Chapter 29
Eve
Graham sits opposite me in the hotel breakfast room, his hair tousled, a small smile playing at his lips.
‘Good night?’ I ask, flattening my fringe with one hand.
‘ Very good.’ He spears a piece of sausage with a fork and pops it in his mouth.
I stare at my fruit bowl, willing myself to hold my tongue and keep my face impassive. ‘I’m glad.’
‘So why did you want to meet?’ Graham asks, looking up at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Oh. Is it about me not texting back last night?’
‘No,’ I scoff. ‘I messaged a few people.’
‘Who did you end up going out with?’ He regards me steadily.
‘No one, I had to make some big changes to my presentation so I cancelled.’
‘Cancelled who?’
I take a deep breath. I won’t let him bait me.
‘Are you doing the lighting for our talks this morning?’ I ask, checking my watch. Two hours to go.
‘Yeah. Why?’ He spreads jam on his toast.
‘I wondered...’ I bite my lip. It’s risky. ‘I thought you might be able to make some changes. To the second presentation.’
Graham stops spreading and looks at me. ‘Kirsty’s presentation.’
‘Yes.’
He laughs, shaking his head. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’
He stops smiling and drops his knife onto the tablecloth, a smear of red swiping across the linen. ‘Eve.’ His voice is low, warning. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
I wiggle my tongue around my teeth, trying to dislodge a string of pineapple. ‘Forget about it.’
He sits back in his chair. ‘You know, I’m really glad I didn’t text back.’
‘What?’
‘Well, this was it, wasn’t it? Use me to get your way. Ask me to risk my job for you.’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’ He shakes his head. ‘That’s cold, Eve, even for you.’
‘And I suppose you spent all night pining over me, did you? Watching the porn channel and ordering room service?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘It is, Graham, and you know it.’ Is it? I push my bowl away from me, my defences rising tall. The words whip out of me before I can stop them. ‘You can’t fuck whoever you want and expect me not to play the same game.’
‘Oh, because that’s what’s happening here.’ He glares at me, and I scrape my chair back, standing up.
‘I’ll see you at the expo,’ I say, and I walk away.
* * *
An hour until Kirsty’s talk, and half an hour until mine. I sit in the corner of the main hall, checking through the bogus presentation she found on my computer and trying to predict which parts she might include. With Graham out of the picture, I can’t have a look at what she’s done, or add anything of my own to ensure she bombs it. I’m just going to have to pray.
The Convention Centre is packed already; smart professionals and small-business florists mill around, looking at the stands and checking their programmes. I tap my foot, impatient, and gaze around the space.
To the left is the largest lecture hall, where we’ll be speaking. I don’t know my presentation well, but it’s fine, I can wing it. I’m not usually so unprepared, have never spent less time on a presentation, particularly not one this important. I put more work into last month’s team briefing, but I have had to prioritise. Once Kirsty speaks, any fumbles I make will be forgotten.
I’m packing my bag when I notice a familiar shape looming towards me.
‘Eve.’ I spot Dev’s perfect teeth first; the artificial light of the lobby makes them shine.
I stand up. ‘Dev,’ I beam, ‘so glad you could come.’
‘I got the early flight. The doctor says Eleanor should be good for another few days.’ He checks his phone. ‘Happy to be here, but also praying I don’t miss my first child’s birth for the sake of appearances.’
‘You still want me to present, though?’ I ask, as something cold swoops in my stomach. If he bumps us back down, Kirsty won’t present what she’s supposed to.
‘Hm? Oh, yes, yes, no changes.’ He waves his hand, his eyes still glued to his phone.
‘Great,’ I say, relief coursing through me. ‘Shall we go through?’
We make our way over to the theatre, where people are taking their seats.
‘I’m really looking forward to seeing what you’ve come up with,’ Dev says as we near the front. ‘There’s a lot riding on this, as you well know.’ He winks.
‘Mmm.’ I look around me; Kirsty is nowhere to be seen. ‘I’ll catch up with you afterwards?’
