Chapter 30
Eve
‘How could you?’ I push my way through the door of the tech room, where Graham is sitting fiddling with the controls.
He spins around and holds up his hands. ‘Eve, I swear to god, I didn’t do anything.’
‘You did! Of course you did! You’ve teamed up with her to ruin my career!’ I hiss.
Graham stands up and grabs me by the shoulders. ‘I didn’t touch that computer! You saw!’
‘I know you can access them remotely,’ I push his hands away. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘I can’t! Not that laptop, not from here.’ He shakes his head. ‘Someone went into your presentation after you put it on there. They deleted half your slides and replaced them with new ones.’
I stand in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. Kirsty. She must have done it when I left her alone with the laptop. While I was talking to Graham and Michael. Rage pulses in my throat.
‘You can’t think I’d do that?’ he says, his voice heavy. ‘Eve, it’s got my fucking job title on it.’
I turn to face him, and his eyes are round and serious.
‘It’s fine,’ I shake my head, moving away. ‘Fine. She’s going up in a minute. It’ll be a car crash.’
‘Christ,’ Graham sits back down, running his hand through his hair. ‘You’re both insane.’
‘She started this,’ I retort, leaning against the control deck and peering down at the stage. What she’s done — humiliating me personally in front of the whole floristry community — is unthinkably malicious. I grip the edge of the control deck. ‘She deserves everything she gets.’
Graham turns to me, his face unreadable. ‘Eve.’
‘What?’
‘I think you should go and explain. Don’t let this fester.’
‘I’m not going down there until she’s done.’ I walk around the small room, from one wall to another, my teeth clenched. ‘Once she’s hammered the nail in her own coffin, I can say she panicked and sabotaged me. I’ll say she was out of her depth, that she didn’t know what she was talking about, so she had to draw the attention away from herself.’
‘Do you realise how mental you sound?’ Graham is staring at me, his mouth open. ‘What have you done ?’
‘I haven’t done anything.’ I lean towards the window again and watch as Dev, Kirsty and Michael stand in a huddle, their eyes searching for me.
‘Go and explain, Eve. If you haven’t done anything, you can sort this.’
I watch as Kirsty speaks to Dev and gestures towards the stage. She’s writing her own narrative, solidifying my culpability. Graham’s right: I have to go down there.
I move towards the door, but Graham stops me, grabbing my arm and dragging me back as he turns down the lights. Michael is on the stage again.
‘Again, everybody, we apologise for the earlier mishap. We’ll move quickly on now to Kirsty McClure, our Deputy Head of Digital Marketing, who is going to tell us about Florina’s plans for successful marketing in a data-conscious digital world. Kirsty, over to you.’
Kirsty mounts the stage, a vision of confidence. She introduces herself, and then seamlessly segues into her presentation.
As I watch her talk, a coldness creeps from the base of my spine to the top of my head. She’s regurgitating my ideas — my good ideas, the ones I gave her — but with added flair. She’s taken what I did and improved upon it, making it more doable, more accessible. The nonsense figures and questionable plans I tried to feed her aren’t there, there’s nothing but innovation and cool, clear self-belief.
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘No, this isn’t happening.’
‘What?’ Graham keeps his eyes trained on the stage, moving the spotlight to follow Kirsty as she moves backwards and forwards, the image of a seasoned presenter.
‘She’s smashing it. She’s taken my ideas and she’s doing it better than I did.’
Graham sighs. ‘I’m sorry, Eve.’
‘Thank you all so much for your time and attention today.’ Kirsty begins to wrap up. My heart sinks. ‘But before I go, I’d like to share with you some exciting new products that might be making their way into your stores, both physical and virtual, very soon.’
She clicks onto the next slide, and I frown.
It’s plant pots. Pretty plant pots housing cacti and succulents; sandy beiges and terracotta. Mismatched edges and wonky shapes.
My pulse quickens.
‘I’ve been working closely with our design team to create our new and exciting student-centred plant range. The colour scheme and low-maintenance plant types will appeal to Gen Zs as they head off to university. We’re so proud of this new direction, and think it will contribute towards the fresh, organic brand image that Florina is so well known for. Thank you.’
She dismounts the stage.
‘That’s mine,’ I say, my voice shaking. ‘Those are my designs.’
‘How did she get them?’ Graham asks, flicking off the lights and swivelling towards me.
‘I gave them to her.’ I sink into an empty seat and bury my head in my hands. ‘I literally handed them to her.’
‘Oh Eve.’ Graham looks at me, and the pity in his eyes makes me want to scream.
I stand up and open the door to the tech room, moving down the stairs on autopilot, not stopping, not thinking, until I’m out of the building and onto the street, swallowed up by the crowds.
* * *
The bar is busy, but not with people from the expo. I’ve purposefully picked somewhere off the beaten track, where nobody will see me.
I’m three gin and tonics down, and I’m in full scheming mode. How can I pull back from this? I can collect the evidence; not all of it, but some, and present it to Dev. Surely, if I’m upfront about the part I played, it will count in my favour.
I mix the ice cubes at the bottom of my glass with a paper straw. Admitting to anything would see me out of the running for the promotion, but so would letting things stand. Unless I pin everything on Kirsty, which would seem petty and unbelievable, it’s all over.
I feel the unfamiliar pressure of tears collecting behind my eyes, and swallow them down. It’s sixteen years since I last cried; I won’t be starting now.
My phone buzzes across the table, and Dev’s name appears on my screen.
‘Hi, Dev.’ I answer because I am tipsy. I don’t have a plan.
‘Eve,’ he sighs.
‘How are you?’
He laughs softly. ‘How are you ?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
There’s a pause. ‘What happened, Eve?’
I don’t speak for a minute. ‘I know what happened, but it wasn’t me.’ I sound like a child who’s been caught stealing sweeties.
‘Right.’ I can hear the noise of the conference in the background, the excited babble and shouting. ‘I think you know what this means, don’t you?’
I close my eyes.
‘We’re going to have to do a proper investigation,’ he continues, ‘but for now... the cards are stacked against you, Eve. I go off in less than a week. We need someone—’
‘I know,’ I whisper.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too.’
I hang up, and signal to a passing waiter to bring me another drink.
My phone buzzes with a message from Adam: a screenshot of a response to his Facebook post. I put it face down on the table.
‘Drinking alone?’ I look up — a man is looming over me. He’s attractive, slightly drunk, a little older than me.
I carve a deep scratch into the surface of the table with my fingernail. ‘Take a seat.’