It's Complicated (The Agency Book 2) Page 7

  “This is great, isn’t it?” he says as he loosens his grip around my waist slightly, guiding me around another corner. “I’m glad we did this.”

  “Me too,” I reply with a smile. “I love it here. South Kensington is my favourite place in London.”

  “I know, but you haven’t been ice skating before,” he says with a slight nudge to my shoulder that sends me off balance and out of his hold.

  “Fuck!” I yell, inappropriately given the presence of dozens of small children. A group of skaters dart between us. I do my best to dodge them but find myself careering into the centre of the rink.

  “Look up, Vi. Don’t look at your feet!”

  Too late. I look down and my left leg goes left at the same time as my right leg goes right. My heart leaps into my throat and the world stops turning. My hands move to defend my bottom as my body hurtles towards the giant Christmas tree.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Time slows down as I crash over the top of the safety barrier into the pine needles, glittery baubles falling to the ground with a ping and a bounce. Thankfully I land on my knees. Unthankfully my face lands on tree branches.

  “Vi, what the hell? I told you not to look down,” Ethan says as he does his best to untangle my hair from the tree and help me up.

  “And I told you I’d punch you in the face if you let go.”

  “For crying out loud, will you stop being so violent?” A guy skates over to inspect the tree while others start gathering up the baubles. I shriek as Ethan pulls the last strands of my hair from the branches, and I spit a few pine needles out of my mouth. “Sorry about the tree, mate,” he says to someone wearing a “Christmas at the National History Museum” hoodie. The guy waves off his apology. He’s too busy laughing at my attempts to stand up. Remember Bambi’s first encounter with ice? Yeah, well that newborn deer was ten times more graceful than me, because as soon as Ethan pulls me to my feet I slip back down on my bottom.

  He laughs and I see red. My eyes mist over with humiliation, pain and fury. Not helped by the group of people standing around staring at us. “Come on, grab onto me,” he says.

  “No, I’m safer here.” I try to ignore the deep freeze that’s spreading across my bottom.

  “Don’t be a dipshit, Vi. Let me help you up.”

  I fold my arms around my sore knees. “The only way I’m getting off this ice is if I crawl off on my hands and knees, and I’m not doing that until it’s dark and nobody can see me.”

  His face softens and he looks at me like he thinks I’m dumb, but adorable. Which is as irritating as hell. “Give me your hand.”

  I reluctantly reach for him, and his big, strong hand covers mine. Then he pulls me to my feet, lifts me up and gathers me into his arms.

  “Ethan, what the hell are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m getting you off the ice.”

  A round of applause erupts from our audience, as well as a discernible number of romantic sighs and a wolf-whistle. One dickhead starts singing the theme song from An Officer and a Gentleman. “Ethan, you can’t skate carrying me. Think of your balance. What if—”

  “Will you stop with the ‘what ifs’ for once in your bloody life?” He cuddles me into his body and effortlessly skates me towards safety. I wrap my arms around his neck, close my eyes tight shut and will him not to fall.

  Moments later, he tips me onto my feet and straightens his back. “Jeez, you weigh a ton,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eye.

  I whack his arm. “And here’s me thinking you came to my rescue like a superhero. Would Superman say that?”

  “He would if Lois Lane weighed a ton.”

  I throw him a death glare, then reach down to remove my boots, wincing as I bend. “Argh, Jesus Christ, my arse . . . and my knees. I am never doing that again. Not ever.”

  “It was fun though, right?”

  His childlike enthusiasm tugs at my heartstrings again, and I manage a smile and a nod. “Yeah, it was fun.”

  7

  TODAY IS THE DAY – TRIBE is finally and officially open for business.

  Ontario Way is situated on the edge of Canary Wharf, close to the architecturally impressive station and also within walking distance of West India Quay. My first impression of the location is that it will suit Ethan down to the ground – modern, flashy, young, vibrant and cutting-edge.

