‘He’s half Moroccan. Here, look, read this,’ Patsy said, passing her phone to Chantelle. She took it and scanned the article. There were several pictures of Granger Carmont. He looked just as good in his casual clothes as he did in a suit. One picture showed a white mansion framed by a golden sunset and the caption read: ‘The Carmont family residence in Marrakesh, Granger’s home in Morocco.’ She scanned the text. Granger Carmont had a Moroccan father and an English mother. He had been living in the UK since going to university in Oxford. ‘One of the country’s most eligible bachelors,’ it said, linking him to many society girls. Chantelle studied the pictures. The one in Marrakesh was beautiful; pink bougainvillea hung over an archway in front of an azure-blue swimming pool. Granger was smiling; his hair was longer then, and it was swept back off his face. He hadn’t inherited much of his looks from the Moroccan side of the family, Chantelle noted, peering at his light brown hair and blue eyes.
Chantelle passed the phone back to Patsy having read enough. Her own years at university in Paris had been so hard. Her aunt and uncle could never have afforded her education, so she had worked every spare moment to finance her studies. Evenings and weekends, as many shifts as she could get. Studying had been done during the night. What a different life it would have been if she had been born into money like Granger Carmont, with a mansion in Marrakesh. How easy he must have had things.
‘He’s dating Cynthia DeVere. Apparently he’s a real ladies’ man, always with a different woman, that’s what it says. But in the office he’s totally professional. I don’t know of any affairs he’s had with the girls here, never even flirts. There have been enough offers, though! God knows, I’ve even tried.’ Patsy shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind being one of his mistresses.’ She turned to gaze at Granger again, who was pointing at the computer screen. ‘I sometimes think about going to a bar to seduce him, not telling him that I work for him. But I don’t think he would date me – I don’t have enough money. I’ve read he only dates rich girls.’
‘How shallow,’ Chantelle muttered. ‘I guess he’s had everything given to him all his life. Plus, he knows he’s good looking, it’s obvious. I hate men like that. You know, who love themselves.’
‘When you’re as rich and good looking as Granger Carmont you can afford to be fussy about who you date.’ Patsy laughed.
‘Who is Cynthia DeVere?’ Chantelle asked.
‘One of the “It” girls. You’re so funny, Chantelle, so out of touch with the media.’
‘I’m French! They are all foreign to me. Anyway, I’m too busy to worry about gossip,’ she said, and turned back to her computer.
Granger Carmont was just the sort of man she avoided at all costs. Paris was full of rich good-looking guys and she had done well to avoid them while she was studying there. The party lifestyle was focused on one thing, and the girls who dated these guys always ended up getting used and hurt. That was not on her agenda at all.
Chantelle forced herself to get on with her work. But she struggled. Her thoughts kept pulling her back to those mysterious blue eyes. The intensity of his gaze had penetrated to her bones, the connection between them undeniable. She frowned and bit her lip. How could she have been caught staring at him like that, like all those other girls, just adding fuel to his already inflated ego? She opened Excel and started manipulating a complicated spreadsheet, absorbing herself in creating a pivot table.
When she got home it was still light. Chantelle pulled on her sport gear and headed out for a run. It was unseasonably warm for the end of October. The leaves were beginning to fall, and the ground was littered with beautiful golden red crunchiness. She closed her eyes, turned her face to the late afternoon sun and stood for a moment inhaling the fresh autumnal air.
Another day done, and she was still no closer to a solution for her work. Excel had consumed her afternoon and she had forgotten to talk to Margaret about a contract extension. She would need to start applying to job agencies if she wanted to avoid being out of work in two weeks.
The park was full of people, families with children out enjoying the beautiful evening weather. Chantelle took a deep breath and began running the circuit of the perimeter, falling into the flow of joggers. She had only gone two hundred metres when a black and white blur came careering towards her.
