The Importance of Being Married (19 page)

“Really?” I asked, slightly taken aback. “I mean…you would?”

Anthony looked at me quizzically. “You’re really interested?”

“Sure. I mean, definitely.”

“Well, okay then,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “You asked for it. We started about ten years ago. But you know that, I’m sure. What you may not know is that for the first three months of its existence, Milton Advertising sat above a fish-and-chip shop…”

“Fish and chips?”

“We smelled awful. Had to hang our suits out the window before every pitch so we didn’t turn up smelling of overcooked oil.”

I laughed, the wine arrived, and Anthony carried on talking.

“Max and I were working for rival firms, and we both wanted a new challenge. So we both sweet-talked as many clients as we could into jumping ship with us, moved above the chip shop, and tried to make enough money to survive. We made a point of selling ourselves as the real deal, you know? An advertising agency that took what it did seriously. Promoting our clients but in a truthful way, getting to the core of their offering, getting the details right.”

“You mean like grammar,” I said.

“Grammar?” Anthony asked uncertainly.

“Getting grammar right,” I said, seriously. “You know there was an article in
Advertising Today
a month or so ago on how advertisements are full of poor grammar these days. Like putting apostrophes in the wrong place, or saying
less than
when it should be
fewer than
—that sort of thing.”

“Exactly!” Anthony said, banging his glass down on the table. “Exactly, Jess. Grammar. Details. Getting things one hundred percent right. A hundred and ten percent right. Going the extra mile.”

“And your strategy worked?”

“It certainly did. I think our track record speaks for itself. We grew, bit by bit, and before too long we got a proper office space, right next to a brothel in Soho.”

“A brothel?” My eyes widened in shock, then I remembered Ivana’s advice. “I mean, how amazing!”

“It was, rather,” Anthony said, grinning. “The girls were great fun. And actually, it worked in our favor. One of my former colleagues threatened to sue us for poaching clients, and we…discovered, shall I say, that he frequented the brothel. Once I let him know that I knew that…well, the problem went away.”

“No way!”

“Way. I tell you, those were the days. Adrenaline city, every day. Each pitch was make or break.”

“You did really well,” I heard myself say, feeling the warmth of the wine hit my stomach. “You’re one of the top London firms now.”

Anthony smiled. “I suppose we are.”

The food arrived, and as we ate and drank Anthony told me how he’d grown the firm, how they’d pitched for their biggest clients, how they’d become successful. And by the end, hanging on his every word was becoming the most natural thing in the world; with every ooh and aah that came out of my mouth he seemed to relax, to enjoy himself more. By the end, I wasn’t even pretending. I was warm, I was comfortable, and Anthony’s blue eyes were twinkling away, looking right into mine.

“It’s so impressive,” I said when we’d finished eating. “I mean, so many people talk about launching their own businesses, but so few people actually do it.”

“You’re very kind.” Anthony shrugged, then looked at me quizzically. “You know, it’s been really good fun talking to you, Jess. You’re a very interesting person. You have quite hidden depths.”

“I do?” I smiled bashfully, thinking of pointing out that I’d said nothing indicative of any depths all lunch, then deciding against it.

“Yes, you do.” He held my gaze for a fraction longer than was entirely comfortable, and I reddened slightly. Then he asked for the bill and flashed a smile at me. “So look, thank you again for being so understanding about Friday night. It was apalling behavior and I am truly sorry.”

“Oh no!” I said immediately. “It wasn’t your fault. I was walking in completely the wrong place.”

“You’re very kind.” Anthony smiled. “So, out in Soho. Does that mean you live centrally, or is Soho just your Friday-night stomping ground?”

“My stomping ground?” I looked at him in surprise, then forced a smile onto my face. “It’s my flatmate’s stomping ground really. We live in Islington.”

“Islington!” Anthony nodded thoughtfully. “Lots of nice bars in Islington. I keep meaning to get up that neck of the woods.”

“It’s nice,” I said. “You know, if you like that sort of thing.”

“And what would that sort of thing be?”

My blush deepened; he was looking at me flirtatiously and I suddenly felt like a schoolgirl. If he’d told a crap joke, I would have laughed like anything. “Oh, you know. I mean, it’s busy. Lots of people.”

“I love lots of people,” Anthony said, smiling mischievously. “Don’t you?”

“Sure.” I nodded. “I mean, you know, in moderation…”

The bill arrived and Anthony looked at it for a moment. “You know what?” he asked eventually, his eyes twinkling conspiratorially.

“What?”

“I’m rather enjoying myself. What do you say we get ourselves another bottle of wine? We can sit here and I can smoke and you can tell me all about the people in Islington.”

“More wine?” My eyes widened. “Oh no. No, I couldn’t. I mean, I’ve already drunk far too much. And I’ve got a meeting with Max at two o’clock to go through my project plan. Actually, I should probably get back now really.”

“Max?” Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Max can wait. After all, there’s more to life than work. More to success than work. It’s a little-known secret, Jessica Wild, that the people who work hardest end up working for people who know how to enjoy themselves.”

“They do?”

“You’re looking at the living proof,” Anthony said. “So, more wine? Trust me, it’ll be a better career move than sitting in Max’s office going over the fine print of your project plan.”

I looked at him, biting my lip. I knew I should leave, knew that Max would be waiting for me. But then again, would it be such a bad thing to let him wait? All I ever did was work. Right now I was here with Anthony Milton. I was having fun. And I didn’t want it to end.

