Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (102 page)

‘I’m touched that you thought to hold back on the f-bomb for me,’ Mary said, ‘but really, you’re going to have to give me some time. Wait until Bob has calmed down, let me talk to him. I like to think I have a little influence there.’

Ha. I was right, they’d definitely been doing it. Ew.

‘Maybe I can even send a few freelance things your way if you can write under a pseudonym.’ She shrugged. The conversation, as far as she was concerned, was clearly over.

‘What if Immigration do check up on me?’ I asked, not really needing her to tell me the answer. ‘What if Cici sends them after me?’

‘Cross that bridge when you come to it,’ Mary suggested. ‘And leave Cici to me. She’s got what she wanted, she’ll leave you alone now.’

‘You think she will?’

‘Leave her to me,’ Mary repeated.

‘OK, well, I suppose I should leave my BlackBerry and stuff,’ I said, digging around in my handbag, trying not to cry in front of Mary. I knew it wouldn’t help my case with her. I had to hold it together.

‘I know this sucks, but leave it with me.’ She waited for me to stand up and then leaned in for an awkward hug. ‘I’m not saying I’ll be able to save the day, but I’ll try. I’m not losing a good writer because that snot-nosed little bitch cried to Grandpa.’

‘You think I’m a good writer?’ I sniffed over her shoulder.

‘Get out, Clark.’ Mary pushed me away with something that almost looked a little bit like a smile. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

I stumbled out of Mary’s office, not knowing when or if I’d ever be back there, and took a moment to try and compose myself. You never knew who you would bump into in The Look offices. Of course, on this occasion, I was only ever going to bump into the one person I really didn’t want to see.

‘Oh, hey, Angela!’ Cici sailed through the double doors and sank into the chair behind her desk. ‘Would you like me to call security to escort you off the premises, or can you drag your tragic ass out all by yourself?’

There was a time and a place to be the bigger person in life and, as I turned to face Cici, who was sipping a giant vat of iced coffee through a hot pink straw, I knew that this wasn’t it.

‘A friend of mine always says that people like you will get what’s coming to them,’ I said, simply shrugging my shoulders. ‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know?’ she said, the straw still in her mouth and a confused look on her face.

‘Can I ask you something?’ I sat down on the edge of her desk, enjoying watching her squirm. Which was difficult in skintight Herve Leger. An interesting choice for the office.

‘Yeah?’ Cici finally put down the coffee. Maybe Virginie had told her how handy I was with my fists and she wanted to be prepared.

‘Why do you think you went so out of your way to mess things up for me?’ I asked, dropping my hands between my knees. I wasn’t going to hit anyone in this country. Hello, lawsuit? ‘I mean you really went to a lot of trouble.’

‘I don’t know.’ She tipped her head to one side, her long ponytail of strawberry blonde extensions following shortly afterwards. Really, someone should tell her that Lindsay Lohan was not a role model. ‘I don’t like you?’

‘That’s funny because I don’t like you that much either.’ I rapped my fingers against her desk. ‘I wonder why that is?’

‘Because I’m younger and hotter and cooler?’ she asked. And the worst part was, she actually seemed to mean it.

‘Maybe,’ I nodded, ‘maybe. Hey, isn’t it weird how you can be hot and cool at the same time? That’s weird, isn’t it?’

‘I guess,’ Cici said, looking at me as if I’d gone mad. Which was quite possible.

‘One of those weird little semantic things I suppose,’ I said, hopping up from the desk and making her jump. ‘Or like iced coffee. I don’t get it, I suppose because we don’t have it in England. Do they make it hot to start with and then put ice in it or is it always cold?’

‘I don’t know, freak.’ Cici turned up her nose and reached for her Starbucks cup. But I was faster.

‘It does feel cold through the plastic,’ I said, shaking it up to watch the ice swirl around. ‘How does it feel to you?’

‘Huh?’ Cici was far too slow to avoid the shower of iced latte that rained down all over her extensions. All over her dress. All over her, ouch, suede boots. ‘You bitch!’

‘I’m a bit too impatient to wait for karma sometimes,’ I said, dropping the cup into the bin at the side of her desk. ‘Or maybe that was karma. I’m not sure.’

‘Shame about all your shit getting blown up,’ Cici shouted as I turned to walk away. ‘I heard that it burned up extra quick because your case was full of manmade fibres.’

‘That’s the best comeback you have?’ I shouted, still walking away. ‘Really, I’ve seen Ugly Betty, I expected better.’

‘I guess I’m not as good at insults as I am at talking to airport security people,’ she shot back. ‘And not nearly as good as I am at getting you fired.’

