Chapter 4
Chapter Four
A llie sat nervously in the glass-roofed atrium of the Brinkman’s building and tried not to bite her nails. She’d been here before, of course, but not without a book in her metaphorical back pocket. For several days Allie had been dutifully getting up at the crack of dawn, turning her phone off, disconnecting the wifi and trying to write.
It hadn’t gone well. Yesterday, before breakfast, she had teased out minor plot lines from earlier novels, trying to work out if they could play out over a full-length novel. Before she allowed herself even a coffee she had mined the depths of her memories for terrible dates that could be the starting point for a meet cute. By 11am she had turned her wifi back on so she could google celebrity news to see if there was anything that might spark her imagination. And that had resulted in a tumble down the rabbit hole of the Daily Mail sidebar of shame. She was going for love hearts and breathless whisperings and instead she just kept coming back to the idea she had had in the pub the other night: that brief outline of a drunken corporate pub crawl that ended in murder. Thinking it better to have that than nothing and hoping that Verity might have a brilliant idea of how to flip this dark story into a rom-com, this was what she had brought and she grasped her notebook containing it to her chest as she sat and waited.
It was quiet in the atrium, all the doors leading off into the offices were closed and Allie was the only person waiting. Time was ticking slowly and Allie could hear the rumbling of her stomach, which seemed to echo off the walls; she was regretting being too nervous to consume anything more than a mug of tea that morning.
A door opened into the atrium, the sound from the offices beyond briefly filtering out into the open space before being cut off abruptly as the door swung shut. Allie looked up, and to her surprise, saw Martin Clark, the crime writer she had met at the party being shown out.
‘Thanks for coming in, we’ll be in touch,’ the Brinkman’s’ employee was saying as Martin walked out. Allie couldn’t catch Martin’s response but from the tone it sounded about as upbeat as he had been the other night. She caught his eye and he did a double take. For a second Allie wondered whether to remind him they’d met or whether just to let him walk on out, back to his life or wherever he intended to head after his meeting. But the decision was taken out of her hands.
‘Allie, right?’
Allie was taken aback, she didn’t expect him to remember her. To him, the bestselling novelist, she was just someone he had met in a slightly strange circumstance at a party one night. But then she remembered that she, too, was a bestselling novelist, or at least had been, just like Martin Clark, and she silently told her imposter syndrome to go do one.
She stood up. ‘Yes, hi!’
He nodded and put his hand out to shake hers. ‘Futile to say funny to see you, as we have already established that we’re both published by or…’ He cleared his throat. ‘At least were published by Brinkman’s.’
Allie bristled at his comment but chose to let it slide. ‘How was your meeting?’ she asked politely.
Martin ran his hand through his greying hair and looked back towards the door he had just come through. He then glanced over Allie’s shoulder at the receptionist who was doing a brilliant impression of not listening in on their conversation. He took Allie’s elbow, led her to the side and said in a quiet voice, ‘It was with that Jake Matthews character. The one we spoke about?’ Allie nodded, she didn’t need reminding about him.
‘I expect yours will be too,’ he went on.
Allie looked confused. ‘No, I don’t think so, I’m meeting my editor, Verity, today.’
Martin looked at her, his eyes flashing under his greying bushy eyebrows. ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Allie frowned, recalling Jake’s words at the party the other night. He had mentioned Verity setting up a meeting, hadn’t he? But Verity hadn’t mentioned that this meeting was with anyone else, and surely Verity wouldn’t spring a Jake Matthews shaped surprise on her? A door swung open into the atrium and a girl in her early twenties said, ‘Allie? Allie Edwards?’
A feeling descended on Allie, the sort of feeling one got before an unpleasant medical procedure, and her stomach churned. Allie turned. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Tessa, Jake’s assistant,’ the girl said. ‘Would you like to come through?’
Allie looked back at Martin in consternation. He gave her a sympathetic look and said, ‘I’ll be over the road.’ And pointed at a cafe across the street.