‘Eric, stop! Come back!’ A wet, muddy, and very excited Springer Spaniel puppy crashed into her legs sending her staggering backwards. Eric launched himself at her again, jumping up, his long pink tongue drooping out of his mouth, panting excitedly, pawing mud all over her running gear.
‘Eric! ERIC! Get back here.’ A red-faced woman arrived behind the puppy, panting equally as much. ‘Stop it, Eric. I’m so sorry. I’ve been chasing him for miles. I only let him off his lead to practise his training exercises. Oh, my goodness, look at you, you’re covered in mud. What have you done, Eric? I’ll pay for the cleaning. Eric, come here now!’
The dog ignored her. Chantelle giggled, bent down and threw her arms around the excited puppy. He was wagging his tail so much his whole body was swaying.
‘T’es trop mignon!’ Chantelle cooed as the dog covered her face in licks.
‘You like dogs, phew!’ Relief was audible in the woman’s voice. ‘He’s uncontrollable. I only got a Springer because they’re supposed to be easy to train.’ She raised her shoulders to the sky. ‘If this is easy, I’d hate to see a dog that’s difficult to train.’
Chantelle laughed and stood up. ‘They’re excitable but are really easy to train, I promise. I’ve got one back home in France. I miss him so much. Such a friendly breed. Stick with it – you’ll be glad you did in the end.’ She held Eric’s collar and helped the lady put the lead back on.
‘Ah, that’s good to hear. He’s my first dog. I’ve never had one before and this whole thing is turning out to be harder than I imagined.’
‘Like having a baby!’ Chantelle laughed. ‘So, I am told. I haven’t got kids.’
‘No, neither have I. And I’m in no hurry if this is what it’s like.’ The woman pulled Eric’s lead. ‘Hey, sorry, and thanks again for not getting mad. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay for the cleaning?’
Chantelle laughed. ‘It’s my running it gear. It will wash in the machine, no problem.’ She waved and headed off on her run again, laughing. Her leggings and trainers were covered in mud, but it didn’t matter. By the time she had finished the circuit, the light was fading. The days were much shorter now, and next weekend the clocks would change, signalling the start of winter. Chantelle looked around. She loved that time of year, with the build-up to Christmas. In Paris she always like visiting the department stores, les grand magasins, on the Boulevard Haussmann. It would be her first Christmas outside France. If she managed to get a job so she could stay, that was.
Approaching her house, Chantelle slowed to walk, breathing deeply, helping her body to unwind. She stretched outside her front door, bending over, touching her toes, then pulling her legs up behind, releasing all the tension from the run. There were no lights in any of the windows of her house.
‘Please don’t be in,’ she whispered to herself as she put her key into the lock and turned it. Inside, the house was silent. She let out a breath. Neil wasn’t back yet. Chantelle pulled off her trainers and ran up the stairs two at a time. Grabbing her towel and washbag she hurried to the bathroom. She placed the towel on the floor in front of the door, wedging it as far into the crack as it would go. She turned on the shower, peeled off her muddy leggings and stepped under the steaming water, taking care to stay close to the wall as there was no shower curtain.
She closed her eyes, the heat rushing over her, relaxing her tight muscles. It felt so nice after being outside in the fresh air. She pulled the pin out of her hair, letting it tumble down her back. The water drummed in her ears blocking out all sounds. She washed her hair then let the water rinse out the soapy water. When she opened her e
yes again she saw her flatmate was standing in the doorway watching her.
‘Ahhh!’ Chantelle screamed. ‘GET OUT!’
He didn’t move, gawping at her naked body.
‘Neil!’ She looked around for something to cover herself with. Nothing was within grabbing distance. She wrapped one arm around her chest and tried to cover the top of her legs with the other hand.
‘You’ll never be able to cover yourself with your hands,’ Neil said calmly, nodding at her chest. Chantelle panicked and pressed both hands over her breasts. Neil’s eyes automatically dropped. She crossed her legs in a hope to hide herself.
‘Get out!’ she screamed.