  But I miss being in the heart of the city already. I miss the buildings and the suits and the cafés and the burgundy open-top sightseeing buses which used to stop outside our building so the tourists could visit Covent Garden Marketplace. I worked in New York for a year before I came to London, and there’s something about both cities that makes you feel so incredibly alive. It’s like you’re in the middle of something huge, and every time you put in a day’s work you’re oiling the cogs on a historic machine that has been churning for hundreds of years. After leaving Yorkshire, I instantly felt like I belonged in London. I like that nobody bothers you. I like the anonymity. I even enjoy the loneliness . . . sometimes.

  As I walk through the revolving doors of Churchill House I see a metallic information board engraved with the names of all the companies occupying the building. A quick scan tells me that Tribe is one of sixteen businesses, but as we’re taking up six floors plus the film studio in the basement, we’re by far the largest. I walk past a bank of glass lifts and through a set of quadruple doors leading to Tribe’s reception area. Two young and very pretty receptionists are manning the frontline. I’m just about to introduce myself to the Asian receptionist who’s positioned nearest to me when Ethan appears. He got here before me? Wow. Things are looking up.

  “Good, you’re here,” he says, beaming a smile my way. “Priyanka, this is Violet Archer, our new creative director.”

  Priyanka smiles warmly and shakes my hand. Then she finds my security pass in a box file and gives it to me.

  “Bravo on your punctuality, by the way, Ethan. You’re never at work before nine. Did you wet the bed this morning?”

  The other receptionist with the poker-straight glossy black hair and burnt-orange lipstick giggles. I’m sure I catch her batting her eyelashes at him. And so it begins. My face must be so green I should start flying to work on a broomstick.

  “This is the new me. Punctual and professional.” I hope he’s right. He’s wearing a new charcoal-grey suit – without a waistcoat – which reflects his new high-powered status as a managing partner. I like it, but I still don’t like the change in our relationship his flashy suit signifies. He looks like a boss – my boss – and as I’m trying out the floral boho dress again, I can see that by outfit choice alone, there are light years between us in status.

  I follow Ethan to the first-floor lobby which leads onto our new creative floor. My stomach flutters as I catch the scent of his cologne drifting through the air. It’s fresh and woody with a trace of bergamot. Christ, it’s only been five minutes and already he’s giving me the fanny-gallops. I wonder if there’s going to be a secluded area in our new offices with scope for impromptu desk-sex. Oh bloody hell, Violet, this is a place of work, not a swingers club!

  “This place is going to be fab, Vi,” he says as we walk onto the floor to the sound of drilling and the dry smell of dust. Hardly anyone has arrived yet. We’re surrounded by workmen who are pulling up carpets and moving furniture. “What do you think? You need to look beyond all the builder crap, of course.”

  “I can’t believe this is all ours,” I say, remembering that the huge creative floor is just one of six floors, not including the film studio in the basement.

  “Yes, and over here . . .” He leads me to a small office nestled into the far left corner and opens the door. “This is your office.”

  “I get an office?” I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been this excited. No more sitting at a desk surrounded by noisy, irritating man-boys and no more talking to people through cubicle walls. Best thing? When I need alone time I can hide away. Ooh, and I can als
o play a sneaky game of Candy Crush without anybody knowing.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think I’m suddenly a very important person.”

  “You certainly are. And you should see my office, it’s three times as big.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Well, as I don’t have a penis, I’m sure my small office will be just fine.” And it will. I have a smart desk, a comfortable chair and a useful-looking cabinet stashed with more than enough cupboards and drawers to store all my stuff. I even have an office sofa. I’m not entirely sure if I need one, but having an office sofa must be more prestigious than not having an office sofa, so I’ll take it happily.

  He gives me a quick tour of the rest of the floor, including his much larger office, which is opposite mine and comparable in size to my sitting room. There are meeting rooms, an art studio, a kitchen, a large communal brainstorming area and an art display hanging on chains from the ceiling. It’s modern, functional, stylish and so much more impressive than the dull interiors of Barrett McAllan Gray’s office in the City.

  I could like it here after all.

