It's Complicated (The Agency Book 2) Read online

  I turn on him. “The consequences? Please elaborate?”

  Ethan swallows and looks at Max, who is grinning from ear to ear. “Well . . . sulking and . . . uhm . . . snippiness.”

  “Snippiness? When am I ever snippy? Max, am I snippy?”

  “No, you’re never snippy,” Max says with fake sincerity. “And you’re never sulky either. I think Ethan owes you an apology.”

  “What? I don’t believe this. How the hell did you turn this onto me? Fuck off out of my office, the pair of you. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Okay, well if you stop being a dick for a minute, I’ll tell you why I’m looking for you,” says Max. “Stella caught me on my way in. She’s holding an impromptu welcome meeting on the executive floor.”

  Ethan stands up and straightens his tie. “What time does it start?”

  Max looks at his watch. “Five minutes ago.”

  * * *

  The fifth floor of Churchill House is as abandoned and unfinished as the first floor, and there seem to be even more workmen wiring up the banks of desks in the centre of the space. One guy in blue overalls is standing on a ladder, inserting wires into a post which looks like it’s holding the ceiling up.

  To the right of the floor is a large conference room full of faces I don’t know. I spot the redhead and the Aussie and realise if they’re in the meeting, then they must both be directors at my level. I decide I’ll have to do everything in my power to help Ethan manage them, but I’m feeling a bit daunted myself. The guy radiates alpha-male arsehole and the woman’s confidence is overpowering.

  We take seats at the bottom of the table, and Stella starts the meeting by asking everyone to introduce themselves. My worst nightmare. I hate having to do shit like this. As people start talking, my ears aren’t hearing them because I’m too busy worrying about saying something stupid and making a fool out of myself. My heart is pumping blood around my veins ten times faster than normal and the squishy noise is pulsating in my eardrums.

  In my anxiety, I’ve missed most of the first introductions. First to speak was our new chairman, Arthur Lovett, who I met at Stella’s house last week. His son, Stella’s ex-husband, whose name I missed, spoke next. He’s either an account manager or an accountant, and he looks like he owns the smartest suit in the room. Daniel says his bit next, and then it’s the turn of silver fox Lucas Bartle of Diablo Brown. He smiles warmly at all of us and talks at length about the achievements of his former (rescued-from-bankruptcy) film studio.

  When it’s the turn of the fiery redhead I sit up in my chair, eager to know who she is. “Hello, I’m Freja Larsen – that’s with a ‘j’ not a ‘y’ – and I’m Tribe’s film production director. I’ve been producing TV ads for Diablo Brown’s clients for the past five years, and I’ve won three AdAg awards, plus a London International award. I’m looking forward to working with all of you.” She smiles and her nose crinkles at the bridge. I’m no closer to deciding on her accent but her name plants her somewhere in Scandinavia.

  Next it’s time for the Aussie to speak. He’s rocking back on his chair like that one kid in school who never gave a shit but somehow bypassed everybody on the way up the career ladder. He half-heartedly waves across the table at everyone and clacks his tongue against some chewing gum. “Harry Hopkins, former CGI guy at Diablo, current head digital guy.” And that’s apparently all we’re getting. I catch Ethan swallowing hard, and I know what he’s thinking: trouble.

  Max, who is standing in as “acting” studio manager, and Ethan introduce themselves next, and then there’s only me left. Don’t say something stupid. Don’t say something stupid. Don’t . . . Oh, fuck it. “Morning, everyone . . .” (nervous giggle) “. . . my name is Violet Archer and I was a copywriter at Barrett McAllan Gray . . . erm . . . I’ve won awards for my work . . .” (another nervous giggle – why am I such an idiot? I could literally die) “. . . and I’m really looking forward to getting started with Tribe.” I sit back in my chair, relieved when I’m done, but then I realise I missed something off the list. “Oh, and I’m the new creative director.”

  It’s no wonder I have a phobia about any form of public speaking. Half the room looks at me as if I’m a buffoon who doesn’t deserve a seat at the table. I feel like a fraud, and I wish I could have my old life back more than I’ve ever wished for anything in my entire existence.

