Chapter 7
SOPHIE
I wander back to my desk in a daze.
I thought I had a decent shot at landing this account – more than a decent shot – but a Home for the Holidays reboot? How could I ever compete with that? It’s brilliant and if Max Stirling truly is onboard, then Drew deserved to win. Damn him.
There’s also Jane. Her being assigned to Drew’s campaign means she’ll get pulled off all of mine – and we’ve got three campaigns in various stages of development. I’m losing my work wife. To Drew.
‘Heya.’ Speak of the devil – Jane.
‘Hi,’ I reply flatly.
‘So, I heard.’
‘The grapevine must be in overdrive.’
She shakes her head. ‘Gordon.’
‘Oh right.’
‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
I shrug, then smile at her weakly. ‘It wasn’t a given.’
‘No, but your concept… I loved it.’
‘And you’ll love Drew’s. Max Stirling, Jane.’
Her eyes light up and she sucks air through her teeth. ‘Is it all right to be excited about that, working with Max Stirling?’
I laugh. ‘Yes, you dag. I’d be worried if you weren’t.’
‘He’s a bit of a snack – like an American Nicholas Galitzine.’
Wouldn’t it be funny if I got together with Drew and Jane and Max Stirling started dating? Besties dating besties.
What. The. Actual…? I screw my eyes shut to dislodge the thought, rapidly shaking my head.
‘What was that about?’ asks Jane, her eyes narrowing.
‘Never mind!’ I trill, overcompensating.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but can I borrow you for a tick, Sophie?’
I look up and Lorraine is lingering at the opening to my cubicle. I plaster on a smile.
‘Sure.’
Jane mouths, ‘Lunch?’ as she leaves, and I give her a sharp nod.
‘I wanted to have a quick chat,’ says Lorraine, coming into my cubicle. ‘Your pitch was quite extraordinary, Sophie, and I see why it was such a difficult decision for the Hargreaves people.’
‘Well, thank you, but…’ I trail off, unsure where she’s going with this.
‘You’re wondering where I’m going with this.’
I laugh. ‘Yes, exactly.’
‘How would you feel about working with Drew on the Home for the Holidays campaign?’
‘Oh!’ I say, unable to hide my surprise. This is more of a shock than Drew snagging Max Stirling.
‘It’s a large undertaking, as you can imagine,’ she continues, unfazed, ‘and we’ll be working on a tight schedule. But more importantly, your concept dovetails beautifully with Drew’s – particularly the nostalgic childhood-innocence angle.’
‘That’s, uh…’ The word ‘surprising’ pops into my head – childhood innocence is about as far from a randy Santa retiring to Majorca as you can get. But I don’t say that. ‘Great,’ I say instead.
‘And you should be able to fit it in around your current campaigns with two of them wrapping up soon.’
If Lorraine’s confident I can fit Hargreaves in, then that shouldn’t factor into my decision. But before I agree, I need to know one thing.
‘Does Drew know you’re asking me about this?’ I ask.
‘He does,’ she replies.
‘And he’s agreed – to working with me?’
‘Yes.’
I blink at her. So, Drew wants me working on his campaign. But why? Maybe he had no choice. Maybe Lorraine told him it was a done deal.
‘You haven’t forced this on him, have you?’ I ask with a half-laugh.
She tilts her head at me – that’s not how things are done at Emberstone. I’ve spoken out of turn.
‘Sorry, Lorraine.’
‘That’s all right, but you seem hesitant.’
‘I, uh…’ I pause and she watches me with serene curiosity.
Do I want to work with Drew? This could be a once-in-a-lifetime campaign. But then, Drew is… well, Drew. For all I know, he won’t let me anywhere near the real work. He’ll probably have me making coffee and picking up lunch.
There’s also the not-so-minor inconvenience of his role in my sexual fantasies.
But I can’t ignore that Lorraine came to me – not Frannie, not any of the other creatives. Maybe she sees potential in this partnership that I don’t yet understand. And aren’t I always looking for opportunities to grow?
‘I’d be happy to,’ I say decisively.
‘Oh, excellent,’ she replies with a warm smile. ‘I have no doubt you’ll be a formidable team, especially with Jane as PM – a terrific trio.’
After she leaves, I stare off, my gaze unfocused. Have I really agreed to collaborate with the lone wolf, the one whose ripped body makes my pulse quicken? I must be a glutton for punishment. A stupid one.
‘Just keep your libido in check and you’ll be fine,’ I mutter to myself.
‘What’s that, Reid?’
Fuck. I don’t look up. Instead, I start typing – ridiculous because my laptop isn’t even on. If Drew sees that, I will never live it down.
‘The silent treatment – an interesting tactic considering we’re going to be partners.’
I flick my eyes in his direction. He’s leaning against the partition – always with the leaning – his rolled-up sleeves revealing tanned forearms.
