Jennifer already knew that, because she’d been scrolling through the woman’s social media feeds non-stop—all in the name of research, obviously. But Jennifer was great at multi-tasking: she could research and thirst all at once.
Now Lilliana was here in person, striding towards her in an enormous, pale blue puffer jacket and Nike Air Max. Jennifer rose, stepped out from the elegantly appointed table she’d been waiting at, and greeted her client with a smile and an outstretched hand.
“Ms Taylor-Thomas!” She smiled. “I’m Jennifer Johnson of Brown Cow. Lovely to meet you.”
“Hey,” Lilliana drawled. She reached out and shook Jennifer’s hand, her grip limp, her pretty face inscrutable.
Maintaining her smile, Jennifer sat back down and took up a menu. They were in some kind of artisanal restaurant, wedged between vintage stores and jazz cafes. She’d never heard of the place, but Lilliana, though London-bred, had suggested it.
“Do you come to Nottingham often?” Jennifer asked, as Lilliana settled into her seat with enviable grace.
“Oh, yeah. All the time. Love it here. Nightlife, you know?”
“Right, definitely!” Jennifer had thought London nightlife would be far superior. But then, she’d never been out in London; and Nottingham was great.
“So, is Richard coming?” Lilliana’s gaze was glued to the phone in her hand. On the table, another phone lay by her elbow, in an enormous, glittering pink case.
“I’m sorry?” Jennifer blinked. “Oh! Right. Um, no, he won’t be joining us—I’ll be looking after you. He doesn’t usually attend this sort of thing.”
Lilliana looked up from her phone and stared, silent. She had shrugged off her big coat to reveal tanned, toned shoulders clad in a tight, sporty vest top. Her biceps were kind of incredible. Jennifer tried not to stare. Lilliana clearly had no such qualms; she continued to look at Jennifer with the creepily blank intensity of an owl.
Jennifer cleared her throat. “If you wanted to meet with Richard specifically, I’m sure something could—“
“Oh, no. No, no, no. I don’t need to meet with Richard for work! He and I are old friends, you know?” Lilliana opened her menu, snapped it shut after less than a second, and waved it in the air. “No, I talk to him all the time. You know? I was just wondering. I mean, this is a small company, right? His little thing he does, to piss of his family or whatever? You know?”
To piss off his family? Jennifer knew Richard was from a wealthy background; it was kind of hard to miss. She knew he was kind of a prick. But he was also a hard worker and a fair boss, and he and Theo had built a multi-million-pound advertising firm from—well. Not the ground up; trust funds went a long way. But still. When it came down to it, her career—the fact that she even had a chance at a career—was thanks to him. Feeling her temper rise, Jennifer began to jiggle her foot beneath the table. “Actually, Brown Cow isn’t small at all. Rich and Theo—“
“Hold that thought, darling.”
A waiter was answering the obnoxious call of Lilliana’s waving menu, his face impressively polite. Back in her own waitressing days, Jennifer had dealt with rude customers via the magic of benzos. She had dealt with everything via the magic of benzos, at one point. With a deep breath, she stopped jiggling her foot.
“Caesar salad, no dressing, with chicken. Breast, grilled. And a water.”
The waiter nodded cooly, apparently not bothered about the fact that Lilliana reeled off this list while tapping distractedly at her phone. “Of course, Madam.” He turned to Jennifer.
“Umm…” She ran her eyes over the menu quickly. Her gaze automatically leapt to the cheapest item, even though Brown Cow would foot the bill. “What’s the soup today?”
“Pumpkin, Madam.”
“Uh, yeah, I’ll have the soup please. Also, could I get some of the focaccia? And the lemonade, please.”
“Certainly.”
Lilliana gave Jennifer a pitying look. “You need more protein. Are you vegan?’
“Um… No?”
“Oh. Well, don’t hold back on my account. I can see that you must eat a lot.” At that statement, Jennifer nearly choked on her own tongue. Lilliana appeared not to notice. “I’ve been thinking about going vegan. But I don’t know how I’d hit my protein goals, you know?”
