The Out of Office Girl (36 page)

Sam takes a step closer. ‘Hey. Could we talk for a minute?’

The receptionist is pretending not to listen, but I
can tell she’s completely rapt. Whatever this conversation is going to be, I don’t think I can have it here, or in a bar. ‘Let’s go up to your room,’ I say, whereupon her eyes pop out on stalks.

As we go up in the lift, I’m feeling ridiculously shy. I don’t know where to look or what to say, and he’s very quiet too.

‘Sorry about that, back there,’ he says, as we walk down the corridor. ‘I sometimes
ask them not to tell people I’m here, when I’m with Luther, you know, just in case . . .’

‘It’s OK.’

His room is beautiful, with yellow-and-white striped wallpaper, and a four-poster bed, which I avoid looking at. Sam gestures for me to sit in a chintzy armchair, but I decide to stay standing. He leans against his desk, a few feet away.

‘Thank you for getting me my job back,’ I say formally.

He looks down. ‘Ah . . . OK. You were not supposed to know about that. How did you find out?’

‘It doesn’t matter. But thanks all the same.’

Sam shakes his head, and starts talking very quickly. ‘Alice. I’m the one who should be thanking you – and apologising. I’ve been a total asshole. I should have believed you when you tried to explain about Luther. You were about to lose your job and you
could have saved yourself by giving them that story, but you decided not to. I can’t believe you did that. I mean, I
can
believe it because I know you well enough by now. But I don’t know anyone else who would have done it. I owe you more than I could ever repay you. So does Luther. So please don’t ever thank me.’

I know I’m blushing, but I’m determined to get some facts straight before I start
getting all emotional. ‘But how did you find out?’

‘I couldn’t stop thinking about it after you’d left, wondering if I’d been wrong. I was kicking myself for going to get Annabel – who was fine, by the way, she was painting her nails when I arrived – rather than giving you a chance to explain. I tried emailing you, and I got a bounce-back, saying you’d left. I was just figuring out how to reach
you, when I had an email from your co-worker . . . Patty?’

‘Poppy!’

‘Yeah. She told me what really happened. Though I could have saved myself a lot of trouble just by asking you in the first place. Look . . . I’ll be completely honest. I was sore that you withdrew from me, after everything that happened between us. I thought maybe you decided to end things with me because you wanted to dish
the dirt on Luther. I can be a stubborn, suspicious bastard, as you’ve probably realised. I’m really sorry.’

He moves his hand, as if to reach out for mine, but then he drops it back by his side.

‘But why did you pull back from me, Alice? If it’s just that you weren’t feeling it, then you don’t have to explain. In fact, don’t say anything, and I’ll never bother you again. But if it’s something
I did . . . I need to know.’

My heart is hammering again. I decide to sit down after all. I can’t believe we are actually having this conversation. I could, of course, tell him, ‘It was because of my crazy insecurities,’ but instead, I say, ‘I thought there was something going on with you and Marisa. Because of the trip to Rome.’

He groans. ‘I knew it. She’s just got a job in Rome working for
a big studio. That’s why we went there. I wanted to introduce her to some people. She asked me to keep it secret, so I did. But I should never have lied to you about it.’

‘Why did you? I know she didn’t want Federico to know, but you could have trusted me.’

‘I know. Look, I take things way too literally sometimes. If someone asks me to keep a secret, I keep a secret.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘I
guess I was being stubborn, too. I didn’t see why I should feel guilty about my exes and I didn’t know you knew she was in Rome with me. I realised afterwards I’d been pretty stupid. Marisa told me so, in fact.’

‘Did she? I suppose I was surprised as well because . . . well, she never told me that you were her ex.’

‘I think,’ he says, ‘that might have been because she guessed that I was falling
for you and I didn’t know what the hell to do about it.’

I have to look up, at that. The words he’s spoken are hanging in the air; I can almost see them. The room is so still I’m sure he must be able to hear my heart thumping.

‘But – how do
you
feel?’ he asks.

The look of uncertainty on his face makes me melt. This is where, I know, I should be sensible and tell him that of course,
if circumstances
were different, then great, but we live on different continents and it really wouldn’t be wise, but instead I stand up and go over to him and before I can say anything else, he’s taken me in his arms and he’s kissing me. It’s every bit as magical as it was the first time. I never want it to end. Even if it’s just for tonight, I’m so happy to be here with him.

