45. FORTY-FIVE
Poppy was busy, as usual, but she kept one eye on the clock, half her mind across town, wondering how Roscoe was doing. A last-minute introduction with one of BlacktonGold’s unicorn clients was the last thing he needed right now. And he had a video call scheduled soon with a big US tech firm punting for investment. Would he be back in time? She could probably put it through to his phone instead, have him take it in the car on the way back. They could email their presentation—
Her mobile phone lit up with a notification where it lay on her desk by her keyboard. She grabbed it, thinking it might be him, but it was only a new email to her personal account. She put the phone down, then grabbed it again as the sender’s name in the email preview snagged her attention.
Harshini Singh.
As in, Harshini Singh of the private equity firm Poppy had sent her CV to the other week. She had applied to courses, yes, on that long afternoon at Roscoe’s flat, fired up with determination and hope, fired up by Roscoe’s words, his voice in her head telling her she had every reason to feel confident. She had worked on her CV, had applied to courses—the long, slow route to get to where she needed to go. But she had also gathered all her courage and sent off her CV and, more importantly, the supporting portfolio of work she had created—had flung them, wincing in terror, at the list of companies she had put together.
The list was Roscoe’s idea—not directly. She hadn’t told him. But a while ago—after that meeting with Elliott Carter-Hall—he had asked her to put together a list of firms with strong ethical options—ones with a focus on environmental or socially responsible funds. In compiling the list, Poppy had come to realise that some of those small activist firms had more diverse staff, with more diverse backgrounds. (She had looked them all up). If there was anywhere that might give her CV a chance, it was one of those. And also… Roscoe’s voice had been in her mind again, from that afternoon he had first found her working on her CV, the day she had shown him her work for the first time. Pick a speciality investment area, he’d said. It’s easier to get noticed. But pick one you love. Pick something green. Something that won’t dirty your soul. He’d said it with a laugh. She suspected now that it was bitter hindsight.
In the end, she had been too embarrassed to tell Roscoe about the applications. Because it would most likely come to nothing. It definitely would come to nothing. No one ever got anywhere with speculative applications. Not in such a competitive industry. But here was an email from Harshini Singh…
She opened it, heart pounding.
We would like to arrange an initial telephone interview…
Poppy wasn’t given to squealing, but she almost squealed then. An interview? She had an interview! She leapt to her feet, remembered Roscoe wasn’t around, and headed to Adjoa’s office instead, phone in hand.
Fortunately, Liz wasn’t there, but she found Adjoa at her desk. “I owe you big time for checking over my CV the other week. Look at this!” She thrust her phone at Adjoa and the woman’s face started to beam as she read the email.
“Nice work, Poppy.”
Poppy glanced around. “Don’t tell Liz, OK? It’s only a first-round interview. Chances are, I won’t get anywhere. And I’ll be back in here soon when Roscoe gets his permanent EA.”
Adjoa rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m not going to tell. But…” She winked. “You can buy me a drink at your leaving party.”
Poppy laughed. “Of course I will. But don’t count on it happening.”
She took her phone back, grinning again as she read the email for the fifth time, butterflies starting to kick in. “Can you help me practise? If we get lunch this week, can you fire a load of interview questions at me?”
“Why don’t you ask your boss? If there’s anyone who can help you prepare for this, it’s Roscoe Blackton.”
“But… I mean… He’s my boss. I can’t tell him about this.”
Adjoa just gave her a flat look, and the blush on Poppy’s face was scalding.
“Something tells me,” said Adjoa dryly, “that he won’t mind.”
“Erm,” was the reply Poppy’s brain managed to conjure. With everything else going on, she and Roscoe hadn’t actually discussed just how secret their relationship was meant to be. But ‘pretty damn secret while he was still officially her boss’ would have been Poppy’s guess.
“Right.” She nodded, aiming for brisk professionalism. “I’ll maybe see if he has five minutes.”
She turned to go, pretending not to notice Adjoa’s amusement, just as Liz appeared in the doorway. There was something wrong with her face. It was grim. A bad news sort of face. Poppy’s stomach fell.
“Poppy,” said Liz. “We need you in George’s office. Now, please.”
Roscoe’s phone rang as he got out of the car and walked back into the BlacktonGold foyer. Elliott Carter-Hall. Great, just what he needed right now, a grilling from his family nemesis about BG’s lack of ethical everything.
He answered the call, waving for Aubrey to go ahead as he put the phone to his ear. He stepped back onto the street. “Elliott. Good afternoon.”
“This is my one and only good guy moment, so please don’t make me regret it.”
“OK…?”
“Your afternoon is about to get really shitty. I’m calling to let you know so you at least have some warning. Though knowing Joseph, he’s probably already contacted your PR people. He likes to do it just before the story drops. Gives him a sense of being not a total bastard so he can maybe get to sleep at night and dream his vicious, self-righteous little dreams.”
“Elliott… Mind telling me what you’re on about?”
“There’s a story being published in the papers tomorrow, maybe online this afternoon, about nepotism and sex-for-favours at BlacktonGold. The gist of it is that you got voted in to your role due to your father strong-arming the board. And that you’re a chip off the old nepotistic block and have been handing out jobs to your fuckbuddies. Lucky you, Roscoe. It’s your turn in the sun as cannon fodder for the chattering masses.”
Roscoe pinched his forehead, his pacing back-and-forth on the pavement outside the office taking an abrupt turn and picking up speed. “Jesus Christ. I know you hate my family, but this is fucking petty.”