Jen cleared her throat. “Ah, yes. I have heard that’s an issue. Although, apparently—“
“There’s a lot of sugar in lemonade. And it’s very acidic. It bloats me, personally. That’s why I stick to water.”
“I suppose you have to think about that, what with your blog, and everything!” Jennifer gave a practiced, if strained smile smile. “Speaking of which—let’s get down to business, shall we? Did you receive the plans I emailed you?”
“Oh, yeah.” Lilliana’s full, glossy lips twisted in a grimace. “I opened it on my phone, or whatever. But I thought, since I was coming to meet you. You know. We’d talk about it now.”
“Right.” Jennifer nodded. “Sure. Thanks so much for coming up, by the way—“
“Oh, it’s nothing. Since Richard moved here, I come up all the time.”
“Oh, I see. He mentioned you—“
“He mentioned me?” This was enough to tear Lilliana’s eyes—wide, incongruously dark, and very striking for it—away from her phone screen. In fact, she put the phone down on the table, next to its sibling. “What did he say?”
Jennifer wracked her brain, trying to remember. What had Richard said? Or was it Priyanka who said it? “Um… He said something about the two of you being family friends?”
Lilliana gave a throaty laugh, and her face lit up. God, she was really beautiful. Sexy as hell, too. At least, when she was laughing. Not so much when she was speaking.
“He’s so coy. We’re very close. There are rumours about us, you know?”
“Ah… Rumours?”
Lilliana leaned in, her gaze warm, her smile intimate. “About our relationship, you know?”
Oh. Oh. Jennifer gave a sage nod, as though she knew precisely what Lilliana was talking about. As though it were the talk of the town, even! “Mmm,” she murmured. Nod, nod, nod, went her head like a children’s toy.
Lilliana seemed pleased. She leaned back with an air of satisfaction. “So,” she said. “What are your plans? You know, for my brand?”
Jennifer gave a sigh of relief. This was safe ground—very safe, in fact. She reached down, pulled out her oversized handbag from beneath the table, and produced a folder. Thank God she had it to hand. It wasn’t everything, but it was enough.
Opening it up to the first page, she turned it towards Lilliana and put it down in the centre of the table.
“So what I’m thinking is…”
For the next ten minutes, Jennifer spoke. Lilliana did not. The waiter returned, and set down their drinks, and Jennifer paused to thank him. Lilliana, of course, did not; but she did sip demurely at her water. Jennifer continued to speak.
Then, finally, she ran out of steam. Mentally, she ran through her checklist. Acknowledgement of current achievement: check. Acknowledgement of goals: check. Evidence of projections: check. Cross-platform approach: check. Logo and branding: check. Thoughts on brand interaction: check. Had they covered the YouTube overhaul? Yep; page three. Right. So.
Jennifer tapped her nails against the final page of her work. “That’s… That’s it then! That’s a summary of my thoughts so far.”
As though he’d been waiting for the perfect moment, the waiter reappeared. He served Lilliana her enormous salad, and then gave Jennifer her soup and bread. Awkwardly, she picked up the folder and held it out of the way.
“Thanks,” she nodded to the waiter. Then, to Lilliana: “Um… I could send you a copy of everything, as it is in here? Just so you have it to look over, I mean, at your leisure?”
Lilliana sliced neatly into a piece of chicken breast; speared it, along with a chunk of lettuce. Plopped it between her perfectly plump lips. Chewed. Her second phone buzzed, and
she picked it up, looked at the screen, rolled her eyes, and put it down again.
“No,” she said finally. “Don’t bother. Listen; I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t think you really get what I’m trying to do here.”
Jennifer’s jaw dropped. “I-I’m sorry?”
“It’s okay. It’s pretty complex, the kind, of, you know, the brand that I’m building, but it has a kind of prestige to it. Like, I can’t be talking to whichever fan comments the most or whatever—“
Her complete and utter shock erasing any semblance of good manners, Jennifer interrupted. “But you can’t just ignore your… Your followers.” She refused to call them fans. “If you want to reach the goals outlined here, we have to drive up the interaction on your content—“
Lilliana scoffed. Though she now had another piece of chicken in her mouth, she still managed a perfectly disdainful drawl. “Yeah, see, I don’t think you get it. I should talk to Richard.”