And who has tanned forearms all year around? Serial-dating bad boys who travel to places like Ibiza and Mykonos with women named Kylee (with two Es) and Sienna, that’s who.
I break into a smile. ‘Oh hello, Parker. I didn’t see you lurking there.’
He smirks and sniggers at the same time. What would that be called? A smigger?
‘So, I hear you’ve said yes to working on the Hargreaves campaign with me,’ he says.
How does he know that already? Did Lorraine text him the thumbs-up emoji? Even the idea of Lorraine doing that is funny, but I swallow the laugh. I wouldn’t want Drew thinking it was for him.
‘That’s right,’ I reply, staring him down – more of a self-preservation tactic than anything. I cannot be caught perving on Drew’s arms like I was last week.
He breaks into a smile – a friendly smile, which is more off-putting than the smug version. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to working with you. Your scripts are always first rate, and we’ve got four of them to write so…’
Do not be nice to me, Drew – I have no idea what to do with that.
I return his smile with a more subdued version.
‘So, I’ll check our calendars and get us together on Monday, okay? You, me, and Jane,’ he says, carrying on the conversation as if I’m fully participating.
‘Sounds good.’
‘And you’ve seen Home for the Holidays, right?’ he asks.
‘Hasn’t everyone?’ Okay, that came out snarky – evidenced by the expression that scuttles across Drew’s face. ‘I’ve seen it – years ago,’ I quickly add.
‘Cool. Do you think you could give it a rewatch before Monday? I really need it to be fresh in your mind.’
‘Yeah, I can do that.’
‘Great.’ He turns away, then spins back around. ‘Oh, and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ I ask, baffled. What is he talking about?
‘Yeah, mini golf? With Maisie and me.’
When Harlow messaged at lunchtime, asking about mini golf with a friend, she did not tell me that friend was Maisie Parker. I wonder if that was intentional.
‘Oh,’ I say as if everything’s fine. ‘Yes, should be fun.’
Drew leaves and I sit back, releasing a slow breath as I take stock. It’s been a whirlwind thirty minutes and I need to get my head around things.
First off, I lost the Hargreaves account and the ￡5000 bonus, meaning no trip home for Chrissie this year. Thank god I didn’t hint to Mum that we might be coming – she’d be so disappointed. I am – I got my hopes up.
I would never trade the time I had with Daniel or being Harlow’s mum for anything, but I still miss home, and Mum and Dad and Steph and her boys (not so much Daryl, her husband).
They miss us too, especially seeing Harlow grow up – she barely even knows her cousins.
And, sure, we have video calls a few times a month but it’s not the same – not like the time she gets to spend with Connie.
Maybe next year – the ￡1000 will help boost the travel fund.
I need to concentrate on the upside – the Hargreaves account. It’s the sort of project I can sink my teeth into, really stretch myself. Challenging, but in a good way.
But what about Drew?
How do I work with someone who both infuriates me and turns me on? Until recently, I’ve maintained a buffer of disdain, but Drew seems to have found a chink. I’m starting to see him as a person.
And now we’re playing bloody mini golf.
‘Hello, I’m home!’
‘In here, Mum,’ bellows Harlow, making me smile. My daughter is no wilting violet, that’s for sure.
‘Be right there,’ I shout back.
I hang my handbag on its hook, then kick off my heels.
There’s a stack of mail on the hall table and I flick through it – all junk except a bill for Harlow’s swimming lessons.
She may be London born and bred, but her mum’s a dinky-di Aussie and the child is learning how to swim, an extra I budget for each month.
The aroma of something delicious wafts in from the kitchen and I head in that direction.
On Fridays there are no after-school activities, so Connie picks Harlow up from school and brings her straight home.
They hang out, then cook dinner. Harlow calls it Coco-Lolo Time, and I’m too grateful to Connie and too busy being a working single mum to feel even a shred of jealousy.
Besides, Connie is a terrific influence on Harlow and a bloody good cook.
‘We’re making paella,’ Harlow declares proudly. She’s at the stove sautéing onions in our largest frying pan while Connie’s chopping chicken thighs.
‘Fancy! And it smells amazing,’ I reply. ‘Wine?’ I ask Connie as I cross to the fridge.
‘Oh, I’d love one,’ Harlow deadpans before Connie can answer. ‘Hard day at work,’ she adds, contorting her face into a picture of weariness.
I give her an amused side-eye and she grins at me, flashing the dimples she inherited from Daniel. Other than the dimples, she’s the spitting image of me.
‘Cheeky little miss. You can have sparkling water.’
‘With lemon.’
I’m tempted to ask what her last slave died of – a barb Steph and I exchanged all the time when we were kids – but Harlow is on the cusp of teenagerhood. I don’t need to accelerate the inevitable avalanche of sarcasm.
There’s a bottle of Champagne on the top shelf that wasn’t there this morning, but I reach past it and take out a cheap and cheerful bottle of French rosé, holding it up to Connie.
‘Oh, but I…’ she begins, trailing off.