Allie didn’t reply, allowing herself to be led down the corridors and into the lair of Jake Matthews, wishing that she was about to have that painful medical procedure instead. Tessa chattered away as they walked, asking Allie about her morning, if she had come far, whether she had enjoyed the summer party. At the mention of the party something clicked in Allie’s brain, memories of being stuck in the bathroom listening to two other guests indulge in something potentially less than legal. Allie snuck a sideways look at Tessa. She hadn’t seen either of the two people in the bathroom but she had heard both their voices, and she was becoming increasingly sure, as Tessa continued to talk, that the female voice belonged to none other than Tessa. Despite the situation, Allie smirked to herself. She probably wouldn’t choose to share this with Verity who would disapprove of this kind of behaviour, but she would definitely be storing this information away for future reference.
‘Here we are,’ Tessa said. For a split second, lost in her thoughts of the bathroom incident, Allie looked down expecting to see Tessa offering her a line of coke, before realising that she was merely holding the door open to one of the meeting rooms.
‘Thanks, erm, Tessa,’ Allie said, smiling briefly at the girl and making her way into the room where Verity was waiting for her. Allie smiled in relief, her anxieties melting away. She knew it, there’d been some mistake, this was just a standard meeting with her editor, nothing to worry about. But Verity had a strange look on her face, a look that could have been indigestion but was more likely awkwardness and guilt and Allie was sure she was mouthing something that looked an awful lot like ‘sorry’.
‘Allie,’ came a voice from behind her. ‘Thank you for joining us.’
Allie felt a shudder run down her spine. She looked at Verity and grimaced. Almost imperceptibly Verity shook her head. Allie turned and came face to face with Jake Matthews. He extended his hand towards her and unwillingly she took it, marvelling that his palm was as icy cold as his demeanour, which just about cancelled out the clamminess of her own hand.
‘Jake,’ she managed to say without shuddering. ‘Pleasure to be here,’ she forced out the lie.
‘Sit, please.’ Jake gesticulated to one of the chairs in the room and Allie had the distinct feeling that she was being instructed in just the way that Jake would instruct his dog, if he was human enough to even own a dog, which he almost certainly wasn’t. Allie’s eyes flickered to the left wondering if she should defy his instructions and pick her own chair in which to sit. It wasn’t as if there weren’t other chairs in the meeting room, she didn’t have to sit in the one Jake told her to. He didn’t own her. Except he did, and Allie knew it, and he knew it too. Reluctantly she sank into the chair Jake had offered her as he smiled his cold, cold smile. Jake sat opposite her and pulled his chair right up to the table, resting his hands carefully on the glass tabletop. Allie tilted her head, fascinated to see whether his palms would leave an imprint; she would put money on them not.
For a moment Verity hovered, looking unsure where she should sit until Jake wordlessly picked one hand up off the table and pointed at the chair next to him. Verity sat down on the edge of the seat, refusing to lift her eyes to meet Allie’s.
‘So, as I said, thank you for coming in.’ Allie opened her mouth to respond but Jake continued. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that publishing has been facing a series of challenges over the past few years, it can’t have escaped you that everyone’s earnings have dropped in recent times.’
Verity looked up at this point and interjected. ‘Actually Allie’s sales have held up really well, better than other authors, in fact?—’
Jake held his hand up, obviously not interested in Verity’s assessment of the state of Allie’s royalty statements. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. ‘As I was saying, in light of these challenges we have had to make certain strategic decisions to streamline the business and make it a more efficient revenue stream for the shareholders.’
Allie stared at him blankly, wondering if he was really talking about books or if he had wandered in from the world of investment banking as this sounded frighteningly like the waffle she had sometimes had to listen to Dominic spout when she overheard him on the phone. She idly wondered what he was doing right now. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left and at some point she should probably contact him and ask him if she could collect her belongings from his flat. She was just trying to remember what she had actually left there – a toothbrush definitely, her old hairdryer, probably some underwear? Did she really need any of those things back? In actual fact, she probably never had to speak to Dominic again and she didn’t know whether to feel cheered or depressed by this fact.
‘Allie?’ Jake’s stern tones interrupted her thoughts.
‘Yes?’ Allie sat up straighter, feeling like she had just been caught daydreaming in school.
‘I was explaining about what needs to happen with your new book after Verity hands over the reins.’