Jennifer sucked in her cheeks, bit the sides. Hard. “As I said, if you would like me to arrange a meeting—“
“We’re very close. But, yeah, since it’s professional and all. Maybe. Just let him know I want to talk to him, okay?”
“Okay. No problem.” Jennifer smiled brightly. She would not leap across the table and strangle a client. She would not leap across the table and strangle a client. She would not…
◆◆◆
Theo was so deep into the mountain of sales figures before him that when his phone vibrated in his pocket, it felt like being dragged out of a dream. His movements slow, he straightened out his spine, blinked away the fuzzy echoes of numbers, and reached for the phone.
“Hello?”
“Theo?”
He’d know that voice anywhere. Suddenly full of energy, he straightened in his seat. “Jenny!”
“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled, but her usual bite was absent.
“Are you okay?” He frowned. “What’s up?”
“I… I need advice.”
“You do?”
“It’s about a client.”
“Oh.” He straightened his tie, though there was no-one around to see it. “Do you want to come up? I’ll be free in…” He glanced at the clock; he had a meeting in five minutes. “Now. I’m free right now.”
“Um… No. I don’t think coming up to your office is a good idea. And I don’t want people to talk.”
“Of course, of course. You know, I wanted to see you too.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I think I have a solution to our little problem. The safety net I was talking about? How about we meet for drinks after work?
She hesitated.
“A very professional drink,” he hastened to add. “Nothing inappropriate. Cross my heart.”
“Okay,” she finally said. “Sure. Only… It might be kind of awkward if anyone were to see us leaving together—“
“How about we meet at the carpark,” he offered. “You know, the back way, through the stairwell? Maybe a little while after five?”
“Like half past? That could work.”
“Good.”
“Okay.” She paused. “Well… Thanks.”
“No problem, sweetheart.”
She scoffed. “I think I prefer Jenny.”
“Oh, you do? In that case—“
“Goodbye, Theo!” Her voice bubbled with stifled laughter.
“Bye, Jenny.”
She put the phone down. He bet she was rolling her eyes.
Chapter Eleven
It was 5:36 P.M., and Jennifer was finally wrapping things up.
Richard had been blessedly out of office when she’d returned from that disastrous lunch meeting, so she’d gone straight to Priyanka instead. Voice on the edge of trembling, she’d told her manager how she’d royally messed up their first influencer account… And God bless that woman; she’d gone full mother hen.
Jennifer didn’t expect Richard to be half as understanding about the Lilliana Situation—because really, a double-barrelled bitch whose consonants were sharp as stilettos would always be favoured over a girl like Jennifer. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew how this kind of thing went.
But Priyanka swore she’d talk to Rich. And Priyanka was good at her job. For now, Jennifer allowed herself to relax.
Most of the office had sped out at the strike of five, but she’d hung back—in a completely unsuspicious manner, she hoped. She wasn’t exactly an expert in illicit office affairs, but she knew how to follow instructions. As she logged out of her computer and gathered up her things, Jennifer took what had to be her eight-thousandth deep, calming breath of the day. It did nothing to soothe the butterflies in her stomach. But really, it wasn’t like he could seduce her over a cocktail.
Then she remembered the things he’d done to her while they were riding the bloody London Eye. Yeah. Those butterflies had every reason to flutter.
As she tottered out of the office, her annoying high-heels twinged. She’d worn her best shoes to impress Lilliana, and the woman turned up in trainers! Wasn’t that life in a nutshell? Still, she wouldn’t complain. This time last year, she’d been working God-awful hours and risking tinnitus with every shift. She sure as hell hadn't been able to wear these while pouring Cherry Sourz shots for greasy teens. She was a grown woman, a professional woman; she could handle a difficult client, and she could handle a drink with a superior. She could.
But God, did he have to be so disarmingly sexy every time she saw him?