  “Hopefully they’ll finish all the wiring today. We have sixteen desks out on this floor without power at the moment, and we need to have them ready by the time the rest of the staff arrive. The offices are great, though they . . .”

  Ethan’s voice trails out of my mind as our attention shifts to two people – a man and a woman – at the south end of the floor. I don’t recognise either of them. The woman is tall and slim, with fiery red hair that flows down her back like a stream of lava. She’s wearing a smart white shirt, cropped black trousers and heels which must be five inches high. She’s arguing like hell with the guy about something, and my enormous nosy nose leads me closer to the scene. The man, despite being yelled at, looks like he couldn’t give a shit; his posture is totally relaxed. He’s dressed casually in chino trousers, a black t-shirt and a brown blazer with the sleeves rolled up. His floppy hair is dark blonde and his laidback appearance is finished off by a beard which wouldn’t look out of place in a Lord of the Rings movie.

  I move closer again and Ethan grabs my elbow. “What are you doing?” he whispers.

  “Just watching. Do you know who they are?” I peep around the art display and do my best to eavesdrop.

  “No idea, but I bumped into the guy in the kitchen earlier. I tried to strike up a conversation. It wasn’t good. He looked at me as if he’d just scraped me off his shoe, then he grunted and fucked off.”

  “Actually or figuratively grunted?”

  “Actually. I kid you not. He actually grunted at me.”

  Shit. I wasn’t wrong with the Lord of the Rings analogy, then. The angry guy must have some Middle Earth dwarf DNA running through his veins, despite being six feet tall.

  “Why are you being such a stupid fucking dick about this?” roars the redhead, her hands firmly planted on her hips. Her voice is loud and confident, muffled only by an electrician drilling under the carpet tiles behind us.

  “I’m being a dick? Me? After everything Lucas promised us, you think I’ve no right to complain?” I detect that the bearded half-dwarf guy’s accent is Australian.

  Ethan gestures us away from the scene with impatient eyes, but we’re hidden behind the display board, well out of their view, so I whisper “Just look busy,” and stay put.

  “I know you wanted to be creative director, but digital creative director is pretty much the same thing. You’re head of a whole digital team.” Shit, that guy wants my job. Fabulous. The last thing I need right now is competition from an alpha dickhead. “You got exactly what you wanted and so did I, so I say we’ve done pretty well out of this.” I hear an accent in the redhead’s voice too, but I can’t place it. Given her pale skin and hair colour I’d have guessed she was Scottish or Irish, but she isn’t. Well, at least I think she isn’t. I’m absolutely hopeless with accents.

  “They’ve given me the worst office on the entire floor! You know who in Farmer Accounting used to have that shithole before it was dropped on me? Simon fucking Coleman.”

  “So?”

  “So, Coleman was a total mong. Do you know what he used to do in there?” The Aussie makes the universally acknowledged hand-wank signal, and Ethan has to suck in a sharp breath to stop himself laughing.

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “I swear on my life,” says the Aussie, and he seals the deal by crossing his heart. “Everyone knows the traders spent half their day on Pornhub and held jizzing competitions. You should have seen the state of his wastepaper bin.”

  The redhead looks at the ceiling and shakes her head. Then her voice gets softer. “You know what I think? I think you’re just looking for reasons to complain. You have a victim mentality.”

  “Oh my god, you really believe that, don’t you? Where the hell’s your fight?”

  “Don’t you dare say that to me! You know I’d have plenty to say if I thought we’d been screwed over, but we haven’t.”

  “Well you damn well should be complaining. I bumped into the guy who’s been brought in over our heads earlier. He looks like he only started shaving last week. Does Lucas expect us to hang around and wait for our new managing partner’s balls to drop?” Oh shit. Double shit. I turn around. Ethan looks ready to explode. I swear I can feel his temperature rise. “We’ve been totally sidelined in this merger, and you might be okay with that, but I’m not. Lucas has shafted us.”