“Did you not hear me? It’s not me. Not my paper. It’s barely even fucking news. I personally was coming after you about greenwashing. But everyone’s had this particular story for weeks. At least we were building it into a big exposé on the old boy’s network in City finance. But everyone’s been sitting on it, waiting for a slow enough news day to make it worthwhile printing. Although that’s still debatable. It’s probably only your girlfriend’s job offer that made it worth printing at all. Gives it that nice personal touch.”
Roscoe stopped pacing. “What?”
“This Poppy Fields—your EA. You know. The one you’re sleeping with. Pretty. Red hair. Brains. Ring a bell?”
“How do you—? Why is she mixed up in this?”
“Because rumour has it she’s moving to LibertyBrooks. You’ve heard of them, I presume?”
“Yes…”
“Of course you have. Given Harshini Singh, your old MBA mentor and good friend is their head fund manager. The same Harshini Singh who is the eldest sister of Vikram Singh, one of your brother Hugo’s closest friends. Is it feeling cosy, Roscoe? Are you seeing the connections? And do you see why your girlfriend—a lowly Executive Assistant slash Administrative Assistant—going to work for Harshini as a Junior Analyst might raise a few eyebrows?”
“But… It isn’t true. Poppy isn’t moving anywhere. And I haven’t spoken to Harshini in months.”
“Well, an insider at LibertyBrooks has apparently said enough to make it as good as true.”
“None of this is true. I haven’t been giving out jobs. My father didn’t…” He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing again. “Shit. Even if my father did—”
“Look, I’m going to cut you off there before you say something I feel obliged to write down in my little notebook. Basically, Roscoe, I don’t give a fuck if it’s true or not. Don’t defend yourself to me. Get a libel lawyer if you want, but I don’t care about you or your life. I called because…” Elliott sighed. “Don’t even ask me what freak of generosity inspired this phone call. I don’t want to think about it. I’ve given you fair warning. That’s about all I can do. You’re so welcome.”
“Yeah. Fantastic.”
“It’s been a blast as always, Blackton. Let’s hope never to speak again.”
Elliott cut the call and Roscoe ran to the lifts. He needed to speak to Poppy.
“Why does George need to see me?” Poppy asked Liz as she followed the woman to George’s office. It was only a short walk, not long enough for Liz to do anything other than press her lips firmly together and say, “George will explain.”
George Blackton. Roscoe’s father.
Her stomach twisted. Probably not everyone on the open plan floor behind was staring at her as she followed Liz to the door, but it definitely felt like it. Surely this could only be about one thing. Her and Roscoe. Maybe Mabel had said something after all?
Roscoe’s father was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window. He turned as she and Liz entered the room, his face as grim as Liz’s but far more angry. He made a curt gesture to one of the seats near the window but remained standing as Poppy, legs growing wobbly, sat down.
George Blackton said nothing for a moment but examined Poppy with a hard glitter in his eye. Should she say something? But what? Just as she was about to open her mouth, he spoke.
“A journalist contacted our PR department a short time ago. His paper will be publishing a story tomorrow about BlacktonGold. A story in which you feature, Poppy Fields.”
At least he knew her name now.
“Apparently congratulations are in order,” he added.
“Oh?” said Poppy, at a loss. Congratulations? About her and Roscoe?
“It seems you are leaving us to work for LibertyBrooks.”
“Erm. Well… It’s just an interview…” She darted a look at Liz who was sitting across the room. But the woman’s face was unreadable. It wasn’t illegal to apply for a new job. She couldn’t get in trouble over that, surely?
“What I’m curious about, Miss Fields,” asked George, “is the role my son played in securing you this interview.”
“Oh… He didn’t. I mean, he doesn’t even know. I didn’t tell him I was applying.”
George Blackton’s gaze narrowed. “Miss Fields, tell me. Are you in a relationship with my son?”
Poppy blushed, which was probably answer enough. But she found something inside herself bristling rather than withering under George Blackton’s stare. “Is that any of your business?”
“My business? My son. And you. Both of you my employees? Yes, Miss Fields, I think it is very much my business.”
“This is what you’ve called me in here to find out?”
“To get to the bottom of these rumours. To find out exactly what you have lured my son into doing.”
“Lured?”
Across the room, Liz sat forwards. “George, I must advise that HR be present for a discussion of—”
“You can leave, Liz,” he interrupted her. “After all, it seems this is turning into a family matter. I’m guessing you have no problem blurring the professional and the personal, Miss Fields?”
Liz stayed where she was, meeting Poppy’s eyes with a frown. “Poppy is officially my report. I will stay as her representative.”
Poppy flashed her a look of thanks, feeling guilty. From the expression on George’s face, his loyal EA’s disobedience was unlikely to go unpunished.
“It didn’t take you long to get your claws in, did it?” George accused her now, apparently abandoning the questions for outright attack. “A few weeks as his EA, draping yourself over his desk, and you’ve already got him tapping his contacts for you. Did you even stop to think about how this would affect his reputation?”
“I haven’t asked him for anything. I’ve already told you, he didn’t know I was applying for those jobs.”
George scoffed. “Do you seriously think anyone is going to believe you got that interview on your own merit? You’re a glorified administrative assistant! You photocopy and file and look pretty in a skirt!”
“George!” interrupted Liz across the room. “This is completely out of order.”
But he ignored her, face red. “You made a mistake targeting my son. You will get nothing more from him. Not a penny. Not a single word in your favour. You are fired from BlacktonGold, without reference. You will leave immediately and get back to whatever East End gutter you crawled out of.”
He shouted the last part. He shouted it so loudly that no one noticed Roscoe standing in the open doorway.