He nods. ‘Of course.’
I put my bag by the speakers’ seats at the front and ascend the stage, checking the laptop and inserting my USB as the hall fills, the seats almost full.
‘All ready?’ Kirsty has joined me on stage, and is brandishing her pen drive. ‘Mind if I pop mine on there as well?’
‘Be my guest.’ I step away and watch as she drags her presentation onto the desktop.
‘Ladies.’ I turn my back to Kirsty as Graham climbs the steps towards us, his eyes trained on me. ‘Is there any specific lighting you’re after? Just spotlights all the way through?’
‘A following spotlight,’ I say, glaring at him. ‘Please.’
‘That would be great, thanks, Graham,’ Kirsty says from behind me. I turn back around. She’s bent over the computer.
‘Hi, everyone.’ Michael Peters has now appeared. A headache begins in my left temple. ‘I’ll be doing the introductions in a minute, so if you could all skedaddle. You’ve got your presentations lined up?’
‘On the desktop,’ I say.
Kirsty finally moves away from the computer and Michael ushers us off the stage. ‘Good luck, ladies.’
Kirsty and I sit next to each other. The hum and chatter of the hall sends adrenaline shooting through my body; thirty-three minutes until she goes on.
Michael taps the microphone, and a hush descends over the room.
‘Hello, everybody. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Michael Peters...’
The introductions are long and drawn out: what a year we’ve had, Dev’s contributions, our domination of the market. My heart pounds. To be a part of this — to be in Dev’s seat...
‘. . . our in-house Head of Digital Marketing, Eve Slater.’
Applause rains around the room. Kirsty shifts beside me as I get to my feet and climb onto the stage.
‘Good morning.’ I begin my presentation, trying not to get thrown off by Kirsty, who is staring intently at the slides on the screen behind me. An uncomfortable feeling runs through me, but I shrug it off.
I glance at the laptop for the first few slides, checking that what I’m saying is in sync with my clicks. I falter a few times — tripping over my words and turning back, re-explaining context that I forgot to give properly the first time round — but eventually, I find my rhythm, and move into the middle of the stage, the clicker in my hand.
‘As you can see, Florina’s share of the market totals almost 46% at last check. We’ve been the biggest floristry retailer in the country for six years, but never as big as we are now. Our growth is reflected in our customer satisfaction, which we collect by...’
I click, describing our feedback attainment methods, but people begin shifting in their seats. Am I boring them? I attempt to speed up, surveying the audience, injecting more energy into my voice.
The shuffling intensifies, and a hum reverberates around the room. I talk louder, my eyes darting from person to person as they murmur in each other’s ears and crane their necks forward.
I look to Dev; his face is like thunder.
‘Overwhelmingly, the majority of our respondents...’ I turn to look behind me.
My voice dies in my throat. My stomach drops.
On the screen is a template presentation slide, the title box empty, and underneath, a list of bullet points.
[Insert Title Here]
-Something here about how we’re improving our metrics
-Don’t mention complaints related to poisonous foxglove recall
-Something about how fucking brilliant Dev is blah blah
-Also don’t mention how sturdy the office desks are for shagging IT managers
‘I’m so sorry.’ I rush towards the computer, my feet skidding across the stage. I stab the escape button, again and again, closing the presentation, catching a glimpse of the side bar where, three slides ago, my presentation merged into this tampered version. Nausea swells inside me.
I return to the desktop. ‘I do apologise; if I could just find the correct presentation...’ I roam the cursor around, going to open my PowerPoint again, to see if something has changed, but a hand lands on my shoulder.
‘Technical difficulties happen to the best of us!’ Michael booms into the microphone. He guides me, firmly, towards the stairs. ‘It’s probably best if we have a small break before we move on to the next talk.’
He looks out to Kirsty, who is standing up, a slow smile creeping across her face. I hold the banister tightly, my legs threatening to give way, and walk past, feeling every eye in the room boring into me.