Sweet Deception (14 page)

“What—like on storyboards?” For the first time, my interest was piqued.

“When I first started in the industry, it used to be just storyboards. But now we use other mediums as well—digital images, animation, that kind of thing.” Helena sat back, studying me. I could tell she was pleased that I'd shown an
interest in something finally. “Richard mentioned that you studied art. Do you draw?”

“Used to.” My answer was abrupt, my voice guarded. I didn't want to start sharing my life story. I was beginning to regret showing interest in her work, and giving her a chance to probe me. I'd unwittingly opened a door I hadn't wanted to.

“But not lately?” she prompted. I could sense she was watching me keenly.

“No.”

“How come?”

“Just lost interest, I suppose.” I started backing out of the room. “Anyway, I'll leave you to your lunch.”

She looked like she was going to argue, but then she gave up.

“Sure,” she said, and began opening up her Big Mac.

I crept back to my desk, hoping the whole incident would be forgotten. But obviously it wasn't going to be that easy, because two hours later, as Helena and Rex emerged to go to a meeting, she stopped by my desk.

“We've got a briefing for a new product now. Why don't you come along?”

I sensed this was my reward for having shown some interest in her sketches. Great. This was precisely what I'd wanted to avoid. I was meant to be so uninterested that they'd ask Richard to get rid of me. “Do I have to?”

Helena's smile dimmed a little. “I just thought you might find it interesting. But if you don't want to—”

I was torn. It was tempting to decline simply out of stubbornness, but the fact of the matter was that I was quite curious to see what happened at these briefings—even though I'd die before admitting it. Plus, it sounded more interesting than sitting at my desk and browsing the Internet to kill time.

“Sure. Why not?”

We headed upstairs to Miles Fairfax's office. He was one of the accounts managers, which was, as I'd suspected, the job that Richard used to do—the more “suit' end of the industry.

Miles came out to greet us. “Helena, Rex—good to see you.” He shook both their hands, but ignored me.

That was typical of Miles. He was in his early thirties, and known round the office for being a charmer. He was always networking and had a permanent smile on his face for anyone he thought could help in his career—obviously I didn't fall into that category, which is why he didn't bother with me. He was terribly posh, and you could hear his plummy drawl booming out whenever he was anywhere near. He was very different to Richard, who was much more serious, but I could see how they were both good at their jobs, just in different ways—whereas Richard was the kind who would win clients' confidence with his seriousness, Miles
was the type to charm them into a deal.

We went through to his office, and settled ourselves around the large conference table. Nathalie Drummond, Miles's assistant, also joined us. She was something of a legend around the office. One of the graduate trainees, she was clearly going places fast. She was neat and professional looking, and I couldn't help feeling even more thrown together than normal as I took my seat next to her.

The briefing turned out to be for a potential new client, called PURE, a charity that specialised in helping young drug addicts. They wanted to come up with a hard-hitting print and TV campaign, to dissuade youngsters from taking drugs at clubs, parties and festivals.

I tried to follow the discussion as best I could, but it wasn't always easy, as everyone was throwing around terms that I didn't understand. I jotted them down on my notepad with a big question mark, planning to look them up afterwards when I got back to my desk.

“Ranker and daypart.” I glanced up to see Nathalie studying my notepad. They were two of the words I wasn't sure of. Miles had gone outside to take a quick phone call, so there had been a brief lull in the meeting. She'd obviously decided it was a good opportunity to stick her nose into my business. “Don't you know what they mean?”

Her voice was filled with disbelief and a hint of contempt. My instinct was to deny my ignorance, but I knew it
would be even worse to be caught out in a lie.

“No. I don't.”

I kept my answer short, trying to sound as though admitting this didn't bother me. But I was all too aware of Rex and Helena looking at me with undisguised sympathy. Naturally Miles had taken that moment to reappear, and was regarding me with far less compassion.

