Just Friends (The Agency Book 1) Read online

  “Do you have any more apples?”

  I peer over the top of our cubicle divide and see the back of Ethan’s head. He’s hunched over a pile of handwritten notes and drawings. “No, sorry.”

  His head snaps up and I’m confronted by a pathetic pet lip. “I’m starving. I can’t believe we rushed to get this work to Malcolm for four thirty and then he phoned to tell us he’ll be away for the rest of the day. I swear to god, Vi, if that man doesn’t give me a break I’m going to end up clocking him.”

  “He’s a dick to everybody. Don’t let him bother you.”

  “Not to you, he isn’t. He thinks the sun shines out of your arse.”

  I smirk and take another bite of my apple. “He knows I’m awesome. What can I say?”

  Ethan watches me; he’s practically drooling. I toss him the apple and my stomach roars angrily in response.

  “He doesn’t love you for your awesome. He’s got an old-man crush on you.”

  “Oh, fuck off. Seriously, Ethan, don’t even go there. That’s the last thing I want embedded in my mind.”

  “Just telling you how it is.” He crunches a mouthful of apple as he talks, and the sound gnaws at the back of my hungry brain.

  “You’re not. You’re trying to gross me out, and it’s not working.”

  His eyes dart around the room to check we’re alone, then he leans over the cubicle wall, his eyes creasing as he smiles. “You must have noticed him eyeing your holy grails.”

  “My what?”

  “You know . . . Bert and Ernie, the Siamese twins, your speed bumps, your devil’s dumplings . . .” He laughs as his favourite boob-words tumble out.

  I shake my head. “Firstly, are you twelve years old? Secondly, his eyes never head south. I’d notice.”

  “They totally do. I reckon he wants a new home for Basil Brush between your hills.”

  I feel my eyes pop. “Basil . . . who?”

  “Basil Brush – his moustache.”

  “Oh my god, no. Just no! He’s like a father to me. That’s . . . um . . .” I lose my train of thought as I catch the change in Ethan’s expression when I say the word “father”. It’s a mixture of sympathy, regret and anger . . . something I’ve never seen in his face before. I subconsciously run my fingers over the silver pendant he gave me as I mourn this sudden change in our dynamic.

  “I’m glad you’re wearing it,” he says, giving me a smile which lights up his eyes and does something funny to my stomach.

  “I love it, and I’m glad I told you about Laurel. I kept her memory inside me for so long because I didn’t want to share her. I wanted to keep her all to myself. She belonged to me, but talking about her . . . well, it wasn’t so bad.”

  “What you told me about your family upset me, but what hit me harder is you keeping it buried for so long. Hiding how you feel isn’t good for you. I think you’re amazing and I care about you too much to not say this. Promise me you won’t keep anything serious from me again.”

  My mouth goes dry because I know I can’t make that promise. I don’t share, I don’t like discussing my feelings and I don’t like showing weakness. “I’ll try,” I say unconvincingly.

  He smiles at me and it’s as if even his smile has changed recently. I’ve only seen this new smile on his face when he looks at me. It’s wide, making his cheeks dimple and the blue of his eyes glisten. I look away because I feel that strange feeling again. A warmth inside my body that makes my heart rate quicken.

  “I think I might be onto something,” Ethan proclaims suddenly, passing his notepad over our cubicle divide. I flip through his pages of sketches and notes. “What do you think?”

  “You want to shoot in a mountain location?”

  “Yeah, we have the budget. We need to inject some ‘quest’ into Quest, so we need adventure. The original questforlife campaign was urban, but a bit static. If we’re doing a winter catalogue and new clothing range, then mountains would work.”

  “There’s only one problem with doing a winter catalogue shoot on location: it’s almost summer.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “This is Britain. What’s the weather going to be like up north at the end of spring?”

  “You make a fair point.”

  “Yeah, the more I think about it . . . mountains, green hills, rolling valleys, icy streams, lots of wind, rustling trees – the great British outdoors. Run the questforlife hashtag through it, and slam in a sense of adventure.”

