Chapter 22
I didn’t choose the corporate espionage life, the corporate espionage life chose me, and I really, really don’t think I’m cut out for it.
I’m sitting on the plump, luxurious grey carpet of my hotel room, legs crossed, demolishing one hell of a club sandwich that I just ordered from room service. Even the crisps (or should that be chips, given I’m in the US) are incredible.
Why am I down here? I always like to sit (or lie) on the floor, when I’m having a pity party, wallowing, thinking about my life choices.
I have come to the conclusion that I’m struggling with not one but two issues.
First and foremost, I don’t know, the lying, the sneaking, the trickery – it’s just not me.
I know, I know, I’m doing this for Paige, righting a wrong, no one is going to get hurt, everyone’s job will be saved, blah, blah, blah.
I’m trying to focus on the positives, on doing what my boss is telling me to do – because that’s what having a job is, right?
Doing shit you don’t want to do, for money, so you can pay your bills and eat.
Being so underhanded, though, it’s just not who I am, and the biggest spanner in the works is that, the more I get to know Jordan, the more it feels like some sort of betrayal, to be trying to trick him.
I’m sure Paige knows him much better than I do, she was married to the man after all, but he doesn’t seem like an unreasonable person to me, he seems like someone who cares.
Can he really not be negotiated with? Surely he would be decent about it?
And then of course, aside from feeling morally conflicted by the task at hand, the second problem I’m having is that I’m absolutely shit at it.
Come on, look at me, look at my best efforts – they’re pathetic.
Pretending I’ve seen a spider, sending in a cake…
Is that really the best I can do? They’re the tactics of a teenage girl.
I pick up my phone and see that I’ve got a message from my mum. That’s the thing about time differences – I can only speak to people back home at certain times.
Mum
Hello darling, just checking in. You okay? Excited for the wedding?
I stare at the screen for a moment, debating what to say. Am I okay? Not really. Am I excited? Definitely not. But I can’t say any of that. Probably best I tell her what she needs to hear.
Liberty
Yeah, I am! Can’t wait to see everyone.
It takes her all of ten seconds to reply.
Mum
Lovely. Everyone’s so looking forward to seeing you. How’s work going?
Another lie will serve me well, I think.
Liberty
It’s going really well actually! Busy, but in a good way.
I hit send and immediately feel like a fraud. I hate lying to my mum but I don’t want to worry her when I’m so far from home.
Mum
Good! I’m so pleased for you. Dad says remember to bring him back a good present.
I can’t help but smile.
Liberty
Tell him I’ll do my best. Love you.
Mum
Love you too!
I’m missing my parents more than usual – probably because it feels like everything is going tits up, and I know they’ll always love me, even when I’m not exactly thriving.
If I thought my mum had the answers to my problems, believe me, I would ask, but I’ve got myself into this mess. Only I can get myself out.
I stare into space, like the answer might be written on the wall in front of me, but it only reminds me that the contract is on the other side of it, safe and sound, and there’s clearly no way I’m going to be able to get my hands on it.
There’s only one thing I can think to do, and I’m not sure how well it’s going to go down, but I’m out of options. I need to call Paige.
The phone rings for a while – so long I’m about to give up – when finally she answers.
‘Liberty, hello,’ she says. ‘How’s it going? Are you enjoying New York?’
‘Hello, oh, it’s lovely here,’ I say. ‘Even more spectacular than I imagined it being.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ she replies. ‘And do you have good news for me? Is it done?’
‘Erm, well, no, not yet,’ I babble.
‘Oh?’ is all she says.
I swear, I can hear the muscles in her jaw tightening.
‘I can’t get anywhere near him,’ I confess. ‘He doesn’t really trust me. He’s polite, but professional. He keeps to himself. The door between our rooms is always locked – any time it’s been unlocked briefly, he’s been like lightning to lock it again.’
‘Well, that is disappointing,’ she says. ‘I thought you were more resourceful, given your experience.’
I feel like, even if my role had been more than admin, if I did have investigator experience, it’s not about doing sneaky things, it’s about figuring sneaky things out. Investigators aren’t the ones up to no good, they’re the people exposing those who are. She’s asking too much, regardless.
‘I’ve tried, Paige, really I have. But he’s not giving me anything,’ I reply. ‘He doesn’t even need an assistant, so I’m not even being given work to do. There’s just no way to get close.’
‘Well, that’s classic him,’ she replies. ‘Not valuing women, for one. And not being reasonable – this is why we’re having to sneak around, to get the job done, because he won’t be helped.’
‘I know that I don’t know him as well as you do, but I was wondering if maybe, I don’t know… if I just… talked to him? Like, if I explained the situation?—’
‘No! Absolutely not,’ she insists. ‘Liberty, I’ve told you, if he knew what I was doing, he would bury me – and the whole company too.’
Except it’s not her doing it, it’s me. I’m the one who is having to lie to him.
