Chapter 19
Emma
The man has lost his mind. My ears are burning pinker and pinker.
My eyes on stalks. But unfortunately, Louise woke up.
Has embraced his half-baked plan, added in her own ingredients, and we are full steam ahead.
Me? I am a prop. I am the thing the whole plan hinges on.
If I can’t get my shit together—his words—I let everyone down.
His plan is simple. Lean into it. In fact, no leaning. Embrace it. Marry it. I think he actually said ‘fuck its brains out.’
So in my best and most fanciest dress, I am herded towards the bar.
My smile fixed in place. Louise having sorted out my make-up.
My hands were shaking so much I couldn’t manage it.
My elbow is gripped by Jude Greystone. It’s a cross between showing support and supporting me, holding me up in case my legs buckle. Or I try to bolt.
He’s adamant everyone will want to talk to me.
That I need to be prepared and happy to quip my answers.
Talk openly about the technical hitch. And the now infamous upcoming hen party.
Laugh at my own misfortune. What I felt like.
He’s prepped me like an interviewee, taken me through questions and answers. My brain is whirling round non-stop.
Louise, Ben, and Holly have gone off to find party type favours, ie.
sex shop items to give out on my stall tomorrow.
Out have gone the powerpacks and notebooks.
Jude thinks it will be funnier if we add bullet-type vibrators and cock rings.
I squeezed my eyes shut at the menu of goods he was instructing a very knowledgeable Louise to go buy.
He rang his brother, who was busy clearing the haters and ramping up the positives.
Answering messages and generally giving me free PR on the internet.
I feel like I’ve stepped into the tornado, and I’m swirling around in the vortex.
I can’t wait to get into the eye, give myself some reprieve before I’m smashed back into the torrid wind and rain.
I’m even going for dinner. With him! Well, and ten of his closest business friends and associates.
A grill on the river, booked for later tonight.
Prepped for that—who’s going, who’s who, what they all do…
They’re all CEOs, the head honchos. The owners of the multinationals.
The people everyone wants access to, but never gets.
Well, between me, Louise, my malfunctioning laptop, my crazy mother, and an anatomically correct life-size male sex toy, I’m in. I’ve got a seat at the table. I’ve got their ears for a few hours, and I intend to make the most of it. With Jude’s help of course.
I take a deep breath and pause. Jude stops, places his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him. His brown eyes bore into mine. His beautiful face is deadpan.
“Everyone in this room will want to meet you.” He nods his head towards the bar.
“Everyone will want to talk to you. Anyone who thinks you would run and hide better get fucking ready.” He pushes a few tendrils from my face, and my breath stutters in my throat.
His face cracks into a wide smile. Is this supposed to be helping?
I’m now panting as this man hits me with all his masculine wiles.
“Show them who you are. Show them that woman who stood on that stage and did the mic drop of the century.” His eyes are flashing now.
“Show them Emma Fucking Lincoln.” He leans forwards and my eyes close.
If he kisses me I’ll pass out. “Breathe, Emma. You have so got this.” I open my eyes to find his dimples have made an appearance.
He’s out gunned me. I’m still dazed as he leads me into the lion's den to either eat or be eaten alive.
I dine out on raw meat. I am a lioness, the men and women in this bar my prey.
I smile, I laugh. I’m inundated with people wanting to meet me.
I’ve posed for more selfies tonight than in my whole life.
My phone is pinging with alerts. I know it’s my name.
Jude put it on so I could see what he and his brother were up to.
He and his CEO friend Sebastian Morewood are chaperoning me. I notice Jude stepping out to speak to Louise, Holly, and Ben. They all reappear a half hour later, dressed to the nines. Taking up the mantle of keeping my legend going.
“Ten minutes before we leave for dinner. Louise and the team will stay in here, visible all night. Getting the narrative out there.” He smiles proudly at me.
“You’re doing great. You were magnificent, and you’re fucking terrific now.