‘Bye, Pri,’ she called, sweeping past her boss’s open door. Lord only knew when Priyanka would be leaving. If it weren’t for the odd caustic complaint about her husband’s laziness around the house, Jennifer might think the woman lived at the office.
‘Bye, love,’ Priyanka called back absently.
As she hit the stairs, Jennifer’s self-satisfaction grew. She could do this. She really could. This project was it for her—she wasn’t going to let Lilliana’s attitude get in her way. If she got it right, she’d be promoted after working at Brown Cow for only a year! God. Grandma would be hysterical.
The stairwell was empty and echoing, and Jennifer’s heels pinched with every downward step. Truthfully, she’d be better off taking the lift—but, you know what they say. Move it or lose it! The ‘it’ being her arse. It was, to be frank, fantastic, and she’d really like to keep it that way.
Maintaining a sharp trot, Jennifer rummaged around her handbag and came up with her phone; the glowing screen now read 5:39. There were a few notifications: a message from Grandma—probably a cautionary video about the dangers of under-eating, or perhaps some kind of old people’s Christian chainmail. Honestly, teaching the woman how to use WhatsApp had been a mistake. But Jen smiled as she swiped the notifications away. She’d called Grandma earlier, before lunch, and the old terror sounded well—which was to say, blunt, demanding, and caustically sarcastic. And if she was texting, that meant her arthritis was good too. A double-whammy.
Aside from Grandma, there was the odd email. A pre-sale for gig tickets that she’d missed—but such, she thought smugly, were the perils of professional life. And, of course, a few texts from Aria. These, she opened.
Simon wants you to come out with us. He said he wants to get to know you because you’re my best friend, and what’s important to me is important to him!
This was accompanied, of course, by the heart-eye emoji. And then:
Going out with the gang after work! We’ll be at Revs, you should come x
See, love-drunk vapidity aside, Aria was very energetic. Alive. In fact, Jennifer believed that it was her friend’s vitality that drew in such dead men; like moths to a flame, lifeless things would always need a power source to leech from.
But Jennifer also knew that expressing any of this would be a waste of her time, and so she chose to ignore the first message and reply only to the last. Honestly, this kind of diplomacy and maturity was very becoming of a woman such as herself. Most definitely the behaviour of an employ
ee well-suited to rise up in the ranks. Could she accidentally forward these texts to Rich? Actually, no—not Rich. But maybe Priyanka…? Someone needed to know exactly how reasonable, sensible, normal she had become.
But of course, as soon as Jennifer allowed herself to think such a thing, the world contrived to show her how very wrong she was.
It wasn’t a noise—not exactly. If there had been anything to hear, the patter of her heels against the sparse stair carpet would’ve hidden it. No; not a noise, or a shadow, or a flicker in the corner of her eye. It was a feeling. Anxiety. It had been mostly, happily, dormant for a while, but now here it was, demanding attention. Warning her.
Someone was in the stairwell.
Automatically, Jennifer stopped moving. But then, she thought, if there were someone following her, they would question an abrupt stop—wouldn’t they? They would. So she forced her muscles into movement, not too fast or too slow, and tapped away at her phone as though intent on a text or a tweet. In reality, she was intent on tapping the number nine. Once, twice, three times, thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button. There was no such thing as too careful. She knew that better than anyone.
She was paranoid. Right? Paranoid. It was a fault of hers. And yet…
Only two more flight of stairs to go.
This shouldn’t be happening. If this was paranoia—shouldn’t it pass? It usually did. It was supposed to fade, right? After the initial scare, the paranoia was supposed to fade.
One more flight.
Her bag, which had been resting in the crook of her arm, was shifted into her sweating fist. Her thumb was poised, ready to hit the button that would start the call that she prayed she would not need. She took deep, calming breaths, thought positive thoughts, tamped down her anxiety, and reached the ground floor.
She had taken the back way, leading out into the carpark, and now that the door was within reach she remembered that she needed her keycard to get out. For God’s sake. She kept moving, shoved a hand into her bag without looking, fixed her eyes on the prize and—
“Jenny.”
A banshee had nothing on the scream she gave.
Bad for the Boss_A BWAM Office Romance Page 8