‘And you’re part of this company, Liberty – your job and your bonus rely on you getting it done,’ she adds.
‘Listen to me, okay, I think you need the right motivation. You get this done for me, I’ll pay you your bonus the moment you’re back in London – five thousand pounds.
Just think of the Christmas you could have with that. ’
My jaw drops. A five-thousand-pound bonus? Is she serious? I quickly scramble to my feet.
‘Really?’ I blurt.
‘Really,’ she replies. ‘The heartache you would be saving people – it’s worth it.’
Five grand would go a long, long way to helping me get my own place. It’s a deposit and a chunk towards rent. A buffer, now that I’m earning again… well, so long as I keep earning, which means keeping this job, which means doing exactly as Paige says.
I flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
‘Okay, so what do I do?’ I ask. ‘I’m running out of ideas, nothing I’m trying is working. Do you have suggestions, hints, tips…?’
‘There’s only one sure-fire way,’ she says with a sigh. ‘You need to woo him.’
I sit bolt upright, like a woman possessed.
‘Woo him?’ I repeat back to her.
‘Yes, woo him, date him – feed his ego, he can’t resist that,’ she explains. ‘Seduce him. Whatever it takes. Get invited back to his room, distract him, swap the contract, and then make your excuses and leave. Don’t actually have sex with him, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ I repeat sarcastically, but she either doesn’t detect my tone or doesn’t care.
‘I’m not exactly a Bond girl,’ I point out. ‘Sexpionage isn’t really something I’m equipped for.’
And that’s putting it mildly. I’m not a naturally sexy person – not that I’m saying anything is wrong with me, or selling myself short, but it’s just a fact.
I’m the kind of girl who gets trapped in revolving doors, and lifts, who makes scenes at weddings, and trips men on the ice.
Any allure I have doesn’t manifest as objective sexiness, it comes in the form of a man I just met in Australia asking if I wanted to give a long-distance relationship a go.
‘Just pretend,’ she says.
Ha! So no reassurances, no pep talks. She agrees with me, but she wants me to fake it. A little white lie might have given my self-esteem a bit of a boost, y’know.
‘Fluff his ego,’ she says.
‘Fluff?’ I repeat back to her.
‘Yes, you know, like in porn…’
‘No?’ I blurt with a laugh.
‘Bat your eyes, give him lots of attention, compliments, keep eye contact, make sexually suggestive comments – this is easy, Liberty, really it is,’ she insists.
Stare at him, but blink at him. Pester him, tell him I want to… what?
‘Insider intel,’ she offers up. ‘Talk about biting him. Men love being bitten.’
Oh my God, do they? I know it’s been months since I had sex, but we’re not all biting each other now, are we? And, ugh, something about getting advice from a scorned woman about how to seduce her ex-husband is so, so gross. My ick alarm is going berserk.
‘You don’t have to do it,’ she reminds me, reading the silence. ‘Just make him think you will, get into his room, make the swap, get out again. Tell him your stomach is bad, you need the toilet, you have to go.’
Get into his room under the pretence of biting him. Leave by excusing myself to have diarrhoea. Forgive me for not feeling great about this.
‘I can’t believe this is my job,’ I blurt.
‘Well, it won’t be any more, if you don’t succeed,’ she replies. ‘We’ll all be out of work – do you know how many people work here?’
‘All right, all right, I’ll do my best,’ I tell her.
It’s bad enough worrying about my own job. I don’t want other people’s livelihoods on my conscience.
We say our goodbyes and hang up. I let my phone drop onto the pillow next to me.
She wants me to woo him. I have to woo him, to keep my job, to save everyone’s job. I’m really not up to this, in any sense. I don’t feel good about it and I won’t be good at it.
How would I even go about it? I suppose I could get all dressed up, make an effort with my hair and makeup, invite him out to dinner, hope he says yes, spend the evening with him, see where it goes…
If I’m being honest with you – and I would never admit this to anyone else – the thought of having dinner with Jordan isn’t something I hate the sound of.
I’m enjoying his company, I’m fascinated by him, I have a bit of a crush on him in the traditional sense of finding him charming and attractive (so long as I forget everything Paige told me).
I want to get to know him more and, if I could do anything this evening, it probably would be hang out with him, especially since hearing his speech earlier, I’m just so intrigued.
I want to hear what he thinks about things – I want to tell him what I think about things and see what he says.
I like the idea of a one to one, my own personal TED Talk, getting into that brain of his and see what else is lurking in there.
Yeah, okay, I’ll ask him if he wants to have dinner with me. Maybe I’ll even flirt a bit, but not because Paige told me to, but because it’s on the tip of my tongue anyway.
If it comes up, if I end up in his room, then maybe I’ll make the switch. That way it’s done and dusted and I can go back to being myself. No harm done.
At least that’s what I’m hoping…