  My discomfort is interrupted by the entrance of Claudia Schiffer. All eyes turn to a six-foot-tall supermodel-a-like in a floral dress which is annoyingly similar to mine, yet she pulls it off much better. Her pale skin is smooth over sculpted cheekbones, and her hair falls in golden waves down her back as if she’s the offspring of Malibu Barbie and the Archangel Gabriel. She glides over to Lucas Bartle, gives him a peck on the cheek, then takes a seat next to him. Freja and Harry roll their eyes at each other, and my brain kicks into gear at the hint of a story. Then I glance at Ethan. All the colour has drained from his face and he starts fidgeting with his pen.

  “This is my beautiful daughter, Jadine. She’s keen to move on from being a production assistant. Although I’m biased, I think she’d be a wonderful film producer,” says Lucas. I notice they have the same green eyes and long nose. I look at Ethan again and my stomach sinks. Beads of sweat have gathered on his forehead and he’s loosening his tie so he can breathe. What the hell is going on? “Jadine used to be a model and has excellent connections in the world of fashion and entertainment, so I’m sure she’ll be a great asset. What do you think, Freja?”

  The redhead glares at her former boss. “I still have one producer position to fill, but I’ll admit I was hoping for someone with post-production experience.”

  Lucas’s face stiffens and he stares daggers at Freja. “Jadine can fill the position on a probationary basis,” he says with an air of authority.

  Freja buries her tongue in her cheek. For a moment she looks like she’s going to protest, but her demeanour relaxes. “Very well, provided you train her. I don’t have the time.”

  Lucas agrees, and the meeting goes on for another hour, but I’m here in body only. My brain is working overtime trying to analyse the body language of Freja, Jadine and all the new people, but mostly I watch Ethan.

  He doesn’t speak – he barely looks up from fiddling with his bloody pen. Did Jadine just flutter her eyelashes in Ethan’s direction? Did he just smile back at her? Was that a sheepish smile or a nervous smile? I can’t shake off the dread that’s ripping at my stomach, because I can only think of one reason why he broke out in a cold sweat at the sight of Jadine.

  Am I being jealous and insecure again?

  Maybe. Definitely.

  8

  WHEN THE MEETING ENDS, ETHAN flees the scene like a very guilty rat deserting a perfectly sailable ship. I hope with everything I have that there’s an unusual, yet valid, explanation for his odd behaviour, but deep down I’m certain of the worst. There is no doubt that he’s met Jadine and her armpit-high legs before.

  I follow him down the stairs and catch up with him on the creative floor. “Can I have a word?”

  “Erm, I can’t right now . . .” His panicked eyes dart across the floor, searching for an escape route. “Ah look, Lucille has arrived. We have a meeting at eleven. I wouldn’t want to keep my new secretary waiting.”

  “It’s only ten thirty.”

  He looks at his watch. “I know . . . but . . .”

  He shrugs nonchalantly, and I’ve had enough. I glance over at Lucille, who is pulling a series of trinkets, including a potted plant, out of a large tote bag and placing them on her new desk. Back at BMG, Lucille was the matron of the executive floor. In fact, now I think about it, her huge shopping bag isn’t the only thing she has in common with Mary Poppins. She’s also strict, wise beyond all reckoning and practically perfect at every administrative task you could ever give her. If Mary Poppins had been born in 1950s Barbados, there would literally be no difference. “Hi, Lucille, great to see you! I need five minutes with Ethan, if that�
�s okay?”

  “Fine with me,” she says in her gorgeous Caribbean accent. “I’ve plenty to do here, but I have to say, I’m not happy with this chair. You think my ass is going to be comfortable sitting on that thing for nine hours every day?”

  “Take mine,” Ethan says quickly. He’s always been very nervous of Lucille’s bluntness. “I’ll sort out a new chair with Facilities later.”

  Lucille looks through the glass wall behind her into Ethan’s fabulous new office. A smile warms her face. “Thanks, I will. See you in five.”

  We head into my safe space and I’m immediately struck by the lack of privacy. My office has three ordinary walls and one glass wall with a glass door in the centre. I don’t know if the sound of my accusatory tone will travel beyond the glass, so I keep the volume low just in case. “What the hell is going on?”