I pressed the button for the lift just as the penny dropped. My suitcase had been blown up because of Cici? Looking at the finger reaching out for the lift button, I saw that my hand was shaking. Trying to screw me over at work was one thing, but destroying all those clothes? My beautiful blue handbag? My perfect-fitting Top Shop jeans that they didn’t make any more? My irreplaceable Louboutins? This was serious. This was shoeicide.

‘Are you kidding me?’ I asked, turning around slowly and facing off against her like John Wayne. Or Sharon Stone in that cowboy movie she did with Russell Crowe and Leonardo DiCaprio. I figured that was a more flattering comparison.

The lift pinged open behind me to reveal half the staff of The Look. And they looked mighty confused.

‘What are you going to do?’ Cici asked, throwing her arms open wide. ‘Your sorry ass is out of here. You can’t prove anything. My grandfather won’t believe a word you say.’

Before I could react, Mary’s office door slammed against the wall making everyone jump.

‘No, but he’ll believe me,’ Mary said behind her. ‘Cici, get in my office. Angela, I’ll speak to you later.’

Cici’s face flared red. She crossed her arms tightly over her soaking dress and spun on her ruined heels, marching into Mary’s office.

‘Mary,’ I wailed, pressing my hands to my heart. ‘She blew up my shoes. My shoes.’

‘And she’ll be replacing them,’ Mary replied, with all the certainty of a headmistress. ‘Angela, go.’

I pushed through all the gawkers and jabbed the lobby button, holding tightly to the metal rail that ran around the inside of the lift. My poor, poor shoes. No longer just innocent casualties of airtight security, but senseless victims of a vindictive tit. I had to mourn them all over again.

Alex was waiting for me outside the building, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that was far too heavy for the already sweaty sunshine. Paris had been hot, but New York was just humid. Ick.

‘What happened?’ he asked, ready to grab me as I barrelled into his arms. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Cici blew my suitcase up,’ I yelled into his chest. ‘I mean, she arranged to have it blown up. It wasn’t an accident.’

‘Really?’ He whistled. ‘Wow, you really must have pissed her off in a previous life.’

‘I know,’ I said, letting him squeeze me tightly. ‘My shoes!’

‘It’s going to be OK, we’ll get you new shoes.’ Alex kissed the top of my head. ‘So your job is OK?’

‘Oh, that.’ I screwed up my face. ‘Not really. I’ve sort of been fired.’

‘What?’ He held me at arms’ length and stared at me. ‘You got fired? And you’re complaining about your shoes?’

‘I know,’ I sighed, closing my eyes. ‘But I just can’t think about it now. If I do my head will explode, and I am so tired. Please, can we just go home?’

‘Fine.’ He wrapped an arm around my sweaty shoulder and we started off down 42nd Street. ‘But I can’t believe you’re not freaking out.’

‘Oh my God, I’m freaking out.’ I sat on the edge of my sofa, rocking backwards and forwards, before standing up and pacing over to the window. I tapped my fingers against the glass, shaking my head. ‘I got fired, Alex. Fired. I’ve never been fired. And oh my God, I’m going to lose my visa, I’m going to have to go back to London. I mean, what am I going to do? I’m not qualified to do anything else. I’ll have to be like a bin man or something. No, they’ll never let me on the bins. I’ll have to be a postman. Oh my God, I’m going to have to be a postman.’

Alex folded his arms, staring at me from across the room. ‘Are you done?’

‘You don’t understand! Postmen have to get up so early. And I’ll have to ride a bike.’ I sat down on the windowsill. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to have to be a postman.’

‘Right.’ Alex walked over to the window and held my shoulders in his hands, squeezing until I looked up at him. ‘Angela Clark. You don’t have to be a postman.’

‘I don’t?’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Or a bin man. Whatever that is. All you have to do right now, is calm down, remember what Mary said, and chill.’

‘You know I can’t “chill”,’ I frowned, ‘I’m English. We don’t know how to chill. At best I can try to keep calm and carry on.’

‘If that’s what works for you.’ He slid his hands up from my shoulders to cup my face. ‘You’re going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine. You just need a distraction.’

‘Really, not right now,’ I said wearily. Honestly, I was shattered, was he trying to kill me?

‘Not that,’ Alex laughed and sat down next to me on the windowsill. ‘I was thinking about something else.’

‘It’s going to have to be a pretty big distraction.’ I scooted up the sill so he would have room to sit. It helped that his arse was about half the size of mine. ‘What have you got in mind?’