  “Okay, I got it.” I stand, snap the notebook shut and pick up my handbag. “I need sustenance before I do any more work. I’m going to Juicy Lucy’s for a smoothie, you want anything?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. That apple you gave me has given me indigestion.”

  ***

  I cross the street, turn the corner and make my way to Juicy Lucy’s, a bright and breezy organic drink shop famous with the office workers of the City. I open the white-painted door and I’m bombarded by an orchard of citrusy smells. My mouth starts to water as I order my favourite smoothie: almond milk, banana, kale and cinnamon. The server takes my payment and hands me my bright green drink just as a familiar face enters the shop.

  Zoe Callaghan, Malcolm Barrett’s executive assistant, is one of those girls nobody tries to compete with because everything about her is flawless, from her infectious laughter and sweet naivety to her glossy dark hair, which is always elegantly styled in a pleat with romantic wisps framing her heart-shaped face. Last year, she and Ethan dated for six months, but although she’s lovely, she always seemed to find fault with him.

  “Hi, Violet. How’s everything going with the Quest brief?” She manages to sound genuinely interested, even though I’m sure she’s just being her impeccably good-mannered self and making small talk.

  “It’s going great. I’m just getting this to charge my batteries in case I have to work into the night,” I reply, pointing to my drink.

  “You guys work so hard.” She looks up at me, her blue eyes sparkling with a kind-hearted smile. “You shouldn’t work so late though. Nobody can function with less than a solid eight hours’ sleep.”

  “We’ll be fine – we’re used to it.”

  Zoe’s smile fades and her Cupid’s-bow lips thin. I’m not great at bonding with other women, but I can sense she’s unhappy. A thought dawns on me – maybe I can set her up with Ethan and get him to lose the bet . . .

  “How have you been, Zoe?” I ask as she places an order for an iced mocha latte. I don’t know why I’m heading down this road. The words are tumbling out of my mouth, but while my competitive brain wants to win that bet, my heart is screaming “no”. I tell it to shut up.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” she replies unconvincingly, tucking a stray tendril of shiny dark hair behind her ear. “Except for that awful business at the weekend, of course. I missed the party, but I’m pretty shaken up about Quentin and poor Carly. She’s such a lovely girl – so warm and generous.”

  I manage to put a sympathetic smile on my face despite wondering if Zoe is certifiably insane. “Carly Hayes” and “lovely” aren’t words I’d put in the same sentence – unless “is anything but” was squeezed in the middle. I’m aware this could mean I’m a bad person. Did I ever give Carly a chance, or did I write her off as shallow and vacuous from day one?

  “Things are pretty tense on our floor,” Zoe continues as she pays for a sludgy brown drink packed with ice and chocolate chunks. “Malcolm has been battling all week to get back on track, and Stella has been on his case constantly. His stress levels are through the roof. I don’t know how you cope working under Stella – she terrifies me. Malcolm is a sweetie in comparison.”

  Malcolm Barrett is a “sweetie”? Again, Zoe Callaghan, are you certifiably insane?

  “Sounds rough,” I say with all the empathy of a lump of coal, before changing the subject so unskilfully I make myself cringe. “I was sad when you and Ethan broke up. I thought you two were good together.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Wer
e you sad?”

  I’m confused by the unfriendliness in her tone and the way she’s scrutinising my expression. I scan my memory to try to think of anything I’ve done in the past few weeks to upset her. “Well, yes, of course I was sad.”

  Her eyes narrow and I shift uncomfortably under her gaze. “I’ve been fine, thank you.” she says, but a flame has been lit now, and I can’t let it burn unchallenged. She leaves the shop with her drink, and I follow her into the street.

  “You don’t look or sound fine. What’s up?”

  She stops walking and ushers me towards the wall of a stone building housing an investment bank. “If you must know, Violet, my split from Ethan hit me hard, and I guess . . . well, my feelings for him are unresolved. One minute my relationship was going well, the next minute I felt like the third wheel in his relationship with you.”