“Well,” Nathalie said, ignoring my discomfort, “a ranker is a report showing a selected demographic audience of each radio or TV station in a market, ranked from the highest to the lowest—for example, the number of women eighteen to thirty-five. And dayparts are time periods throughout the day in which radio and television stations sell ads.” She paused, with a meaningful look at my notepad. “Got that?”

I was forced to jot down her explanation, the room silent apart from the sound of my pen scratching against the paper. I hated Nathalie in that moment for singling me out for the sole purpose of showing how accomplished she was—as though we weren't already aware of that.

Finally I looked up to see Nathalie smiling coolly at me. “Anything else, just ask.”

Miles cleared his throat. “Well, if we're quite finished with the lesson,” he said in his plummy drawl, “let's get on with it.” He sat back to address Rex and Helena. “Look, guys, the budget for this isn't huge. Frankly I wouldn't normally bother with such a piddly client, but the patron of the
charity is Luke Ramsey, the property developer. His company commissions tens of millions of advertising each year. So I'm hoping if we do a good job here, we might win a slice of that action—”

“We'll do a good job because we've been asked to by a worthy cause,” Helena said, cutting him off. She was regarding him with the same distaste I felt. “And not as part of some Machiavellian plan concocted by you.” I bit back a smile, as I watched his face redden. Helena was one of the few people who could put him in his place. “Now, when are we presenting to the client?”

“I'm not sure of the exact deadline yet,” Miles said, recovering quickly. “But they said it'll be tight. They're meant to be getting back to me ASAP, so I'll call down with the details when they're ready.”

“Fine.” Helena rose, and Rex and I followed suit. “We'll be in touch when we have something.”

“Well done,” Rex whispered to Helena as we left the room. “If you hadn't put that jerk down, then I would have.” He glanced over at me. “And by the look on Charlie's face, I think she felt the same.”

“I was just planning on punching him. Or Nathalie. I hadn't quite made up my mind,” I deadpanned. Rex and Helena both laughed. I don't know why, but the fact that I'd amused them made me feel good. As much as I wanted to pretend otherwise, these guys really weren't that bad. And
the project sounded interesting, too.

“Maybe you can help with the research on this,” Helena said as we made our way to the lift.

“I'd like that.” It was only when I heard the enthusiasm in my voice that I caught myself. I forced a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, I'll do it if you want me to.”

Helena exchanged an amused look with Rex. I steeled myself for her to tease me about my eagerness, but she simply said, “I think it'd be good for you to get involved.”

Fortunately she changed the subject then, and started talking to Rex about another client. I stayed silent the rest of the way back to our office.

I'd been at my desk for only a couple of minutes when my phone rang. It was Miles's assistant, Nathalie. I'd know that haughty voice anywhere.

“The client called with details about the presentation date,” she said, without any preamble. “It's on second November, at twelve p.m. And Miles wants to meet Helena and Rex the Monday before at ten to go over their ideas—”

“Wait a sec—” I said as she rattled the details at me. I was searching around on my desk for a piece of paper and a pen, but couldn't see one. Just then my mobile rang. Along with the persistent sound of the ringtone, I could hear Nathalie on the other end of the main line, sighing deeply, as though I was invading her precious time. “Hold on. I'm nearly with you . . .”

Luckily I found a pen, and scrawled down the important details of the meeting.

“Great. I've got it,” I said to Nathalie. “Anything else?”

“That's all.”

I wasn't sure which of us slammed the receiver down first. My mobile was still ringing, so I snatched it up. It was Gavin, whom I'd been hanging out with a lot lately since my falling-out with Lindsay. I'd slept with him a couple of times, after some crazy nights out, but when he started thinking that made us a couple, I'd had to put a halt to it. Now we were just drinking buddies. He gave me the details of a party he was going to later that night. I told him I'd be there.

When I'd finally finished with the call, I went through to Helena. “Nathalie phoned with details of the client meeting.”

“Oh, yes? When is it?”

I looked down at my pad. I'd scrawled down three key details—“2,” “Nov” and “12”—in no discernible order. I frowned, trying to remember what Nathalie had told me. Was it second November at 12 p.m., or twelfth November at 2 p.m.?

