Date Wednesday 11 January Time 3.45pm
My thoughts and reflections:
So today, I was in bright and early and feeling hopeful.
I was wearing full make-up before I even got on the tube, in my Zara trousers that are indistinguishable from Tom Ford’s, and smelling of Astrid’s Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume.
Of course I didn’t get so much as a glimpse of Guy, but that didn’t bother me, because given what she’s already done for me this week, I had complete faith in the Universe.
Even my worst meeting of the week – Creative Review with the heinous Harry Piles – couldn’t dampen my gratitude.
He is probably my least favourite person at Carsons and is even worse than Security Lydia.
He’s not deliberately mean like Lydia but he is impervious – he just doesn’t really care about anyone else.
I think you could burst into flames in front of him and he’d just use it as an opportunity to warm his slippers.
According to Drunk Stephen, Harry only got in because his father was second cousin twice removed to the CEO at the time.
He certainly didn’t get in based on aptitude, because he doesn’t have a creative bone in his body.
He’s lazy (so am I) but he doesn’t even try to hide it and he doesn’t get anything done (I do get stuff done, and my particular form of laziness means I’m good at making things more efficient).
And all of this would be less bad if it weren’t for the fact that someone promoted him to Deputy MD, which means it directly impacts all the people under him or junior to him, including me.
He’s at the same members’ club as Guy Carmichael so good luck complaining about Harry.
The worst thing about him is he fundamentally believes he’s better than everyone and that he alone has his finger on the social pulse.
So meetings consist of Harry asking people for their opinions and then telling those people why their opinions are wrong.
Of course he takes all the credit for other people’s work (I swear he got promoted to Deputy MD on the back of stealing my idea for repackaging the One World series) whilst blaming others for his own awful ideas.
Today’s meeting wasn’t going well. Harry had just told Drunk Stephen that his cover was too retro and that he needed to understand that young people today were a bit cooler than that; I thought Drunk Stephen was going to punch him – he’s not a fan of Harry’s signature cravat and white trainer look.
But then the door opened and Guy Carmichael put his head round it.
I sat up straighter (along with everybody else because he’s that authoritative) and took a sip of my raw juice, hoping he’d notice that I’m usually a healthy, dynamic woman, rather than a hungover pill-popper.
‘Harry,’ he said, looking serious. ‘I need a quick word with Editorial. Let’s see… Alice – could you come?’
Yes, I could, Guy. Probably very fast.
‘Alice?’ Harry frowned. ‘Are you sure? Don’t you want Yaz? She’s more senior.’
‘Happy to help,’ said Yaz.
I sat there trying not to look desperate and hoping that Guy Carmichael was consciously picking me, rather than someone who was genuinely good at their job.
Guy Carmichael gave Harry a look and Harry immediately realised his error; Guy is not the sort of man you question.
‘Of course,’ said Harry quickly. ‘Sorry, Guy.’
Guy turned on his heel, and Harry gestured at me to follow him out of the meeting room.
I studiously avoided eye contact with Drunk Stephen (he’d know full well this little power-play would have aroused me) as I meekly made my way after Guy Carmichael. Guy waited until we’d passed by the glass windows and then checked no one was nearby before speaking.
‘Alice, I’m going to level with you. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘You don’t get to my position in life unless you’ve taken a few risks.’
‘Nor mine,’ I said, thinking about the time I took a risk and guessed some of the figures for market research when developing new products at Carlsberg. It didn’t go down well. Neither did the new blueberry Carlsberg.
Guy Carmichael’s brow furrowed. ‘Not sure I follow, Alice,’ he said. ‘Bottom line: employer-employee relationships are a big no at Carsons. I need you to understand that.’
‘I do,’ I said, slightly concerned as to where this was going.
‘Good. Nothing could happen between us, Alice.’
Okay, I wasn’t loving this. I nodded politely.
Guy Carmichael looked in both directions and then leant closer to me so that we were both against the wall, his body angled towards me. He spoke with a low voice.
‘I hope you understand that I couldn’t have thoughts about what those alluring lips of yours could do, Alice. Because HR don’t like that kind of thing.’
Oh. My. Goodness. It was happening… I was manifesting Guy Carmichael. He was definitely going there.
‘Understood,’ I said, biting my bottom lip just a smidgen.
‘So if I ask you to lunch, Alice,’ he continued, staring at my mouth. ‘You understand that it would be strictly above board?’
‘Of course.’
‘And that whilst you could therefore tell anyone you wished to about it, including HR… ’
‘Best not to mention it? At all?’
‘Good girl, Alice,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘Very good indeed. Hard to understand why someone as sharp as you is still only Editor.’
‘Like I said, Guy, I’m a risk taker too. It just hasn’t always paid off.’
‘I believe in risk, Alice,’ said Guy Carmichael, leaning so close that I could hear him breathe. I could feel the faint scratch of the expensive made-to-measure woollen suit sleeve on my neck. Then he trailed a finger down my throat and along my collar bone. My stomach tightened in anticipation.
‘It’s a cliché for a reason,’ he said under his breath.
‘You’ve got to speculate to accumulate.’ Then I felt his tongue trail where his finger had.
Good bloody gracious, he was going to accumulate me.
My knees almost gave way, and I had to bite back a small moan.
My boss, Guy Carmichael, was licking my neck in the corridor at 11am-ish on a Wednesday morning – this was even better than my fantasies.
I leant back against the wall, willing him to continue.
A sudden burst of talk and a slight draft as the meeting room doors opened, and Guy Carmichael didn’t even falter – the man is brazen – he knows his potency.
He nipped my earlobe lightly with his teeth and then said smoothly, ‘Thank you, Alice,’ before standing to one side just as Yaz and Adeola walked past, followed by Cool Jason from Design. Guy did a double-take.
‘What’s with the new little moustache, John?’ said Guy. ‘You look like a fucking Liverpudlian.’
‘The name’s Jason,’ said Cool Jason. ‘And I am a Liverpudlian.’
‘Are you?’ said Guy, frowning.
‘Yes,’ said Cool Jason.
‘Well, why the fuck haven’t you said?’ exploded Guy.
‘Go and tell HR right now. I keep getting it in the fucking ear about inclusivity and diversity and look – there you are – and I bloody hired you. Get them to take a photo of you and your moustache or something, stick it on the web, and put a bloody large tick against my name.’
‘Are you serious?’ said Cool Jason.
But Guy Carmichael had already walked off.
‘Is he for real?’ Cool Jason asked me.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said, watching Guy Carmichael go. Gosh he wore that bespoke suit well. I bet it was from Savile Row. He wore power well. I realised my mouth was hanging open slightly, and that Jason was looking at me with an expression of consternation.
‘Er, Alice,’ said Cool Jason, his brow furrowing. ‘It may not be my place to say this, but, you know, watch out for him.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said, breezily.
‘I’m just saying, it doesn’t tend to work out well long term for the women in Guy Carmichael’s life.’
‘What!’ I laughed self-consciously. ‘I’m not a woman in his life!’
‘Okay,’ said Cool Jason. ‘Forget I said anything.’
As if I’m going to forget that compliment!
Cool Jason called me a woman in Guy Carmichael’s life!
Not only have I attracted the man of my dreams, but I have successfully commanded the respect of my colleague, Jason from Design, who’s frankly always intimidated me with his achingly cool ahead-of-trend trendiness, and who has barely spoken to me before.
He speaks to Drunk Stephen, obviously, because everyone does, but not me usually. Times are a-changing!
I ask the Universe:
To keep me on the path towards my perfect life.