The Girlfriend Clause

Chapter 1 Andrea

Andrea

“So let me get this right.” The voice on the end of the line spoke slowly. “You want me to knock on the door and look inside, but you don’t want me to deliver the food?”

“Yes, that’s right.” I nodded, trying to sound like this was perfectly normal. “You can have the food.”

“Sell it, darling, I believe in you,” whispered James loudly behind me, his hands pressed together in the semblance of prayer. “Imagine he’s one of your clients.”

“I can keep it?” The Uber Eats driver’s tone was cynical.

“Exactly,” I said. “Take it home and eat it yourself. Or throw it in the bin. I don’t care. I added a ten-pound tip either way.”

“What? But … why?”

“Fuck, you’re going to have to tell him.” James groaned. It did sound like some sort of scam. Maybe a mystery shopper, hired to find drivers who could be bought off.

“Look, I just want you to tell me who answers the door. My boyfriend is meant to be away for the weekend, but I think he’s at home …” I looked at James for help. This was nothing like doing a sales pitch to a doctor.

James grabbed the phone.

“It’s all fine. Don’t worry”—he paused and glanced at the screen—“Baz. She just needs to know if he has a woman there. Worst-case scenario, check out what cars are parked in the driveway. And for the love of God, do not mention the Uber account name. Can you please, please do this for us?”

The line went silent. James scrolled briefly, then tapped the screen.

“I’ve increased the tip to twenty pounds,” James said firmly, like he was negotiating a contract.

“Okay then,” Baz replied after a beat. “I’m in line at Roti King right now, but I’ll let you know once I’ve dropped by your … er … the place.”

“Baz, you’re amazing. Thank you.” James beamed, then hung up.

“Twenty pounds? That’s … like … twice the cost of the beef rendang,” said Eliza in horror.

“Cheaper than a private investigator.” I reached for my sauvignon.

“And now, we wait.” James leaned back into my squidgy sofa and stretched his arms above his head.

“A moment of goddamn genius, Andrea. I’m impressed.

Mildly unhinged, but whatevs.” He threw the phone onto the coffee table and yawned.

“Ten pounds says he’s there with the pink-haired waitress from the Banana Store. Predictable loser.”

“Not a chance I’m dropping another ten pounds on top of what I’ve already spent on this tonight,” I said sullenly.

James fixed me with a look. “Hopefully you’ll be dropping a six-foot wastrel with a wandering eye and uncanny ability to avoid work and cleaning products.” He raised his glass to mine. “That’s worth a lot more than twenty quid and a beef rendang.”

I chinked my glass against his half-heartedly. “I suppose.”

It was all well and good catching my boyfriend cheating, but it didn’t feel like the victory James seemed to think it would be. It was hard to believe I might have done it again. First Mark, then Jarod. Now Rudy.

Why couldn’t I choose a man who’d be faithful to me?

“Trust me, it’ll be worth every penny,” he continued, catching my expression. “You need to move on from this loser man-child obsession.”

He had a point. Not only was Rudy a suspected cheater, he’d also recently almost set my apartment on fire when he’d smoked half a bag of Khalifa Kush and fallen asleep on this very sofa, leaving a burning candle on top of my new Bose speaker.

Thanks to Rudy’s cavalier attitude toward my possessions, we now had no music.

The TV news babbled mindlessly in the background instead.

“You remember when he threw your speaker out the window?” asked Eliza, helpfully, as she flicked through the pages of her law book. Sometimes I felt as if my younger sister could read my mind. It could be quite annoying.

“I remember, yes.” I frowned. “I should send him an invoice … for the Uber Eats and the speaker.”

“Twat,” said Eliza, a chewed biro lid half hanging out of her mouth. She scribbled some notes in her exercise book without looking up. “More wine please, James.”

“Ooh, Novexia!” James pointed at the TV, his eyes wide.

The blue-and-white company logo appeared on the screen, next to a stock image of a medic tending to a patient in an emergency room.

Text scrolled at the bottom of the screen.

UP NEXT: UK Pharma Start-Up Novexia in Acquisition Talks. Buyer Not Yet Named.

“Haven’t you got an early start in the morning?” I held up a hand to James as he reached for the bottle to fill Eliza’s glass.

“Yes, Mum.” She rolled her eyes in a way that implied I was both boring and not worth the effort of a full-blown facial expression. “Haven’t you got work?”

I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Even Eliza put down her law book and paid attention.

“One of the UK’s fastest growing pharmaceutical firms, Novexia Pharmaceuticals, may soon have a new owner,” began Amara Patel, the newscaster.

