Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
By Thursday afternoon, there’s no sign of the suit.
I pause outside Ivan’s before going in for my latest shift to check my phone yet again. There hasn’t been a single peep from Richard, though he’s hardly the peeping sort from my limited experience. I mean, I don’t know for certain.
But I’m freaking out because there’s no suit, and with no suit, there will be no wedding for me to go to, and I’ll disappoint my friends.
Florian said he would see to making arrangements to return it—with Richard synonymous with arrangements—and I’m supposed to leave tomorrow around lunchtime for Brighton. Presumably with something to wear.
As the saying goes, desperate times call for desperate measures.
I scroll through my contacts, find DE LIGT INVESTMENT HOLDINGS on my phone, and call.
Because it’s slightly less daunting to call Richard than Florian.
And Richard would be dealing with suit logistics anyway like it’s the next mission to the moon.
“De Ligt Investment Holdings. Richard Walker speaking. How may I help?” Richard’s voice, cool and not exactly inspiring much faith in the help part. Or, at least, any theoretical help that he might or might not offer me.
“Hi. It’s Matty Gowen-Smith calling.”
“Ah. Mathias.”
Is that a good sign or a bad sign that he recognizes me right off? Probably bad if I’m getting the Mathias treatment. Though, to be fair, he did call me Mathias last time too.
“I’m calling about my suit that I need to pick up. Since you have Florian’s suit now. Or presumably, Florian has his suit back.”
“Mr. De Ligt is in possession of his suit,” he affirms.
“Could I have my suit back too, please?”
“I do not have your suit. Why would you think I have your suit?” Richard’s voice is cool. Sharp.
More importantly—wait, he doesn’t have my suit? “Why not? Florian said you would have it dry-cleaned and returned to me.”
“I’m afraid I’m not aware of any suits other than the one you returned recently.” His voice is ice.
Undaunted, I keep going, because of Paul and Caden’s wedding and the fear of letting them down hitting harder than any prospect of Richard disemboweling me.
“It’s a suit swap. Like a prisoner swap.
I mean, not that I know anything about prisoner swaps.
Anyway, I need mine swapped back. Because I have a wedding to go to on the weekend, and it’ll be a disaster if I don’t have it back. Please.”
I’m not beyond begging, if that’s what it takes.
“As I told you, I only have had the suit that you returned last week. Which belongs to Mr. Ligt.”
This is terrible news. Why haven’t I heard about the suit? Why doesn’t Richard know about it? “Well… if you see my suit, would you let me know?”
“I will. Good afternoon.”
The line goes dead in my hand. And I have a disaster lined up in front of me for tomorrow. Shit, I’m going to be into my overdraft by tomorrow.
When I check my phone during my break, there’s a text message. Not from Richard or Florian, but from another uni friend, Johan, who’s meant to be my date for the wedding.
Bad news. I won’t be able to make it back in time. Still away for work and I’m going to be here into next week. Nightmare
I groan and text back.
What’s happened?
We can’t get the network up and running, total server meltdown. We’re doing what we can to cover but it’s sensitive and I can’t say more than that
Johan does mysterious things on computers for mysterious people. He’s like a computer whisperer, having a knack for troubleshooting. It’s got to be bad if he has to work through the weekend. God knows if he’s doing IT support for oligarchs with their secret art stashes.
I’m very sorry. I’ll text Caden and Paul to send my regrets
Well, shit. Not only am I missing a suit, but I’m missing my date to help me navigate the wedding as a single person. Johan’s part of our big friend group from Brighton at uni, and we have an agreement to have each other’s backs for events as we can. Except when it’s impossible. Like now.
It’s okay, I understand. It’s not your fault. I’ll figure something out
Double disaster ahead.
By the time I get to my meal break in the early evening, I’m sitting alone in the small break room with a tea and a sandwich, staring at my blank phone.
No messages from Richard, who’s probably gone home like any sensible day worker.
Unless Florian has him working overtime on something.
And speaking of Florian, desperate times call for desperate measures.
I start writing a text.
Hi, it’s Matty again. Just following up on the suit because I need for a wedding this weekend and I’m leaving London tomorrow
Do I tell him that Richard didn’t know anything about it? Probably not. Probably best not to throw Richard under the bus and get on his even worse side. He may be an efficient assistant, but he’s hardly a role model for warm customer service.
And I wait. And wait.
Nothing. Still nothing by the end of my shift, and I sigh. Well, shit.
I mean, I don’t know what I expected. It’s totally fair to be ghosted by a millionaire businessman, right?
Florian’s busy, I tell myself sternly. Possibly counting his money. It’s the rich man’s equivalent of staying in to wash his hair. He doesn’t have time to worry about suits. Florian’s probably forgotten all about it. And me too.
Shit. This means tomorrow morning, I’m going to have to go panic rent a suit from my overdraft, with money I don’t have, at the last minute and dash to Brighton in time to meet my friends.
There’s a rehearsal and making sure everything’s ready for the next day.
And I’m so far from ready. All I have are my leather dress shoes, and I can’t just show up wearing those. So, into the overdraft I go.
I rub my temples for a moment, put my phone into my pocket, and load the dishwasher before heading back to work.
And my phone stays silent.