Transplanting Holly Oakwood (14 page)

“I guess,” she said, chewing on her lower lip.

“But?”

“I’m worried he’ll tell Brittany.”

“Would she laugh at you?” asked Tessa.

“Yes. She’s a terrible gossip and thrives on other people’s misfortunes.” She expelled air into her cheeks and stared ahead vacantly before continuing. “But none of the women in the office like her. If she tells them I’ll get the sympathy vote.”

“I think Charlie’s right, you need a strategy,” said Tessa seriously. “Move forward and pretend none of this ever happened. Sounds like Guy’s away from the office a lot and you won’t see much of him.”

“Yup.”

“Go in tomorrow as if none of this happened, and for heaven’s sake, don’t tell Brittany anything. Hopefully Guy isn’t such a plonker as Charlie thinks he is, and he won’t tell either.”

“Hopefully not.”

“Keep your head down and your bum up.” Tessa stifled a giggle. “Figuratively I mean. Show them how good your work is. That’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is,” she said slowly. “What do you think, Charlie?”

“I’m with Tessa. Make this work for you and hang in there.” He squeezed her hand. “Be cool to him, darling, and he’ll soon realise there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“Thanks, you’re both right. I need to put this behind me.” She looked thoughtful. “From tomorrow my mantra will be professional, cool, detached. Professional, cool, detached.” She minced around the living room as Charlie and Tessa cheered her on. “Stuff Guy Cutler. I’ll show him I don’t give a damn.”

She arrived at the office bright and early the following morning, chanting her mantra.

Professional, cool, detached.

Professional, cool, detached.

Charlie and Tessa were right, Guy’s opinion of her didn’t matter. As long as she did her job to the best of her ability and conducted herself professionally they’d have no reason to get rid of her. If Guy did tell Brittany the awful details of their previous meetings it would be more a reflection on him than her, but for the moment she’d work on the assumption he’d be too much of a gentleman to tell.

If the noise coming from Brittany’s office next door was anything to go by, professional, cool and detached wasn’t the space Brittany was in. Cupboard doors banged, heavy objects were slammed onto the desk, and foul language carried through the walls. Holly winced and decided it might be an idea to avoid Brittany at all costs.

Ten minutes later her boss appeared at her office door, and casually leaned against the doorframe. Her mouth was warped wide, like a barracuda she’d seen in a fishing book of her father’s. “Morning, Holly. Settling in?” she asked pleasantly.

“Thanks, yes I am.”

“I was wondering how you and Guy know each other.”

“We don’t.”

Brittany’s green eyes narrowed. “Guy said the two of you had met before.”

“Yes, we met at a function recently.”

Brittany considered this for a moment, then moved into the office and stood close enough for Holly to smell her mint-fresh toothpaste. “I usually go to all the diplomatic functions with Guy. Which one was it?”

“It was a benefit dinner for the Culver City Chamber Orchestra.”

“The Culver City Chamber Orchestra,” Brittany repeated slowly, shrugging her shoulders. “Why were you there? All those invitations come straight to me,” she said, tapping her collarbone to underscore the point. “I’ll have to have a word with Ann.”

“It wasn’t a work event. I was there with my friend Charlie.”

“Oh, I see,” said Brittany in a conciliatory tone. “Charlie’s your boyfriend?”

“He’s a good friend who’s helping me settle in.”

Brittany scrutinised her carefully and then changed the subject abruptly. “I have some work for you to do. Have you finished the flower report?”

“You must be joking.”

“Joking?” asked Brittany in a deceptively soft, low voice. “I can assure you I’m not joking. I told you the report had to be finished in two weeks. Today to be precise.”

“It was a tight deadline. If you’d given it to me earlier it might be finished. I’m still waiting for people to phone me back.”

“Make sure you chase them. Today.” Holly nodded, but Brittany hadn’t finished. “The clients will be here in a week and they want to see the report before they arrive.”

Holly’s fingernails drove into the soft flesh of her hand, but all she did was nod again, scared that if she spoke her anger would bubble over.

“I’ve got a couple of other things for you to do, because I’m busy with Consular matters. I want you to go to the LA Gift Fair.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“The second job’s more challenging.” Brittany laid a manila folder in front of her. “I need you to find a buyer for this revolutionary sleeping bag.”

