Chapter 19
NINETEEN
ERIN
The air changes as she enters the room, feels different somehow, like someone important has just arrived.
I take one look at her and my heart drops down into my new shoes.
Brilliant. I am never going to get this job now.
She comes and takes the seat right next to me, despite there being room elsewhere, squeezes in close so that I’m forced to shuffle up a bit to accommodate her. She turns to me with a smile.
‘Hi, I’m… Oh. My. God.’ She points to my feet, at the shiny black patent high-heeled courts I’m wearing.
They have this cute little bow detail on the back and I’d bought them especially for the interview.
‘The shoes though! They’re adorable! Where did you get them from?
’ Her bright green eyes – not unlike my own – sparkle as they search me.
‘You here about the job as well? Is this your second interview? Hang on.’ She touches her chest with a perfectly manicured hand.
‘Yes!… I remember you! Last week, you were arriving just as I was leaving.’
‘Oh!’ I smile at her politely, secretly pleased.
She likes my shoes. She remembered me. ‘I’m afraid I don’t remember seeing you.
’ I squirm. That sounded rude. ‘I’m sure I would’ve if I had,’ I add, because clearly she’s someone you don’t easily forget.
I glance down at her shoes. She’s wearing black patent red-bottomed stilettos too, only hers are fiercely high, six inches at least. She reminds me of one of those women who only seem to exist in films. Women who look expensive and effortless and cool at the same time.
Suddenly, I feel like a poor relation sitting next to her in my safe beige skirt and cotton shirt combo – the frumpy sister.
‘I like your perfume.’ The words tumble awkwardly from my mouth, but I’m compelled to return her a compliment – and she does smell incredible.
The spicy, exotic scent she’s wearing conjures up images in my head of sexy fire eaters and flamenco dancers performing to live music against a Spanish sunset.
‘Baccarat Rouge,’ she whispers behind her hand, conspiratorially, leaning in closer, like she’s sharing top secret information.
‘It’s a game changer, trust me. A few squirts of this bad bitch and you’ll never have to buy yourself another glass of champagne ever again.
’ Great. She’s funny as well. I literally don’t stand a hope in hell.
I knew it was a long shot anyway, putting myself forward for a job like this, a receptionist for a trendy TV company in a hip part of town.
My confidence levels are practically at zero, but I figured I can greet people, I can smile at them and be helpful, can’t I?
Like, how hard can it be? Anyway, maybe a job like this will force me out of my comfort zone, which isn’t even all that comfortable when I think about it.
Now though, as I look at her, my fantasy of working for Austin Marz Productions is rapidly evaporating before my eyes like smoke.
My first interview had gone well though, or at least I’d thought so.
I’d genuinely liked Jeremy Austin, one of the company directors who had interviewed me.
He was nothing like the arrogant, egotistical media mogul who was up his own backside that I had fully expected him to be.
Instead, he came across as quite humble and self-effacing and had put me at ease.
I’d left feeling really hopeful about my chances, and about my future.
‘I’m Samantha,’ she introduces herself. ‘Samantha Valentine.’
‘I’m Erin. It’s nice to meet you.’
She grips my hand and yanks me towards her, plants a kiss on both my cheeks.
I feel the residue of her lipstick, her strong perfume on my skin, as I pull away, a touch taken aback.
‘And it’s a pleasure, Erin.’ She tugs at her silky blouse, accidentally opening another button, though she appears not to have noticed.
‘Jeez, it’s really hot today, isn’t it? I’m not complaining though, I love the heat, do you? I mean, it’s not the same as being in Ibiza or anything, is it, but still.’ She flips her long blonde hair from her face. ‘I was there a few weeks ago, in Ibiza… have you ever been?’
‘No, actually, I—’
‘Oh, you must go. Everyone should go to Ibiza at least once in their lifetime. It should be a legal requirement, you know, a rite of passage?’ She laughs, displaying a set of neat white teeth, but not so white that they’re the first thing you see when you look at her.
‘It’s a magical place, quite spiritual…’ – her voice momentarily tapers off as though she’s been caught in a particularly nice memory, – ‘… plus it’s full of rich guys with big boats.
’ She throws her head back, laughs some more.
‘Are you single, Erin?’ I point at her button, open my mouth to speak.
‘I got engaged in Ibiza, just a few weeks ago,’ she continues.
‘He proposed to me during sunset at Es Vedrà. I mean, where else?’ She waggles her left hand, shows me the admittedly impressive-looking diamond ring on her finger. ‘He gave me a rock, on a rock.’
‘Wow. It’s beautiful.’ And huge. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Aww, thanks, hun.’ She shimmies in her seat. ‘You married?’
‘No, I…’
‘Kids?’
‘No. No. No husband or kids. I’m single at the moment.’
‘Oh nice. You live alone or with family?’
Her quick-fire stream of questions unsettles me a little. She’s not the one who’s supposed to be interviewing me after all.
‘Sorry,’ she apologises, as though sensing my discomfort, ‘I don’t mean to be nosy. I’m fairly new to the area, haven’t got many friends… Billie-Jean no-mates, me!’
This surprises me. Looking at her, I imagined she’d be exactly the type of person who has to check their diary months in advance before making arrangements. She looks like she already has this job.
‘Oh, well, I…’ But then, a girl with purple hair pops her head around the door before I can continue.
‘Erin Santos?’
‘Um, yes! That’s me.’ I stand abruptly, sending my handbag – and its contents – to the floor. Shit! My face burns as I scrabble to scoop it all up, and Samantha bends down to help me. ‘Jeremy is ready for you now.’
‘Good luck, Erin,’ she says, smiling as she hands me half a sticky packet of wine gums and a tampon. ‘May the best girl win!’