Chapter 3 #2
Then again, that might be skirting too close to the truth, which is that since the Emberstone party, THE LUSTING – all caps, as it’s become an entity unto its own – has ratcheted up several notches.
Including the sex dream I had last night: Drew screwing me against the wall, hard and fast, my skirt hitched around my waist. I woke up panting.
Imaginary Drew is very good at sex. He’s probably good at it in real life too.
‘What? Something’s going on in there,’ says Jane, circling her finger in the air near my forehead. ‘I can see the wheels turning.’
Jane reads faces like a Weetabix packet. This is a major slip on my part – indulging sexy-time thoughts about Drew in the office.
I swat Jane’s finger away. ‘There’s nothing else,’ I lie.
She gives me a dubious side-eye, but I will not cave. If I let on that Drew has a starring role in my sexual fantasies, Jane will laugh it off with ‘join the club’, then insist I sleep with him to get it out of my system.
But I am not sleeping with Drew Parker. Ever.
All this aside, I hit the jackpot with Jane.
I started working here a few months after Daniel died and my first week, Jane and I were assigned to the same campaign.
Right away we fell into a professional simpatico – I’m the stoic yin to her madcap yang – and bonded over a shared obsession with Emily in Paris.
I know some people think it’s a silly show, but when you’re recently widowed, far from home, and have a daughter in Nursery, it couldn’t be a more perfect escape.
Though Jane’s obsession is about the fashion – and the hot blokes.
I check my watch – mostly to wriggle out from under Jane’s scrutinous gaze. ‘Staff meeting in five,’ I say, popping out of my chair. ‘Don’t want to miss out on a seat.’
Emberstone has grown so much over the past year that the largest conference room can no longer seat everyone – even with extra chairs around the perimeter. If you don’t get in early enough, you have to linger in the doorway like a Nigel.
Jane catches up. ‘I’ll ignore that little evasion – for now. But something’s up and you’re going to tell me eventually.’
This isn’t a prophecy, it’s a directive.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say, playing dumb. ‘I’m excited about the staff meeting, that’s all. Lorraine’s announcing the Hargreaves bonus today.’
Each year, the creative who successfully pitches to retail giant Hargreaves for their Christmas campaign wins a sizeable bonus. Last year it was ￡3000.
I duck into the room ahead of Jane, snagging us the last two seats. There are still a few minutes to go, and Jane turns and starts chatting to Priya, who’s also in the production team.
At the top of the hour, Lorraine calls the meeting to order and Drew slips into the conference room, tardy as always, and leans against the wall, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. I tear my eyes from his forearms as Lorraine begins with a wrap-up of the Family & Friends Party.
Halfway through, Jane leans over and whispers in my ear. ‘Now I believe you.’
‘About what?’ I whisper back.
‘The party – sounds as dull as dishwater.’
‘Cheaper than a trip to the vet though,’ I reply, making Jane snigger. Lorraine looks up sharply from her notes and Jane and I freeze, except for her pinkie digging into my thigh.
‘And the next item of business,’ says Lorraine, returning to her notes, ‘the Hargreaves account. Getting straight to it, this year the bonus for the successful pitch will be increased to ￡5000.’
I inhale sharply as murmurs erupt around me. There are seven of us who will pitch – initially to Lorraine and the rest of the creative heads, then the top two campaigns will be pitched to the client.
I’ve made it to the top two twice – last year and the year before – losing out to Drew Parker both times. I don’t want to be the bridesmaid again this year. It’s heartbreaking getting that close and not being chosen.
No, this year, I’m positive I’ve got the winning concept. I’ve been working on it for months, using every spare moment to develop the pitch and plan the campaign.
And I don’t usually count my chickens before they hatch, but ￡5000?
Impossible not to get excited about that.
That’s enough for two return flights to Melbourne, with a little left over.
I’d so love to take Harlow for Christmas – we haven’t been since before Daniel died – but I didn’t think it would be possible this year.
I zone out for the rest of the meeting, champing at the bit to get back to work, and the second Lorraine dismisses us, I’m out of my seat.