  Ethan flops down on the sofa. His face is red again and his lack of eye contact is making my stomach burn. He doesn’t speak.

  “Okay, why don’t we take this step by step? How about I ask you a yes-or-no question and you nod for ‘yes’ and shake your head for ‘no’?”

  He sits back and squares his jaw. “Violet, don’t.”

  “Don’t fucking what?” I ask, but I don’t need him to tell me. The answer is written all over his face. “You’ve slept with her haven’t you?”

  “Who?”

  “Who? Are you kidding me?” I walk to the back of the room because I’m not sure I can resist the urge to knee him in the balls. “I’m talking about Jadine. You know, the latest girl to arrive on the conveyor belt of beautiful women who’ve slept with Ethan Fraser.”

  “What? No . . . I mean . . .” He hunches over and locks his fingers together. I see his jaw tighten and I start to count down the seconds until my head explodes. “Okay, yes.”

  For fuck’s sake. “When?”

  “Three, four years ago maybe. Give or take.”

  “How many times?”

  “I don’t know. A couple? She was a model. We hired her for an ad. It was before you came to BMG. When I was Alan’s partner.”

  I fold my arms in frustration. I’m mad, but I can’t decide if my madness is justified. If it is, I’ll happily continue being mad. If it isn’t, I know I’ll start hating myself even more than I’ve been hating myself for the last two days. Judging by Ethan’s reaction in the meeting, he didn’t know Jadine was going to be working with us, but I’m too angry to care. And if I’m being unreasonable or irrational I don’t care about that either. Irrational anger is something I’ve got used to feeling ever since my stupid heart decided to fall in love with Ethan Fraser. In fact, as my stomach flips over and my heart leaps into my throat, I figure I’m as irrationally angry as I’ve ever been in my entire life.

  He stands up and walks towards me. “Vi, I’m sorry. Truly I am. I didn’t know.”

  I put out my hands to stop him coming closer. “What would you have done if you’d known?”

  “I’d have warned you.” He looks over his shoulder as a couple of staff members walk past my ridiculously indiscreet window-wall. “I only saw her for a couple of months.”

  “A couple of months? You were dating for a couple of months? A second ago you said you’d only slept with her a couple of times.”

  “I did . . . we did . . . She was working all over the world, so I didn’t see her much during those two months.”

  “Okay . . .” I speak slowly, taking it all in, trying to magic up some self-assuredness. “Fine. I’ll deal with it. It was a long time ago, and it’s just one woman, isn’t it?” He’s staring at me with eyes that look like they’ve taken a swim in the river of guilt. “It is just her, isn’t it? Please tell me I don’t have to wade my way through dozens of women you’ve slept with to reach my office every morning?”

  He squirms. Literally squirms. And all I can hear is my brain screaming at me to punch him to the ground and forget he ever existed. “Who else?”

  “Kiki. The cleaner.”

  Oh my days, how did I forget about Kiki? The girl who can barely speak a word of English after living in London for four years. It’s a wonder she manages to scrub crap off the men’s toilets, what with her totally impractical short skirts and fake fingernails last seen on a porn star. “You told me about Kiki, Ethan. Although I still can’t get my head around you spending more than ten minutes with her. The only English words I’ve ever heard her say are ‘Careful, floor slippery’”.

  “I told you before. We didn’t need words . . . we . . . erm . . .”

  “Yeah, and I got it before!”

  He smiles, but I always know something’s up when his mouth-smile and eye-smile don’t match up. “Daniel hired Tamara Lockwood. I didn’t know until it was done, and I’m sorry.”

  Where’s my voodoo doll? Actually, forget that; sticking pins in him isn’t enough. I need something that will inflict permanent pain. Like making every single one of his online shopping accounts reset his password to something he’ll never remember. He spent twenty-four hours locked out of his online banking last week and you’d think it was the end of the world. All because he forgot to capitalise one letter in his password. He was livid, but it was entirely his own fault. He should have closed his account last year when the stupid shitty bank repeatedly blocked his credit card every time he used it abroad.