She took the brochure from Brittany in disbelief. “Revolutionary? It’s laughable. Why would anyone buy a two-legged sleeping bag?”

Brittany glared at her. “It’s not our job to make judgement calls on our clients’ products. Our job is to research the market.” She extended a tanned arm and admired the gold bracelet which slid gracefully down to her wrist, then studied her fingernails, before tapping them on the desk in a staccato fashion. “More to the point, your job’s to see what the market thinks.”

“Waste of time in this case,” she muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?” asked Brittany sharply.

“I said it’ll take a bit of time.”

“It might do, but I want you to find a buyer for these bags.”

“That’ll be difficult.” She shook her head emphatically. “Let’s face it, they’re a gimmick.”

“We have to do the best we can for our clients.”

“What’s the deadline?”

“No rush on this one. The client hasn’t started full manufacturing yet, as they want to establish their market first,” explained Brittany.

As Brittany left her office Holly shook her head in disgust, hoping Brittany wouldn’t turn and see the gesture. Trying to sell a two-legged sleeping bag in a market as sophisticated as the United States was a ridiculous task. She’d be laughed at by every sportsgoods buyer she spoke to, which wouldn’t be good for her reputation going forwards. She threw the brochure down, and picked up the other folder. The Gift Fair would be more her style and would get her out of the office, and more importantly, out of Guy’s way. Wouldn’t leave much time though for one final follow up with the dreaded flower importers. She sighed. It was going to a long and trying week.

Thank God for MapQuest. She peered at the driving directions, hoping they’d save her from getting stuck in a jam in rush-hour traffic. But to her relief the traffic wasn’t as heavy as she’d expected and fifteen minutes after seeing the sign for Downtown she was parking the car and walking to the Gift Fair.

Housed in a twelve storied building crammed with furniture, art, and knick knacks, the trade show was buzzing with activity. She worked her way up and through the first six floors of the building, and by mid-morning she was laden with shopping bags. If the United States was the land of the consumer, the LA Gift Fair was its capital, and by God she was doing it justice. She ran over her purchases in her mind to make sure she hadn’t left a bag behind in one of the shops:

–  Seven bottles of Linden Leaves bath gel

–  Seven tubes of matching body moisturiser

– A beaded handbag

–  Three pairs of art deco earrings, one pierced, two clip-on

–  Two sets of coffee mugs

–  Personalised writing paper

–  A case for her mobile phone

–  Two diamante-studded dog collars.

By midday she was exhausted and hungry, and hobbled to a small sandwich bar for a bite of lunch.

“How can I help you, pretty lady?” asked the man behind the counter in a thick Italian accent, winking at her.

“Salami, cheese and cucumber on ciabatta.” It was nice to be noticed, even if the man was so old he’d been making sandwiches before she was born. “And a cappuccino please, with plenty of sugar.”

“Take a seat, lady,” he said, gesturing to a table outside. She shuffled over, dropped her bags around her and sat down gratefully, closing her eyes to enjoy the sunshine. From inside the sandwich bar, the hiss of the espresso machine punctuated the sound of passing traffic and blaring horns. The bitter odour of freshly pressed beans wafted into the street, masking the fumes from car exhausts. It occurred to her she could be anywhere – at her favourite coffee bar in Soho, in Auckland, or even Italy. The best things, like the smell of good coffee, are the same everywhere.

She heard the waiter approaching and opened her eyes. That was quick, she’d only placed her order two minutes ago. The waiter wasn’t the one who’d winked at her, and she squinted into the sun, attempting to get him into sharper focus.

“Hello, Holly,” said Guy. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“Guy, er, I mean Mr Cutler,” she said, attempting a nonchalant, upbeat tone but missing the mark.

“Please call me Guy,” he said, smiling pleasantly, and she wondered if he was imagining her bum hanging out of her evening dress.

“Did Brittany ask you to cover the Gift Fair?” He gestured to the piles of shopping strewn around the table. “Normally she wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Yes, she said she’s flat out helping you with Consular matters. I’m on my lunch break,” she said, a defensive tone creeping into her voice. “I’ve been quite busy this morning.”