‘Packing.’ He laced his fingers through mine. ‘You’re moving in with me today.’

‘I am?’ I asked. A tiny thrill raced down my spine, cutting through the jet lag and the stress.

‘You are,’ he confirmed. ‘You’re gonna go lie down while I get some boxes and shit, then we’re going to start taking stuff over to my place. Our place.’

‘Is that right?’ I felt a tiny smile start on my face. And it wasn’t just because he’d said I could have a nap.

‘It is.’ Alex closed his bright green eyes and planted a kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘So go get some rest. You’re gonna need your strength to cook my dinner tonight, woman.’

‘Don’t you “woman” me,’ I warned, striding off into the bedroom. And silently planning his dinner. I was a terrible feminist.

‘And this is the living room,’ I said into the computer, carrying it out of the bedroom. ‘We’re getting new couches so don’t look at those, they’re covered in all sorts of crap.’

‘New what, Angela Clark?’ Louisa laughed through the computer as I placed my laptop carefully on the coffee table. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak American.’

‘Settees,’ I over pronounced. ‘Apologies, I’m bilingual now. I also say trash and candy and sweater. You have to be. If you come over here wanting to buy a courgette or an aubergine, I’ve got to tell you, you’re going to be struggling.’

‘Whatever.’ She gave me the finger. Skype was the best invention ever. ‘Well, it looks like a lovely apartment. Those views of Manhattan are amazing.’

‘Right?’ I said, cracking open a bottle of white wine. ‘It’s awesome.’

‘Right?’ Louisa parroted. ‘Do you have to say it at the end of every sentence? We’re losing you. I’m so concerned about your influence over this baby.’

‘I will be nothing, but perfection around my godson-slash-daughter,’ I promised, pointing to the scan I had printed out and stuck to the fridge. ‘See how dedicated I am already? Alex asked me to take it down because it was putting him off his food.’

‘I just think it’s weird that you have a picture of your best friend’s insides taped to the place we keep our food,’ Alex defended himself, yelling from the bedroom. ‘Hey, Louisa.’

‘Hello Alex,’ Louisa shouted back. ‘Sorry we interrupted your shower.’

I blushed at the screen, laughing as Lou winked back.

‘You realize I can see you both, right?’ Alex stuck his damp head around the living-room door.

‘Right?’ Louisa cackled.

‘Aw, screw you guys!’ Alex vanished back into the bedroom.

‘Ignore him,’ I said, settling on a couch with my glass of wine. ‘He should be dressed by now anyway.’

‘I’m gutted I couldn’t come to your party.’ Lou sulked through the screen. ‘But Tim couldn’t get away, and he didn’t like the idea of me flying without him. I know it’s rubbish, I’m sorry.’

‘Not at all.’ I waved away her apology. ‘I’m glad he’s taking care of you and my godson-slash-daughter.’

‘If I tell you what we’re having, will you please stop calling him or her that?’ Lou sighed. ‘Honestly, I’ve known for nearly a week and it’s killing me.’

‘I told you I don’t want to know!’ I shouted, covering my ears. ‘Seriously, it’s so exciting! I want it to be a surprise.’

‘I’m glad it’s exciting for you,’ Lou rested a hand on her practically nonexistent bump. ‘Finding out I was nearly five months along was a big enough surprise for me.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ I agreed, gutted that Louisa had missed out on months of knowing she was pregnant, but secretly delighted that I would have a baby to spoil so soon. The new Little Marc Jacobs line was so incredibly cute. ‘I’m sure there will be more to surprise you later on.’

‘Don’t say things like that,’ she said, holding her hand up to her forehead. ‘Let’s just get this one out of the way first.’

The doorbell buzzed, making me jump and spill half my glass of wine on to the sofa. ‘Shit,’ I whispered, rubbing it frantically.

‘I won’t tell,’ Louisa promised. ‘Just pull that throw over it. Didn’t you say you were getting new sofas anyway?’

‘Good point.’ I pointed at the screen and then followed her advice. Good as new. ‘I’d better get the door.’

‘I’d better go anyway, it’s really late,’ Louisa said, waving through the computer. ‘Have a lovely housewarming party, me and the baby wish we were there.’

‘Love you both,’ I said, blowing kisses into the monitor. ‘And I suppose Tim.’

Closing the laptop up and sliding it under the sofa to avoid any further damage to its cracked casing, I jumped up, rearranged my gorgeous pink and orange Marc by Marc Jacobs striped party dress (Alex had suggested it was overkill for a house party with a bunch of our friends, but I had politely declined to take his fashion advice) and went to the door.