‘Sophie,’ says Jane, hot on my heels. I wait for her to catch up and we walk together to my cubicle where I sit and she takes up her perch on my desk.
‘They’ve really upped the ante this year,’ she says, an excited glint in her eyes.
‘I know, right?’
‘So, you finally ready to share your concept for Hargreaves?’ she asks.
I’ve kept it under wraps – I wanted to perfect it before sharing with Jane – but now I’m bursting.
‘Well,’ I say, lowering my voice, ‘Christmas adverts have got ridiculous over the past few years, right? We had the homeless Christmas tree peering in people’s windows…’
‘That was bonkers,’ Jane concurs. ‘And what about the reindeer going on strike on Christmas Eve? Hardly festive.’
‘Exactly. And you know my least favourite – the Volkswagen Beetle that went on holiday to Lapland and befriended a moose. Seriously, what was that?’
‘I know – it wasn’t even an advert for Volkswagen!’ she exclaims.
‘Shhh,’ I say with a soft laugh. I half stand and peer in all directions. No one seems bothered, so I duck back down.
‘Anyway,’ I continue, ‘with all these out-there Christmas ads, I figured—’
‘Wait,’ Jane says, interrupting me. ‘What about last year’s Hargreaves advert?’
‘Drew had Father Christmas retiring and moving to Majorca – without Mrs Claus. It felt more like an ad for Viagra than Christmas,’ I scoff. ‘Far worse than the reindeer.’
Jane sniggers. ‘Fair.’
‘So my concept is a return to a more traditional Christmas ad – heartwarming, family-oriented, practically drowning in the Christmas spirit.’
‘Ooh,’ says Jane, ‘I love it.’
‘Right? Time for a swing of the pendulum. Let’s move away from fantastical, surrealist concepts that we’ve tricked the client into believing are cutting edge.’
‘Who’s tricking clients, Reid? Surely not you?’
Drew.
He’s leaning against the partition like he’s posing for a magazine cover, amusement plastered across his smug face. Annoyingly, his shirt matches the exact shade of his eyes, which stare into mine.
‘Kindly bugger off, Parker,’ I say coolly. ‘Jane and I are having a private conversation.’
‘Open-plan office, Reid,’ he says, punctuating his retort by biting his bottom lip. Condescending prick. Clearly, the side of him I saw on Saturday was a mirage.
‘And how are you doing, Notso?’ he says to Jane. Notso?
‘Yeah, good thanks,’ she replies, giving him a warm smile.
I look between them, puzzled. When did Jane and Drew get so friendly? I wonder with a pang that’s way too close to jealousy for my liking. But jealous of who? Drew or Jane?
‘Great to hear,’ he replies, also smiling. He pushes off the partition, then looks my way again. ‘Always a pleasure, Reid.’ He tips an imaginary hat and backs away, his eyes locked on mine, only breaking eye contact when he turns around to stride off.
‘Arsehole…’ I mutter to myself. Then I turn to Jane. ‘What’s up with the Notso thing? What does that even mean?’
‘Oh, Drew and I were chatting about names last week and I said something about being lumped with plain Jane. Then he said, “Not so plain Jane,” and he’s called me Notso ever since.’
She shrugs as if it’s nothing and in the large scheme of things, it is nothing. Only part of me feels betrayed. Jane knows how I feel about Drew – well, not the lusting part, but she knows I find him infuriating.
‘Sophie?’ Jane’s voice cuts into my troubled thoughts. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, just… I didn’t realise you and Drew were so cosy is all.’
God, that sounded whiny.
‘Not cosy – friendly,’ she replies, giving me a curious look.
I know I’m being ridiculous. There’s no way I’m competing with Drew for Jane’s friendship. And it’s not as if they were flirting. Right?
‘How about we move this to a meeting room?’ Jane suggests, dragging me from my errant musings. ‘Keep this year’s winning pitch under wraps.’
She smiles conspiratorially, a nod to her faith in me, and I kick myself for doubting her. Jane’s my biggest champion here at Emberstone. With her on my side, and a gamechanger of a concept, I’ve got every chance of being awarded that ￡5000.
And beating Drew.