  “Look, Vi. I’m sorry, truly I am, but this isn’t my fault. I wouldn’t have hired them.”

  “Ethan, only last week you wanted to take on your ex-girlfriend as your secretary.”

  “And I told you I was sorry about that. I didn’t think it through, that’s all.”

  I feel my eyes start to water. I take a deep breath and suck the tears back in. “It’s just one thing after another, Ethan.”

  “I know, but . . . come on, you’ve met Tamara a couple of times. You like her, don’t you?”

  I can’t deny it. Tamara is tough, ambitious and confident, with a great sense of humour. Ethan met her when they were students at UCL. They dated for a while, but then she moved to Paris. “How long has Tamara been back in London?”

  “I don’t know. The last time I saw her, you and Max were out with us too. If you remember we fought like cat and dog – like always – and she flew back to Paris in a huff.”

  “You still managed to shag her.”

  “No, not that time I didn’t. I shagged her the time before.”

  My heart heaves a silent sigh. How long have I known Ethan? How long have I accepted that he lived his life like a modern-day Casanova? Has he truly changed? I know he loves me and he chose me, so why can’t I be happy with that?

  “Say something, Vi. Please . . .”

  I can’t speak. I know this isn’t his fault and I can hear the desperation in his voice, but I still can’t untangle the gigantic knots in my gut.

  “Vi, just tell me what to do.”

  “Nothing.” I look at him through water and I hate myself for being so weak. “I just want to stop feeling like this.”

  “Feeling what?”

  “Feeling like I should never have . . . let you . . .”

  “Vi, don’t. I haven’t done anything wrong. I had a life before we got together. I dated Jadine and Tamara before I even knew who you were. What do you want me to do? Just tell me and I’ll do it, as long as it isn’t firing them because I can’t do that, but I’ll do anything else.”

  I sigh. “I don’t expect you to do anything.”

  “Then can we just move on? This is my first day in my dream job, and I’ve been working my arse off for months getting my department – and this agency – together. I wanted to enjoy today, but right now I’d rather be sweeping the streets than be here.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . hard.”

  He moves closer again and places his hand tenderly on my arm. But then he seems to remember the total lack of privacy in my office and lets me go. “It shouldn’t be hard. I fought with Tamara all the time when we were together, and I can barely even remember Jadine. I
’ve never thought about them, or any woman, since I met you. It was always you, Vi.”

  He looks sad. I ignore the urge to touch him, to stroke his face and bring the light back to his eyes. “Ethan, it’s just so hard. I don’t think . . . I can’t keep how I feel about you secret anymore.”

  “Would you rather not feel anything at all?”

  “What? No, of course not. Where on earth did that come from?” His eyes bore into me. I feel a sharp crack in the centre of my heart.

  He lets out a heavy sigh, and his breath seems to blow straight through me, chilling the air. I wait for him to speak, but he says nothing. Then his eyes grow as sharp as a knife and he leaves my office.

  I stand frozen. I try to hold back my tears, but I feel a trickle of water escape and roll down each cheek. I slump into my chair, and my brain is invaded by thoughts I can’t stop. Have I blown it? Why did I have to ruin everything? Why do I have to be so me?

  Thankfully my brain’s attempts to ruin my life are interrupted by something that pisses me off even more than myself. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed a member of my team was missing until now, but at the astoundingly late time of 10.52 a.m., Tom Vance strolls into the office looking like a guy who decided to come to work only because he couldn’t think of anything better to do. And before I realise what I’m doing, but especially what I’m thinking, I’m striding out of my office and turning the corner to confront him.

  “What the hell time do you call this?” My hands are firmly placed on my hips, letting the junior art director know that I’m hopping mad.

  Tom turns around and his cocksure grin fades from his face. When I interviewed him last week, I knew straight away that he was a carbon copy of Ethan: younger, but just as good-looking, confident and popular. He’s a Londoner who possesses the lively charm of a market trader combined with the quick intellect of a stockbroker.

  Tom looks at his watch, then looks at me, and I’m sure his brain is trying to work out whether he should chance a wisecrack or whether he should take the reprimand on the chin. “It’s almost eleven,” he finally answers.