After a while, though, I remember
something.

‘Sam, aren’t you late for the premiere?’ I say reluctantly.

‘Hell, no. I don’t even need to be there. Luther has a ton of people with him.’ He kisses me again. ‘You know, the main reason I came to London was to try to see you. In fact, I just emailed you about half an hour ago, to see if I could meet you tomorrow.’

‘Really?’ I’m even more thrilled to hear this.

‘Yes. So, no, I don’t
care about the premiere. Unless you wanted to come with me?’

I laugh. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Sure. Why not?’

‘I’m not exactly dressed for it. And wouldn’t Luther find it strange if I was there as, um, your date?’ More to the point – I don’t want to spend my one evening with Sam watching a film. My heart sinks as I remember: we’ve got tonight, but tomorrow he’ll be leaving.

‘You could go like
that,’ he says. ‘Or the stylist could fix you up with something. And as for Luther . . . well, I don’t know if this is the right moment to tell you this, but . . .’

‘God, Sam, what?’ I can’t take any more shocks.

‘I’m not going to be representing Luther for much longer. I’ve been offered a job at an agency in London. And I want to take it.’

He looks at me for a reaction, but there is none because
I can’t have a reaction. It’s too much. I’m all out of reactions.

‘OK. Maybe we can talk about that later. I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that. But what do you want to do about tonight?
You want to go? Because we don’t have to. We could just hang out, go get a drink, or some food, or whatever you want . . .’

I can tell he’s thinking the same thing as I am: we could just stay here and
make the most of his lovely hotel room. Order room service . . . It’s very tempting. But now that I know we have more time together, I think it would be fun to have a night out. After all, we’ve got a lot to celebrate.

‘No, let’s go,’ I tell Sam. ‘If you’re sure it’s OK. And congratulations about the job. That’s great news!’ I kiss him again, he kisses me back, and then, before we get totally
carried away, Sam calls the stylist, Roger, who says he can fix me up if I come around to the suite right away.

Forty minutes later, when Sam and I step out of the lift, hand in hand, I see the receptionist do a double-take. I don’t blame her: I’m unrecognisable. I’m wearing a gorgeous full-length blue chiffon dress by Alberta Ferretti. My hair is swept to one side in a low chignon, my skin is
glowing and Roger has somehow managed to make my eyes look three times their normal size. I’ve left my jeans and T-shirt in Sam’s room. Neither of us has said it but I think we both know I’ll probably wear them home tomorrow morning.

‘You look beautiful,’ Sam says, kissing my cheek.

‘Thank you. Oh, Sam, I need to send a text. Do you mind?’

‘Of course not. We can be late.’

I fish my phone out
of my borrowed Chanel clutch, and text Poppy: ‘Off to premiere with Sam!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH xxxxx’. Then Sam and I walk out of the hotel into Dean Street, attracting more than a few looks and smiles in our evening dress. I make a mental note to get Sam to tell me what the film is all about, in case Luther asks me about it later. I know that, with Sam sitting beside me, I’m not going to be able
to concentrate on the screen.

EPILOGUE

Three weeks later

‘So how did it go?’ says Sam.

‘Good, I think!’ I slide into the chair beside him. We’re in Polpo on Beak Street, which is a Venetian-style bar. Sam loves it because they serve Negronis, and an obscure drink called Spritz all’ Aperol. I really like it too – although, to be honest, we could be in Burger King on Tottenham Court Road and I’d be just as ecstatic. ‘They
were really friendly. It’s hard to say, but I think it went well. And the whole why-did-you-leave thing was fine, now that I can say I left of my own accord.’

‘So when will they let you know?’ he says, pouring me a glass of wine. ‘This was the second interview. It’s time for them to make their decision.’

‘Well . . . Caroline said, “Officially, we have another person to see. But unofficially,
when can you start?”’

‘Hey! So you got it! Congratulations.’ He looks delighted.

‘I’ll wait till I get a definite offer. But . . . fingers crossed.’

Sam was the first person I told when I got the interview. He spent hours with me the weekend before, going over interview techniques, firing questions at me and saying things like, ‘You gotta bring your A-game! Bring it!’ I told him he was being
scary, but I was very touched. I can’t imagine Simon ever helping me prepare for an interview.

