Chapter 12
The silence was somehow worse than yelling would have been. I pulled one of my favourite blue tops over my just-dried hair, then yanked the door open before she could decide whether to murder me in the hallway, or wait until we were somewhere more private. Her face spelt the word ‘sour’.
“I know, I know, I’m late.”
I beckoned her in, but Eliza shook her head and leaned against the door frame.
I ducked back into my room to grab my phone and bag, did a last check in the mirror, then gave Eliza a grin that I hoped papered over my embarrassment.
“I went for a quick run this morning, just around the block a couple of times, I swear, and then my key card wouldn’t work when I got back. I had to go all the way down to the front desk, and the guy was new and—”
“It’s fine,” Eliza cut me off. “We still have time. I built in a buffer. We’ll call an uber when we’re downstairs.”
I blinked. “Really? No lecture about punctuality and professionalism?”
“Not today.” She turned and headed towards the elevator. “Not after the morning I’ve already had dealing with my dad.”
I shot her a glance. “What’s wrong with your dad? Has he got something to say about what we’re doing today?”
She walked at speed down the hotel hallway, her linen blazer somehow managing to look crisp and irritated, just like her.
Even when she was pissed off though, Eliza had this effortless way of putting herself together: dark jeans that fit perfectly, simple white (and expensive) trainers, and that blazer thrown over a soft grey T-shirt like she’d just grabbed whatever was closest. Except I already knew she hadn’t.
Eliza didn’t do ‘whatever was closest.’ She did ‘carefully curated casual that looks accidental but definitely isn’t. ’
“He had plenty to say, and don’t even get me started on the fact that he called me at 5am, so I am beyond tired.”
“That’s thoughtful.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know.”
“What’s his issue?”
She went to say something, then seemed to think better of it. “Don’t worry about it, he’s not your problem.” Her jaw tightened again, before she painted on a semi-smile. I wasn’t fooled. What had her dad said, and why was she so agitated by it?
However, we didn’t have time to focus on that. We had a pop star to charm.
Eliza appeared to be thinking the same as she snapped her fingers at me. “Remember, I’m doing the talking initially. I’ll warm her up, then you can bring the personal story and really grab her. But please, don’t make any promises we can’t keep.”
“I won’t. Although I have told you before, people respond to openness and honesty.”
“Honesty is not always the best policy.”
It sounded like she was talking from personal experience.
She was silent in the car on the way there, the only sound the sole of her trainer tapping in the footwell as she furiously typed messages on her phone, a perpetual frown on her face every time I looked over.
I had a bad feeling, but couldn’t decide if it was to do with Eliza and her dad, or that today simply had to go right, and there was no real way I could prepare for it more than I already had.
What did I know about talking to an international pop star?
What if she was insufferable, as some reports said?
What if she hated us on sight? What if she couldn’t stand our watches?
My heart scrambled in my chest as all the possibilities of what could go wrong today whirled through my head like a tickertape parade of doom.
I had to pull it together, and inject a little positivity into my day.
All those negative things? They’re what Margot and Max thought was going to happen.
That Playgirl Poppy was going to bugger this up.
I had to focus on the positives, so the negatives didn’t come true.
I wasn’t going to fall into their trap. I was going to be Positive Poppy.
Playgirl could jog on. I patted the watch box I’d brought in my bag.
The Uber dropped us by Central Park. We dodged through a stream of runners as we made our way to the meeting place.
We found Roka exactly where she said she’d be, sitting on a bench near the Bethesda Fountain with a baseball cap pulled low, and glitzy oversized sunglasses that did little to make her less conspicuous.
Or maybe pop stars liked to be a little out there, whatever the situation.
It was weird to me that she wanted to meet up in public in the first place.
In person, she was shorter than expected, but there was something magnetic about her up close, even in her semi-disguise. People who didn’t get near enough to her orbit walked past without a second glance, not knowing that one of the most famous people on the planet was right in front of them.
She’d shot to fame in the past year with an insanely catchy song about getting over a breakup that had gone global.
Showing she was no one-hit wonder, she’d followed it up with two more smash hits.
How much longer would she be able to get away with a baseball cap and sunglasses as a disguise?