‘Sorry. Sorry,’ Neil said, ‘but the door wasn’t locked.’
‘Neil, there is no lock! You knew I was in here, you could hear the shower.’
‘I didn’t hear it,’ he said, holding up his headphones.
‘The towel was under the door,’ she shouted.
‘I didn’t notice.’ He shrugged.
‘Go,’ Chantelle yelled, turning her back to him. He finally left, leaving the door wide open. Chantelle swore and kept her back to the door sure, he would still be watching as she hurriedly rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and eyes, then picked up her towel and turned off the water.
Neil knew she was in the shower. Sure, he did. He’d forced the door open on purpose, so he could watch her. There was no way it would have opened easily after she had wedged the towel under it. This couldn’t go on. She had to find somewhere else to live. But until she had a job and some money coming in, how could she afford to move out? She didn’t know if she would be staying in the country or going back to France. She sank on to her bed and put her head in her hands.
Chapter Two
‘I have to talk to Margaret,’ Chantelle told Patsy.
‘What about?’
‘My contract. It’s due to finish next week.’ Chantelle chewed on her lip.
‘Yeah, right. She still hasn’t said anything about a permanent job?’ Patsy asked.
‘No, not yet. I don’t want to bother her, but I’m starting to get worried. What if I don’t get a job? What will I do then? It’s only next week! Surely, she would have said something by now if she had a job for me.’
‘I’m sure she’ll have a job for you. Look how busy we are. There’s no way we could manage if you weren’t here.’ Patsy pursed her lips and nodded. ‘I’m sure she has a job for you.’
‘I hope so. I’d just feel so much better if I had something on paper,’ Chantelle said, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. ‘I’ll just have to ask her today. I mean, why not? She must understand I need to know.’
‘I’m not sure this week is the best time to talk to her though.’ Patsy frowned. ‘She’s been pretty stressed, what with the US trip and everything.’
‘I know, but if I don’t ask her this week, I’ll be gone by the end of next!’ Chantelle sighed. ‘I’m running out of time.’
Patsy put her hand on Chantelle’s arm. ‘Why not ask her tomorrow, after our team meeting?’ she suggested. ‘It’s a good moment to approach her.’
‘You’re right. She is always chatty after the team meeting.’ Chantelle looked at Margaret’s closed door. She sat down at her desk and let out a breath; her pulse started to slow again. ‘Tomorrow for sure,’ she whispered to herself. She turned on her computer and opened Excel.
‘I’m leaving now. Are you coming to the bus stop?’ Patsy asked as she turned off her computer.
‘No, it’s only …’ Chantelle looked at her watch. It was seven already! ‘How did that happen?’
Patsy laughed. ‘Time flies when you’re having fun.’
‘It’s Excel.’ Chantelle pulled a face.
Patsy shrugged. ‘No accounting for taste. Some people enjoy spreadsheets and numbers – what can I say.’
‘I don’t enjoy them, exactly. I just like things to be correct. You know … I like working through a problem. Like puzzling. Stuff like that.’
Patsy laughed. ‘Whatever you say. Are you coming?’ She zipped up her coat.
‘No, not yet. I want to finish this.’
‘Oh, OK, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Patsy waved.
Chantelle glanced around the office. There were three people at the desks at the far end. She could see the light from their desk lamps and two of the offices still had lights on. She wasn’t the last one, she thought.
Chantelle turned back to her computer and took a breath. Almost finished. She picked up a pen and twisted it between her teeth. She was sure she could figure out this last formula if she just took her time. And Neil normally went out at nine o’clock on Tuesday nights so even more reason to delay going home! She put her headphones on and continued working.
At eight o’clock the main lights turned off automatically. Chantelle jumped; she stood up and looked around. The others had left without her noticing, but they had forgotten to turn their desk lights off. She had never stayed this late before. She looked around at the empty desks. The office looked different in the dark – lonely and unfamiliar. It was dark outside the windows too. She shuddered, not liking to be alone; she would leave soon too. There were still lights on in two of the private offices, so she wasn’t the only one there. She looked at her watch; she would certainly be home after nine.