“More wine,” I said, feeling the thrill of being badly behaved zip around me.

“Good decision,” Anthony said, winking, and called over the wine waiter.

Chapter 13

MAX CAME OUT
of his office just as Anthony and I sloped back in to Milton Advertising. I’d never, to my knowledge, sloped anywhere before, but there was no doubt about it—our eyes were cast down, our expressions nonchalant, we kept giggling for no reason whatsoever, and it felt great. I realized I’d become way too serious. I really had to lighten up a bit. Meeting people was fun. Flirting was fun. Drinking at lunchtime was fun, too.

“So how was lunch?” Max asked. I looked up semi-guiltily; Anthony gave us both a little wave and disappeared into his office.

“Lunch? Good. It was good.” My voice was slurring slightly and I beamed at Max. His hair was messy—it always was by this time of the day because he put his hand through it when he concentrated, pulling it from side to side until it sat almost upright. He was wearing a stripy shirt and navy-blue V-neck that highlighted his broad shoulders. I thought of pointing this fact out, but decided against it. Max was too serious, too, I decided.

“Right,” he said uncertainly. “I thought we were meeting at two, though?”

I nodded vaguely. I wanted to reach out and pat his hair down, to work out whether it sat better on the right or the left. “We were,” I said, instead. “But work isn’t everything, Max. Not hard work, at least. Successful people…” I frowned, trying to remember what Anthony had said. “Successful people don’t work hard,” I concluded.

“They don’t?” Max asked wearily. “Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.” I staggered toward my desk. I hadn’t felt this drunk when we were in the wine bar. Even walking down the street, I’d felt kind of okay. Sure, I’d bumped into Anthony a few times, but I’d thought that was his fault, and he seemed to think it was funny so I hadn’t really worried about it. “You have to learn to enjoy yourself, Max. That’s the trick.”

“Have you been smoking?” Max, who had followed me to my desk, creased up his face in distaste. “You smell hideous.”

“Smoking…Smoking is…,” I said, then forgot what I was going to say. I hadn’t really been smoking; Anthony had offered me another cigarette and I’d tried it out, that’s all. I only had a few drags. To be honest, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.

“Right. Well, while taking your advice that I need to enjoy myself more, we do have some work to do I’m afraid. Can we say my office in five minutes?”

I looked up at him, but my eyes were finding it hard to focus; instead I turned to my computer and turned it on.

“Marcia’s not here,” I said, suddenly noticing her absence. “She’s not at her desk.”

“No,” Max said, looking at me strangely. “She’s at a client meeting. So, five minutes?”

“Five minutes would be no problem at all,” I said, concentrating on each word.

“Glad to hear it.”

As soon as he’d gone, I rushed to the kitchen and drank a pint of water. Then I rushed to the loo. After that, I made myself a coffee, drank a bit more water, just to be on the safe side, picked up my notebook, made my way unsteadily to Max’s office, and sat down at his meeting table.

“Right,” Max said, sitting down next to me, “the situation is this: in just under two weeks, Chester Rydall will be here expecting us to have firmed up our proposals. Which means we need visuals, we need a full concept, and we need the target audience analyzed.”

I nodded seriously.

“So?” Max asked expectantly.

“Sounds great,” I said, wondering what Anthony was doing, just the other side of Max’s wall. He had a little crease above his eyes, I’d noticed over lunch, that got deeper when he smiled. “You know, you don’t smile enough, Max, do you?”

“I don’t smile?” Max stared at me in surprise.

“Not
enough,
” I corrected him. “People like people who smile. Although you shouldn’t show too many teeth.”

“Right,” Max said, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’ll bear that in mind. So, look, I’ve been talking to the creatives about your logo idea.”

“The handbag,” I interjected, pleased to be able to remember it.

“That’s right,” Max said, frowning. “The handbag. And they’ve got some nice ideas. Look.”

He pulled out some mock-ups on whiteboard, and I did my best to focus on them.

“That one’s nice,” I said, pointing to a pink one.

“Jess, are you okay? You’re acting kind of strange.”

“Strange?” I shook my head vigorously. “I’m not acting strange. Anyway, you should have said strange
ly
. Grammar is very important.” I sat back on my chair triumphantly. That would show him how fine I was. How absolutely and completely…I realized Max was looking at me and shot him a quick smile.

“Grammar,” he said. “Right. My apologies. So, anyway, these are just first draft—once we have our concept firmed up a bit more we can get some more work done. Which is where you come in.”

“Me?” I should ask him questions, I realized suddenly. I should act all interested in him and then he’d be flattered and he’d forget all about concepts or whatever it was he was talking about.

“The concept. And the research. Jess, what the hell’s the matter with you? This is your account. You do realize how important this is? For us and for you?”

“Absolutely,” I said. He was looking vexed. Annoyed, even. Perhaps I needed to ask him a few questions. Perhaps I needed to turn on the Jessica Wiiild charm a bit. “I’m just pleased, because that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” I smiled, pouting as best I could. “The visuals, and the concept. By the way, Anthony was telling me about how the two of you started this company. It sounds amazing. You’re so talented. I’d love to hear your side of the story.”

“What?” Max looked at me curiously.

“You. Starting this firm together. You know, against all the odds, smelling of fish-and-chips, winning over clients…”

“Yes, well, you make it sound very romantic, but really it was just a lot of hard work.”