she pushes her chair back under the table with a nerve-jarring screech. “Malcolm can see you now.” My whole body convulses as I realise what I’m about to do. “Good luck at Tribe, Violet.”

  ***

  Malcolm glances up briefly from the stack of papers he’s reading when I enter his office. He points his finger at me. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks. His pointed finger turns into a beckoning finger. I pass him the letter.

  “Malcolm . . .” I say, drawing out his name. My anxiety is off the scale and I feel like walking out. “I’m not prepared to go into the ins and outs of why I felt I had no choice but to confide in Ethan, but I did not tell Stella. He did, and I’m upset with both—”