They’re eating out of your hand. Taxi in ten.
” He checks out my face, making sure I’m computing.
I can’t quite believe what's happened. “Have you noticed how everyone is talking as if they were there? I know for certain at least ten of them weren’t, but everyone wants to be in on it. Everyone wants to tell the tale. Let them. But let it be your tale, not one someone else got in first.” He squeezes my hand, and I squeak out I need the loo.
I set about trying to find the toilets. Up and downstairs, round a corridor. I’m just teetering on my heels towards the doors, when the male toilet doors open and out steps Terry, his lips curling instantly.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the woman of the hour.
Or is it how much you charge per hour.” My mouth drops at the crass insult.
“I’ve already let Nigel know you’ve blown up your business all by yourself.
We won’t have to tout for any of your clients anymore.
After that fiasco of incompetence, they’ll be begging us to take them off your grubby hands. ”
He’s gotten really close to me now. I can smell his sickly aftershave, his sweat underneath it. His cheap suit hangs off his frame, not even fitted correctly. His balding head has sweat beads on it. But he is taller than me, and he tries to use that to intimidate me.
Me of a few hours ago would have run for the hills.
No way is he stealing this from current me.
No way will I allow him to drag me back to the depths of despair I wallowed in for a few hours after I strode off that stage straight into my room.
Tears scorching my cheeks as I thought I had blown up my life.
This me has got my ‘shit together’. Rode all the questions like a pro.
Pithy and smart were my comebacks. This Emma is not letting it happen.
“You know, Terry, at one time I might have believed you. At one time I might have thought you knew best. But no more. I may have had a few technical difficulties today, but it’s me they’re asking for selfies, not you.
It’s me who’s going for dinner with all the CEOs from all the multinationals that are here tonight, not you. ” I stand and smile at him.
“Only because they think you’re a whore, and you might spice up their sex life.
I might just have to let them know how far off the mark that is.
Nigel would take anyone over you. In fact, he did.
Every fucking weekend. He said it was like bedding a piece of wood.
Or cardboard. Dull, lifeless. How he had three children with you is anyone’s guess.
Must have been a slow week for him those three weeks. ”
From his nasty smile, he thinks he’s won. But I smile at him. It tears at my skin, but I do it. I see the slight falter in his eyes. He doesn’t understand why I haven’t cried. I probably did a few years ago. But no more.
“Terry, I’d love to stay and listen to more of your bitter and jealous insults, but my taxi is about to arrive for me to go to dinner.
Stay out of my life, stay out of my business.
You might need to focus more on your own business after tonight.
” I wink at him, and he looks as if he’s going to come for me.
“Taxi’s here, Emma.” His voice wafts down the stairs, filling up the whole room.
I look upwards, and he’s halfway down the staircase, his graceful descent like a panther with its prey.
I see his eyes fixed on me. His smile painted on.
He looks furious, but trying to keep a lid on it.
“I’ll wait for you at the top of the stairs. Everything okay?”
I’m glad he hasn’t steamed in and started shouting at Terry. Although it would be deserved, he’s allowing me time to sort this myself. Pretending he doesn’t know who Terry is.
As his eyes shift to Terry, there is no recognition in them at all. No hello. No how are you, nice to see you again. Nothing. You’re irrelevant, he’s telling him.
Terry looks about to blow a gasket. He hates being ignored, especially by someone he considers a peer. A fellow director. A partner at the Chamber of Commerce. The boys club. Jude CEO Greystone.
I stride past Terry into the loo, slam the door shut, and drop my head onto the shut door.
Count to ten. Take deep breaths and sort myself out.
A few ladies come in, and as I exit, they are all over me.
They’re English, asking for selfies, talking about the tech stuff and then giggling at the party items. They all want to come, my hen do is turning into the party of the century.
My mother is the star of the show. And in this moment, I’m happy for her to have the limelight, too.