James and I looked at each other, his face part excitement, part grimace.

Exactly how I felt. Somehow, our employer being on the news made it all seem more real.

Amara continued.

“The London-based company, best known for its work in emergency and trauma medicine, is reportedly in advanced talks to be acquired, though no buyer has yet been identified. Novexia’s portfolio includes the widely used pain medication Traumex, the rapid-acting hemostatic agent ClotRx, and several other emergency drugs, such as Cardionex for shock prevention, and Respirex, a respiratory stimulant used in opioid overdose cases. ”

Hearing the names of our flagship products enunciated with the authority of a BBC anchor triggered a conflicted sense of pride, and we knocked our glasses together again, our eyes still fixed on the screen.

“Go Traumex,” James said, as if hypnotized. But Amara wasn’t done.

“The potential sale comes at a time when the company has drawn scrutiny for its pricing practices, particularly around Traumex, which remains one of the highest-margin emergency drugs in the UK market. Analysts say a sale could signal either a change in leadership direction or pressure to realign with shifting global attitudes around drug affordability and access.”

“Go capitalist exploitation of trauma victims,” I said, raising a brow at James, who shot me a look and put a finger to his lips to shush me.

“The universe is but an animal. It grazes on the ordinary,” said Eliza sagely, her eyes back on her books.

“As are you, and you owe me five quid for the pizza,” I replied. She ignored me, as I knew she would.

“Nietzsche?” asked James.

“Close,” replied Eliza. “Why don’t you ask Google? It’s free.”

I turned back to Amara Patel.

“Novexia has declined to comment, issuing only a brief statement saying it is ‘reviewing strategic options to support long-term growth.’ While the identity of the prospective buyer remains unknown, sources suggest discussions have been ongoing for several months. We’ll continue to follow this developing story and bring you updates as they come in.

Now, turning to Westminster, where a new report into NHS emergency funding is sparking debate … ”

“Well, that’s it then.” I looked at James. “It’s definitely happening.”

“Seems that way.” James threw the remains of his wine down his throat. “Explains the significance of my dream.”

“Your dream?” I replied warily.

“It was about the all-company meeting tomorrow,” said James. “I’ve been sleeping with amethyst under my pillow, did I not say?”

“Very medical of you,” I said. “I’ve always thought it was strange you didn’t need a science qualification to work for a pharmaceutical.”

“Only if you’re gorgeous, darling.” He winked. “Anyway, I work in HR, and they don’t care. Now, the meeting tomorrow, at nine. Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“Nope.” I pushed aside a pile of romance novels on the coffee table and put my glass down. James was filling it up before I had a chance to stop him. “Believe it or not, I’ve preselected my work outfit. Everything’s washed, pressed, and ready to go.”

I could be organized when I had to be, but only out of necessity. If something wasn’t in my calendar, it wouldn’t happen. Especially given all I did to look after Eliza, too.

It was tragic. I mean, I was twenty-six, and I owned a label maker.

“Ooh, don’t forget you can use Saskia’s parking pass tomorrow,” James said. “In the public car park next door. She left for Bali yesterday. That’ll save you fifteen minutes. I’ve got it here somewhere.” He dug in his backpack looking for it.

“Who’s Saskia?” asked Eliza, yawning.

“Works at the design agency next to Novexia,” I said. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to use it, but James called it strategic asset sharing. And Saskia didn’t mind. Even if the parking attendant might.

James threw the pass at me, and I stuffed it into my bag. “Lifesaver, thanks, James. But Gerald’s email never mentioned what the meeting was for. Please say your dream can enlighten us?”

“Well, clearly, it’s to announce the sale. Why else would he be in such a flap about having everyone on-site and on their best behavior for a two-hour meeting? Especially now that this has been leaked to the Beeb.” He gesticulated loftily toward the TV.

“Shame your mystical powers didn’t extend to foretelling who the new owner will be.” I smiled, my head on one side. “We could both have a lie-in tomorrow.”

James looked at me like I was his slightly disappointing protégé. “Seriously, Andy, do not underestimate the criticality of punctuality tomorrow. You know what you’re like. You do realize you can’t dial in, right?”

“I wonder if they will announce the new owner.” I rubbed my chin. “My money’s on the reclusive German billionaire.”

“Might be more interesting than Pfizer.” James nodded. “You never know. If it doesn’t work out with Rudy, maybe you could tap the new guy. The new old guy. He might be seventy-five and smell of Vicks VapoRub, but at least he wouldn’t borrow your credit card and forget to put it back.”

“Leaving you stranded at the petrol station with a full tank and no way to pay,” my sister murmured, raising a brow.