She flicked on her desk lamp and continued working on the report she was running but didn’t put her headphones back on this time. A sound in the corridor made her eyes flick up, and her heart began pounding. The security guard appeared. He was doing his rounds, checking the building. She sighed with relief.
‘Working late?’ he called, turning off the desk lights at the end of the office.
‘Almost finished,’ Chantelle called back.
‘Make sure you turn your light off when you go. I’m always coming up here and turning the lights out.’
‘I will.’
‘Good night,’ the guard called back, and left the office.
Chantelle picked up her pen again. Another half an hour and she would leave. She saved the spreadsheet and began tidying the files on her C drive. Then she stopped and bit her lip. She looked around the office again. She opened the internet and typed Monster Job Board into the search bar. She swallowed. In one week she would be unemployed. She had to start looking for another job; no one was here to see. If for some reason Margaret didn’t extend her contract she would be out on her ear.
Chantelle filtered on jobs in the finance sector and hesitated, her finger hovering over the mouse button. She looked around the office. She just didn’t want to leave this company. She had loved it from the minute she’d set foot inside the shiny modern building. Granger Finance was the best in the industry and it was amazing working here. There was a big intern community and she felt she fitted in the from the moment she started. Each weekend she was invited to parties and meetups. She’d never felt like she belonged so much in her life. Would they really make her leave?
One by one her friends’ internships had finished and everyone who wanted one had landed a job so far. Surely, she would do the same. Margaret was pleased with her work, she knew she was. So, what was taking so long? Why hadn’t she been offered a job?
There was a noise at the other side of the office. Chantelle looked up as one of the office doors opened. She clicked the internet window closed and looked up, feeling hot blood rush to her cheeks; she shouldn’t be looking for jobs at work.
Granger Carmont strode on to the floor; he looked around, spotted her and started walking over. She watched him, her heart thumping in her ears. His tie was loosened, his top button undone, and his hair had the tousled look of having had his hands run through it more than once that evening. Not always immaculately turned out then, Chantelle noted with satisfaction.
Granger’s forehead was creased in a frown. His lips were pursed together. It
didn’t look good. Chantelle felt her skin tighten. She looked around for someone else who could speak to him. But she was alone. She would have to deal with him. The MD. In his bad mood. She stood up, wringing her hands together as he approached.
‘Where is everyone?’ Granger asked, scanning the office. ‘It’s like a graveyard in here.’
‘They’ve gone home, I think,’ Chantelle said.
‘They’ve gone home?’ Granger looked around the dark office. All the computers were turned off, desks cleared. ‘You think?’ he repeated.
Chantelle swallowed and shook her head. ‘No, I know, they’ve gone home.’
‘Doesn’t anyone have work to do around here? Or is it only me?’ He ran his hand through his hair and frowned. Chantelle watched him, not daring to breath. ‘No one takes their job seriously! I’m sick of this, there’s no one with any ambition in this company. It’s only …’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Oh, it’s eight thirty.’ His face softened. ‘So late? I must have lost track of …’ He looked at Chantelle. ‘What are you still doing here?’
‘I’m …’ Chantelle looked down at her blank screen. ‘I’m working on something. Or at least I was. I’ve just finished it.’
Granger looked at her. ‘I haven’t seen you before today. Are you new?’
‘It’ll be six months next week,’ Chantelle said, meeting his eyes and holding her head up.
‘Six months?’ Granger rubbed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I need to get out here more, I’m losing touch.’ He frowned. ‘It’s not good. I spend too much time in my hole. What is your name?’
‘Chantelle. I’m an intern.’
‘An intern. From which university?’
‘Sorbonne, Paris,’ Chantelle said.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Impressive.’
Chantelle felt the blood rise up her neck to her cheeks.
The Executive Floor Page 2