Their eyes met over her overflowing bags and Guy laughed out loud. “I can see that. Don’t worry, I’m not checking up on you,” he teased. “I was in the area having lunch with my sister-in-law.” She sighed in relief. Presumably if he’d already eaten he wouldn’t hang around. “But I could murder a coffee. Mind if I join you?” He pointed to the seat beside her and she nodded unenthusiastically.

“Um, yes, I mean no,” she said, wondering if she could slip inside and cancel her order without him noticing.

To her dismay the waiter arrived with her lunch and pulled out a chair for Guy, who sat down and ordered coffee. She bit into her sandwich dejectedly.

“Enjoying LA?” he asked and she wished she didn’t have a mouth full of salami and bits of cucumber stuck between her teeth. Hastily she swallowed, choking when she tried to answer him.

“Here you go,” he said, filling her glass with water.

She blushed, wishing she was anywhere but here. Did he feel the same way? He must have been horrified to have come around the corner and seen her sitting there, but was too good mannered to try and make an escape. Or maybe he enjoyed seeing her discomfort, and wanted to prolong it to torture her.

“Thanks,” she said, the lump of food lodging uncomfortably behind her sternum. He looked at her expectantly, and it occurred to her she hadn’t answered his question.

“Not sure to be honest. I don’t know a lot of people here, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m homesick.” She laughed nervously. “But I’m sure it will come right.”

“Bear with it, things will get better. I can remember my first posting to Dubai when I was in my early twenties. Like you, I didn’t know anyone and missed home terribly. Was ready to pack it in and head home.”

“What happened?”

“No job to go back to, so I stuck it out. Best thing I ever did, because then I was posted to Paris, where I met Sarah, my late wife.” A pensive look crossed his features.

“Are you close to your sister-in-law?” she asked to change the subject.

“Quite close. She’s Sarah’s half-sister, and a number of years older than she was, but they were good friends, and so are we.”

“Does she work around here?”

Guy laughed. “If you can call it work. She fundraises for charities.”

“Sounds more fun than a regular job.”

“Depends on your regular job,” he said with a crooked smile, and she tried not to blush at the implication she didn’t like her job. “Family money,” he continued. “Olivia’s never needed to work.”

“Her husband’s wealthy?”

His eyes hardened. “Warren’s successful, but Olivia’s the one who’s well off. Inherited it from her father.”

“Nice. You don’t like her husband?”

“Let’s say I care for Olivia, and have my reservations about Warren.” He took a long sip of his coffee. His tone, and the set of his jaw, warned her the subject was closed.

They sat in silence for awhile. To her surprise, companionable silence. Eventually they spoke again and this time the conversation flowed freely, until Guy tapped his watch, frowning. “I’ve got to go. You heading back to the Gift Fair, or the office?”

“Back to the Gift Fair.” She gestured to her bags. “Not quite shopped out yet.”

“Enjoy.” He reached for his wallet and signalled to the waiter. “I’m away from the office for the next two weeks. But we’re having a party at the Residence, Friday fortnight,” he said tentatively.

“Residence?”

“Consular Residence, where I live. It’s a work thing, we get the clients over a couple of times a year to say thank you and to celebrate their successes. Why don’t you come along?” he asked.

“Thanks,” she said, “I’d like to.”

“Good,” he answered. “Ann will fill you in on the details.” He touched her hand. “See you then.”

She stirred her coffee as she watched him walk away. He wasn’t stuck up and pompous after all, he was friendly and easy to talk to, not to mention a total babe. She’d have to make an effort for the party.

Back at the Gift Fair she decided to see if she could locate any sports goods buyers, to try to interest someone in the two-legged sleeping bag, ridiculous as it was. She hadn’t seen any sports or camping stands this morning on the lower floors, so she’d start at level seven and work her way upwards. She also wanted to check out the antique stores which she’d been told were on the upper floors of the building. She’d always appreciated fine furniture and had scoured London’s markets for pieces for the flat, shipping everything to LA except the bed she’d once shared with Tom. She’d have to buy a new one, because as comfortable as Tessa’s foldout couch was, it was only a temporary measure.

On the eighth floor two sports goods stands were next to each other. She approached the amiable looking man on the first stand nervously.