  “What?” I say with a gasp of horror. This isn’t the line Ethan spun me after their break-up. How didn’t I pick up on any of this? I know there were times Ethan cancelled dates because we were working late at the office together, but I always apologised to her when our time encroached on their time. “Zoe, I thought you were okay with our long hours. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Oh, I did say something, to Ethan . . . often.” A flash of guilt sweeps over her face. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry. It’s all water under the bridge now.”

  “I didn’t know. Ethan told me you were tired of his late-night jamming sessions with the lads, and he said his brother had urged him to end it . . .”

  “I ended the relationship, Violet,” she says firmly. “It took me six months to work out that someone else would always come first with him.”

  I exhale heavily into the crisp spring air, as a busload of tourists hops off a sightseeing tour and heads into the Stock Exchange. “Okay . . . I don’t know why, but Ethan didn’t tell me that. If he had I would have—”

  “You would have what?” she interrupts, her vowels clipped like a governess scolding her charge. Shit, she’s Mary Poppins – yet probably more perfect. “You would have left the agency and found a job somewhere else?”

  I feel my cheeks burn and my temper flare. “Zoe, what exactly are you accusing me of?”

  She sucks in a breath. God, is this going to be the first time ever that Zoe Callaghan loses her cool? “I guess Ethan and I weren’t meant to be. He didn’t follow me when I walked away, and that told me to keep walking. Look, I don’t work on the creative floor and I don’t understand why you and Ethan are so tied to each other. I admit I was jealous. I wanted him to be tied to me.”

  Jealous? How was the prettiest, most popular girl at the agency jealous of me? I feel like shit. I can’t think of anything to say to her, so I apologise again and start to walk back to the office.

  “Are you in love with him?”

  Her question stops me dead in my tracks, and I feel like I’ve been caught injecting poison into a basket of apples.

  “No, I’m not.”

  But as I walk away, I can’t help but wonder if I am.

  10

  WHEN I RETURN TO MY desk, still reeling from my conversation with Zoe, I see I have a new neighbour. Ethan and I sit opposite each other in a quiet corner of the fifteenth floor, facing out over Old Broad Street in the heart of the City. Will Thornton, Ethan’s art director rival, sits next to him, but in the seat opposite Will, recently vacated by Mohammed, is a new figure. If Paul “Pinkie” Pinkerton has been installed as Will’s new partner, I don’t know if it’s a stroke of genius or the worst move since a bunch of turkeys voted for Christmas.

  Pinkie is a walking, talking, living, breathing human incarnation of the Oxford English Dictionary combined with the Encyclopaedia Britannica. He is the only person at BMG who owns more books than I do. I’ve admired Pinkie ever since his extraordinary vocabulary placed him in the winner’s seat on Countdown, but his social awkwardness makes him a sitting duck for practical jokes.

  I give him two weeks.

  “Wow, have you been promoted, Pinkie?” I pull out my chair and plonk my smoothie down on my desk.

  Pinkie rises with difficulty, his ample bottom moulded to his seat, while his round belly strains against the buttons on his shirt. “Aye, thank you Violet, I have,” he says, sticking out his hand for me to shake. Like me, Pinkie hails from Yorkshire, but his Leeds accent is much thicker.

  “Congratulations, that’s great news.” I shake his hand. His palms are hot and slippery, and the unnecessary handshake lasts far longer than it needed to.

  “Thank you. I’m technically experiencing a period of probation, but it is a fact that I am no longer a junior of the profession.” We both sit down and he swivels his chair around to face me, his smile dimpling his round, rosy cheeks. “I know this could place us in competition over any headline campaigns Barrett McAllen Gray procures, but I want you to know that, as far as I’m concerned, you’re the best copywriter in the agency. I’m looking forward to learning from you.”

  “Aw, thanks, Pinkie. That’s really sweet,” I say, smiling at his kindness. Pinkie definitely walks the oddball high-wire, but I’ve always found him to be a caring, decent guy. “I hope to learn from you too.”

  “He won’t be staying!” Will barks.

  Ethan starts to snigger.