‘So – you do understand why I don’t want to go back to Paragon?’ I ask him. ‘It’s good to have it as back-up. But . . .’

‘No, I totally get it. You want to strike out on your own and find something you’re passionate about.’ He smiles at me. ‘I think it’s great.’

Sam has come to London to work for
the sister agency of the one he worked for in LA. I get the impression it’s less high-powered what he used to do, but it’s less manic and he’s finding it really interesting. He’s wearing jeans, a faded blue bomber jacket and a white T-shirt that shows the end of his tan. Strangely, he seems to have got younger since he’s arrived. With his BlackBerry no longer permanently attached to his hand and ear
– well, not quite so permanently – he looks much less stressed. He still works very long hours, but he says it’s nothing to the way it was before.

‘So tell me,’ I say teasingly. ‘Are you glad my words of wisdom beside the pool helped you rethink your career?’

‘Hey, don’t get cocky,’ he says. ‘It wasn’t just you, you know.’

Our food arrives. It’s a selection of snacks; gnocchi with duck ragu,
gorgonzola and walnut crostini, and arancini, or rice balls, just like we had in Sicily. We start wolfing it down.

Sam continues, ‘You were right, though. If I’d continued the way I was going, I would have burned out. At some point in Sicily, I started to think, do I really want to spend all my waking hours policing Luther? I think I was having a kind of early midlife crisis. My old co-workers
all think I’m insane – half of them think I’ve been fired, in fact – but I could care less. I heard from Luther today, by the way,’ he adds. ‘He’s coming over again to promote the book soon, so we should all get together.’

‘Mm,’ I say. Somehow, I don’t think that will happen. Luther was happy to see me at the premiere, but now Sam has told him we’re an item, and, apparently, Luther finds it weird,
which I can completely understand.

‘You know what else? He’s met someone.’

‘
Has
he?’ I’m really pleased. I’m so loved-up right now, I want everybody to be happy.

‘Yep. She’s a make-up artist. He met her on the TV show. Her name’s Jenna and she’s Canadian. She sounds like quite a tough cookie, in a good way.’

‘I think that’s what he needs.’

‘Definitely. I was always worried he would go back
to Dominique.’

Sam’s opinion of Dominique is something I’ve learned over the last three weeks. I’ve also learned that he is a wonderful cook – he learned in Italy – and that he hates shopping for clothes. And that he’s very tidy, but he doesn’t mind if I’m messy, and that he and his brother are fanatical about their football team, the Utes – the season is just beginning and Sam’s going to teach
me the words to the very cheesy Utah Fight Song. He’s not remotely bothered by my cardboard squares – to be honest, whenever he’s come home with me, we haven’t had time to notice the squares. He wants to go surfing in Devon, and to go to Venice and a hundred other places, and I think he’s also in danger of being co-opted by Mike’s tag rugby team. I’ve realised he’s frantic to fill the gap that
used to be filled with work, but that’s OK. Anyway, he’s not the only one with hobbies. I’ve finally decided to start taking dance classes.

‘Speaking of Luther . . . check this out.’ Sam produces something: an advance copy of Luther’s book, straight from the printers. We exclaim over it like proud parents for a few minutes, before Sam says, ‘His acknowledgements are at the back. You should read
them.’

I flip to the back, and read out: ‘
I want to thank my agent Sam Newland, who has given me the best nineteen-and-a-half months of his life: Sam, I hope it’s been worthwhile
.’

‘Thanks, man,’ Sam says drily. I skim more names – that’s
nice, he’s mentioned Brian – until I come to my own: ‘
I also want to thank my editor Alice Roberts, who believed in me even when I was totally bullshitting her. Seriously, Alice, I could not – and I also probably would not – have written this book without you
.’

‘Wow. I never knew Luther was so eloquent. Did you?’

‘He might have had some help,’ is all Sam will say.

After dinner, we go for a walk down towards the river. Although I’m wearing a summer dress – the pistachio-green one that Marisa gave me – there’s a definite freshness in the air that
wasn’t there even this time last week.

‘I can’t believe it’s already September,’ I say.

‘I know,’ says Sam. ‘Hey, I hear the fall is a particularly good time to see Paris. What do you think? Depending on when you start your new job,’ he adds.