‘Yes, exactly. Wait, what?’ Allie’s jaw dropped, and her horrorstruck face went from Jake to Verity. The realization of what Jake had just said was sinking in. Deep down, Allie knew that this day would come, it wasn’t as if she had expected Verity to stay at Brinkman’s forever, although she had harboured a hope. But she really hadn’t expected it to be when she was still under contract and with no book to deliver. Or that she would be left in this nightmare scenario with a snake-like Jake Matthews in charge of her creative future. ‘You’re leaving?’ she stammered, her eyes fixing on Verity.
‘Well…’ Verity’s face was a picture of distress, her eyes watery with tears, her lip wobbling. Allie wanted nothing more than to leap over the table and hug her beloved editor, but she had a very real fear that Jake Matthews might stab her if she did.
Jake interrupted. ‘Happily, Verity has found a new role and while we are sad to see her go it does of course make things easier with the streamlining process.’
‘You’re leaving Brinkman’s?’ Allie stuttered again. ‘You’re leaving me ?’ Even though Allie had suspected this was on the cards she couldn’t help the feeling of abandonment and tears pricked the back of her eyes.
Verity’s face crumpled. ‘I’m so sorry, Allie,’ she whispered.
‘Well, now that this is all out in the open, we can discuss delivery of your new book.’
Allie turned to look at Jake, who was blithely unaware of the emotional trauma that was unravelling right under his nose.
‘Now,’ Jake began, ‘I understand you’re quite behind with delivery.’
Allie glared at him. ‘Actually, it was agreed that I would take some time off because, as I’m sure you know, I’ve been writing a book a year for seven years.’
Jake didn’t look as if he really cared what Allie had been doing or not doing for the past seven minutes, let alone years. ‘We have an agreed date, don’t we?’
‘Yes.’ Allie nodded mutinously.
‘Good. Well, that’s fine then, I will expect it on or before that date.’
Allie felt like she had just been issued with a homework deadline by the teacher consistently voted ‘most hated’, rather than treated as an equitable adult in a work meeting.
Jake stood up and despite the shocking news that she was still digesting, Allie couldn’t help checking the glass tabletop in front of him for handprints. Nope, definitely no handprints, probably not warm-blooded enough to produce any, Allie thought darkly.
‘I think you’ve met my assistant Tessa.’ As if on cue the door to the meeting room opened and there stood Tessa, Stepford Wives smile fixed to her face. ‘She’ll see you out.’
Before Allie could register what was happening, Tessa was ushering her out of the door.
‘Wait,’ Allie called over her shoulder, ‘can I have a quick word with Verity?’
‘I’m afraid Verity has another meeting to get to,’ Tessa said smoothly, closing the meeting door with one hand and using the other to ever so gently, yet insistently, push Allie out towards the atrium.
‘Please do send your manuscript to me,’ she told Allie, putting a business card in one of Allie’s hands, while she propelled her towards the revolving doors at the front of the building. ‘Well, have a lovely rest of your day,’ Tessa said as she gave Allie a little shove, which sent her through the revolving doors and out into the street. It felt like a practised move.
For a minute, Allie stood blinking in the sunlight wondering whether what had just happened had, in fact, been a hallucination. She reached into her bag, fumbled around for her phone, pulled it out and scrolled down for Verity’s number. She hit dial and put the phone to her ear. There was a long silence before the computer-generated voice told her that this number was no longer in use. Allie slowly took the phone away from her ear and stared down at the screen. Had they taken Verity’s phone away from her already? Allie remembered the cold eyes of Jake Matthews and decided that they almost certainly had.
Allie looked back into the atrium of Brinkman’s and considered marching back in there, demanding to talk to Verity, not taking no for an answer. And then she heard Jake’s voice echo round her head and her stomach turned to water. If she had a killer manuscript to deliver then she might have the guts to go rescue Verity and tell Jake he could go stuff himself. But the only thing she had was the outline of her serial killer novel, and she thought that put her on distinctly shaky ground with regard to any bargaining. Allie’s thoughts turned to her killer manuscript and she found herself thinking of elaborate ways in which Jake Matthews might meet a grisly end. She looked up and saw the cafe over the road, remembered Martin Clark’s invitation and stalked angrily across the road to hear how his meeting with Jake had gone down.
‘Wasn’t sure you’d take me up on the offer,’ Martin said, half rising out of his chair. Allie merely nodded, not trusting herself to say anything yet.