  “Now, William, it’s only been half an hour,” chirps Pinkie. “Wait until you read the copy I’ve written for Sunta Motors’ Busan car launch. I have sixty-seven possible straplines for the print ad and I’ve already started drafting a script for the TV commercial.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re not staying. And don’t call me fucking ‘William’, okay?” Will says in his chesty East London accent. “You’re a nice guy, but you’d be better off with someone your own age. How the hell old are you anyway? Have you even started shaving yet?”

  “Erm . . . I was late to puberty, but I’m twenty-five years old,” Pinkie replies innocently. “I assure you I’m fully qualified for my new position.”

  “Your probationary position,” corrects Will as Ethan sniggers again.

  “Don’t worry, Pinkie. Will is just bitter because he wanted to partner with Ruby Sloan.” My comment produces a cynical smirk from Will.

  Pinkie’s dark eyebrows meet in a frown. “But Ruby is still on the graduate programme. She’s three years younger than me.”

  “Ruby is qualified in different ways,” Ethan says in a tone everyone but Pinkie picks up on. His frowning eyebrows have now merged into one spectacularly confused unibrow.

  “I don’t understand. Ruby has a 2:1 in business marketing from Newcastle, which is an okay university, but I have a first class bachelor’s degree in modern world history and a masters’ distinction in business communications from Oxford. I think a case can easily be made that I am more qualified.”

  “Ethan’s talking about tits,” says Will wearily. Will is one of the most open-minded, opinionated and creative people I know, but he’s saddled with the patience of a toddler and a persecution complex so big it could choke a horse.

  “Oh, I see.” Pinkie’s round cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  “Pinkie, it’s early days, but you’ll soon learn that Ethan and Will may look like grown men, but their brains stopped developing when they were fourteen. Sadly, they’re far more interested in the contents of a woman’s bra than they are in her personality or mind.”

  “On balance, I’m more interested in the contents of a woman’s knickers,” says Will, who remains the most impossible man on the planet to guilt-trip.

  “That’s gross, Will,” I snap. There’s a fine line between office banter and being a sexist pig. Will walks that fine line like a tightrope walker without a safety net.

  “You know I’m gross,” he says, completely undeterred. “And don’t worry, Pinkie. This isn’t your fault. I knew the agency would be showering a pile of shit onto my shoulders the second Mohammed resigned. Stella has had it in for me ever since she stumbled upon my Twitter account on the da
y I retweeted that Jim Davidson joke.”

  “You deserved the roasting you got for that,” I say, recalling Stella’s threat to send Will on equality awareness training for a week unless he ceased being a misogynistic prick. “And I already told you that after the knickers incident there was no way in hell I was letting you have Ruby.”

  Will twists his face into a sulky pout, before changing the subject entirely. “Hey, speaking of the knickers incident, have you seen the state of Max this morning? He looks like he hasn’t slept for a year, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s high.”

  Ethan’s head shoots up and we share a worried glance. “No, I haven’t seen him,” I say, but my stomach is already churning with worry.

  Will stands and starts bundling a pile of papers into a folder. “I’ll go check on him. We need to visit the design studio anyway. Are you coming with me, hotshot?” he asks his new partner.

  Pinkie springs to his feet so quickly that his plump stomach bangs against his keyboard. “Does this mean you like my copy?”

  “How could I? You haven’t shown it to me yet.” Will rolls his eyes. “Run your fifty-nine awesome straplines by me in the studio. We can ask Max what he thinks too.”

  “It was sixty-seven, but now it’s seventy-three,” replies Pinkie eagerly. “And just one more thing, what was the knickers incident?”

  “Shut up and never mention it again,” Will barks as he leads the way to the design studio. Pinkie trots behind him like a portly spring lamb.

  “Oh my god, this is going to be hilarious.” I finish the last of my smoothie, the peppery green liquid cooling my throat and tingling my tongue.

  “Sure is,” Ethan replies, but I sense there’s something up. He would usually have a lot more to say about a scenario with this much comedic value.

  “You’re quiet.”

  “Hmm? Oh, I’ve just got a surprise text from Zoe and now my head’s in a bit of a strange place.”