“Charlotte?” I looked up and saw Helena staring quizzically at me. “Is there a problem?”

I briefly thought about saying I needed to check. But the last thing I wanted to do was speak to Nathalie again. I made a decision. “It's twelve November, at two p.m. And Miles
wants to go over the details on the previous Monday, at ten. So that'll be”—I quickly checked my calendar—“the fifth.”

Yes. As soon as I said it, that sounded right.

“Oh.” Helena looked relieved, if a little confused. “I thought Miles said it'd be a tight deadline? That doesn't sound too bad to me. Oh, well.” She glanced up at me. “Put those dates in the diary, will you?”

“Sure.” I went back out to my desk, pulled up our team's calendar and did just that—and then I forgot all about it.

Ten days later, at 10 a.m. on a Monday morning, the phone went on my desk. I saw from the display that it was Nathalie, Miles Fairfax's assistant. I groaned to myself as I answered.

“Where are they?” she said without preamble.

“Who?”

She huffed a little. “Helena and Rex, of course. They're due up here to go through their ideas for the PURE campaign.”

I frowned. I was fairly certain there were no meetings scheduled for today. I pulled up the team's calendar and checked when it was marked in for. “That's not 'til next Monday.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. “No,” she said. “It's today. The presentation to the client is on Friday. Next Monday will be too late.”

I sat up a little straighter, my heart beginning to beat
faster. “But the presentation is at two p.m. on Monday twelfth November. I remember you telling me. And you said they were to present their ideas to Miles on the previous Monday. So that's the fifth—”

“Charlotte, I really hope this is one of your jokes.” Even she was beginning to sound panicked. “I told you the client presentation is the second November at twelve p.m. That's this Friday, so the previous Monday's meeting is—”

Now.

Suddenly all the elements fell into place, and I realised the mistake I'd made. I closed my eyes, hoping that this might just turn out to be some nightmare, and I was about to wake up.

I opened my eyes, but unfortunately I was still here, sitting at my desk. A cold, sick feeling began to form in my stomach.

“I'll call you right back,” I mumbled, and slammed the phone down.

I didn't want to start dealing with Miles until I'd had a chance to explain my mistake to the team. I looked into the office, where Helena and Rex were working on another campaign, happily oblivious of the disaster that was just about to unfold. I had no desire to go in and explain my mistake—in fact, I'd have done anything right then to leave the building and never come back. But unfortunately that wasn't an option. However unpleasant this was, I needed to
face it head-on. So I took a deep breath and forced myself to get up.

Helena and Rex looked up as I walked into the office.

“Whatever it is, can it wait, Charlotte?” Helena said. “We're working to a deadline—”

I swallowed. Oh, great. They were already busy and stressed, and now I was about to make things a hundred times worse. “I'm sorry.” Somehow I forced myself to say the words. My voice sounded far away and detached. “I need to talk to you now.”

The panic on my face must have been evident, as I watched them exchange concerned looks.

“Go ahead,” Rex said. “Tell us what's going on.”

I quickly explained what I'd done, surprised at how calm and coherent I sounded, given that I felt like I was about to throw up. I could see the blood draining from Helena's face as I talked.

“What the hell, Charlotte?” she exploded once I'd finished. “How could you do this?”

“I'm sorry. I really am—” I started, but I could tell she wasn't listening.

“You're sorry? Well, that's all right, then, isn't it?” I quaked a little at the sarcasm in her voice. Usually Helena was so calm and reasonable. Seeing her lose it like this was unnerving me more than anything else. “As long as Charlotte's sorry for screwing up, we should all just forgive her. Let me
guess how this happened. Were you hung-over?”

“No—”

“Busy organising your social life?” I thought back to that afternoon when I was scheduling the meeting, and how Gavin had called about going out that night. I dropped my eyes to the floor. The action didn't go unnoticed by Helena. “Ah, so that's it, is it? Typical—”