  “It wasn’t a merger, it was a buyout. Actually, it was more like a bailout. If Lucas hadn’t sold his business to Tribe, he’d have gone under by the end of the year. Sometimes you just have to take what you can get and be thankful.”

  “Well, I’m not letting this slide, and I’m going to tell Lucas exactly what I think we should do.”

  The redhead sighs and starts to walk away from him, her five-inch heels thudding on the carpet.

  “Come on,” whispers Ethan. “Now.” He tilts his head away from the warring pair and back towards our offices. I start to make a move, but then I hear an even louder clip-clop of shoes as the redhead comes back into the ring.

  “You know what? You really need to get over yourself. Why does everything have to be about you?”

  “Everything is always about me. You know I like being on top.”

  “As far as I recall, you weren’t complaining when I was on top.”

  My mouth falls open because the inference is clear. “Oh my god,” I exclaim quietly. Ethan’s eyebrows touch the sky.

  “I’d never complain about you being on top,” growls the Aussie. “In fact, if you were on top of me right now I wouldn’t be this angry.”

  “With that level of sweet-talk, how can I resist? My place at eight?”

  Jesus Christ, what low-budget-porno-movie hell have we walked in on here? Ethan’s mouth thins and there’s a new urgency in his eyes. “Move it, now . . . right now.” He drags me by my elbow into his office, closing the door behind us.

  I start to laugh at the scene we’ve just witnessed, but Ethan is deadly serious. Actually, he looks shell-shocked. He perches on his desk, one foot on the floor and the other hanging over the edge. He looks like he’s about to vomit. “They’re in my department, aren’t they?”

  I shrug. “Sounds like it.”

  “I can’t do this, Vi. I can’t manage those people. And Jesus Christ, were they sent to fucking torture me? We both know how Stella feels about people shagging in her agency. You know that’s why we . . . uhm . . .” He stops talking, replacing words with an apologetic head tilt.

  “I know,” I say supportively. He looks absolutely petrified. This isn’t like him. He has insecurities like everyone else, but he’s adept at hiding them under an energised current of bravado. “You don’t even know them and they don’t know you. Of course you can manage them.”

  “That Aussie guy sounds like a total wanker. You heard what he said about me. He doesn’t think I can cut it as a partner.”

  “No, he’s pissed
off that he isn’t a partner.” I laugh as I recall the ridiculous argument we just witnessed, but Ethan’s face is still lined with seriousness. “Actually, he was also pissed off that he didn’t have my job. I don’t give a shit about that, so you shouldn’t either. Don’t take it personally – he doesn’t know you.” He nods, but he still seems so lost. “Ethan, listen to me. You’ve got this. You’re a people person; everyone likes you. Just be yourself and they’ll see you’re a good guy.”

  He brings both of his feet back to the floor and slumps back against the desk. “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you and I believe in you.”

  We lock eyes and goosebumps prick my skin. An awkward silence fills the space between us, speaking for us. I feel an urge to hold him and kiss him, but thankfully the arrival of Max diffuses the heat.

  Max looks like he could give the Aussie guy a run for his money in the angry stakes. He’s also soaking wet. “Violet, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you here? I’ve been waiting outside in the rain for half an hour! I sent you ten texts!”

  I rummage in my bag for my mobile. “Not according to my iPhone you haven’t.”

  “What? How? Give me that.” He snatches my mobile off me and scrolls back up to the top of my message list. “What’s wrong with your phone?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with my phone,” I say as I snatch it back from him. “What’s wrong with your phone?”

  “It’s brand new – I only got it last week.”

  “Are you sure you texted the right number?”

  His face falls and he rubs his fingers along his stubbly chin. “Yes.”

  “Max?”

  “Okay, okay, I sold my old phone on eBay and forgot to copy my contacts over. I got what I thought was your number out of notebook.”

  “A-ha . . . and are you going to apologise?”

  “What for?”

  “For barging in here and yelling at me.”

  “Come on, Max, bite the bullet,” interrupts Ethan. “Two little words. You know what the consequences will be if you don’t.”