Her hair – a modern mullet with skin at the sides, bouffant on top – was normally on show, so perhaps the hat was what threw people off.
“You must be the watch people.” Roka stood and extended a hand.
Her nails were bitten to the quick, but her smile had charm and serious wattage: the type that filled stadiums, and made fans forget their names.
“Thanks for accommodating my need for fresh air. I’ve been in the studio all week, and if I have to sit in another room with fluorescent lighting, I might actually lose it. ”
“No problem at all.” Eliza slipped into her professional mode that made her voice go up half an octave. “We’re just happy you took the time to meet us, aren’t we, Poppy?”
Stunned she’d included me already, I made a honking noise to tell Roka that yes, we were thrilled.
Roka gave me a stare that I fully deserved.
“I’m Eliza, this is Poppy,” Eliza added.
Roka shook our hands, and introduced herself too, like we didn’t know who she was. I liked that.
“Great. I was thinking we could walk? Or maybe rent one of those boats?” Roka gestured towards the lake, where a handful of rowers yanked oars through the water with varying degrees of success.
“I haven’t done anything spontaneous in weeks.
Unless you count a bottle of Patron on my rooftop in the middle of the night with my producer. Which I don’t.”
Eliza’s face didn’t show her panic. Even though I knew she didn’t much care for rowing boats, having been tipped out of one when she was little. “A boat? I’m not sure that’s the best environment—”
“It’s perfect,” I jumped in. “Plus, it sells into our brand of taking time for yourself, right, Eliza?”
The look she gave me could have melted the Statue of Liberty.
I walked up beside her. “If she wants to go on a boat, we should do it,” I whispered.
“I know,” Eliza hissed back.
“You could stay on the bench. I’ll go with her.”
But she gave me a very firm shake of the head. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
Twenty minutes later, I took a deep breath on the jetty as the young attendant held out his hand to help us in. I asked if he could look after our bags, just in case a freak storm capsized us.
The only person looking thrilled about this was Roka. But if she was thrilled, I was, too. “Business is all about making people like you.” I was heeding my mum’s words.
Roka climbed in, ignoring the attendant’s offered hand. “We can take it from here.” She slipped the young guy a note which must have been more than normal judging from his grin.
“If you’re sure.”
Once the guy was gone, she carried on talking.
“You should probably know, I don’t usually do big-brand partnerships.
My manager, Beth, screens out most of the corporate stuff.
” She held out her hand to help Eliza down.
“But you’re different. Family business, right?
Plus, Beth mentioned you’re both queer, which honestly makes everything easier.
I’m so tired of working with straight men who think they need to explain my own demographic to me. ”
The boat wobbled as Eliza picked her way to the far seat, clearly wishing she could levitate and not rock the boat. I swear she was also holding her breath, just in case that helped.
Roka turned to me, but I somehow missed her hand and stumbled into the boat.
“You good?” She grabbed my arm to steady me. It did the trick.
“Like I’m on solid ground,” I replied, trying not to show how rattled I was. I sat before I dared speak again. “Your manager researched our personal lives?”
“Honey, my manager researches everyone’s personal lives. It’s her job. I don’t want to get into a boat with a couple of stalkers, do I?”
Roka settled onto the rowing bench and grabbed the oars with the confidence of someone who’d done this many times before. “Now, tell me why I want to wear your watches. I got the photos you sent and they look great, but I want to know the real reason I can’t wait to strap one on.”
Interesting choice of words.
Eliza opened her mouth to launch into her pitch, just as Roka steered us away from the dock with smooth, powerful strokes that made it look effortless. The boat cut through the water like an Olympic duck.
“Voss Watches has been family-owned for generations,” Eliza began, trying to find her rhythm while the boat rocked gently. “We specialise in timepieces that combine traditional craftsmanship with modern innovation—”
“Hold up,” Roka interrupted. “That’s the corporate speak. What’s the real story?”
I licked my lips, and glanced at Eliza. When she hesitated, I jumped in.
“The real story is I spent 15 years running away from this company because I thought it robbed me of my family, and because I thought watches were old news. But after my mum and gran died, I realised I want to keep the company going. But to do that, I need to make it appeal to a new, fresh, younger audience. I want to reinvent the brand. I want to make watches cool again.”