Girl After Dark

by Charlotte Eve

  She shot me a thin smile, her lips parting to reveal a huge white row of teeth, the front two of which were stained and smeared with her lipstick. I was about to tell her, then stopped myself, remembering her patronizing remarks.

  “Great,” I said quietly. “You look great.”

  §

  Blake Matthews was already waiting for us in the boardroom, lounging casually in a high-backed executive chair like he owned the place. Which, as I reminded myself, he did. The huge, slate-grey boardroom table was empty, save for Blake's feet, encased in brand-new Patrick Cox loafers. He looked like he was daring someone to tell him to take his feet off the table. But of course, nobody was going to do that.

  The moment we entered the room he stood, his face breaking out into a surprisingly bright smile, his perfect teeth flashing. His rumpled white cotton shirt was open two buttons, and tucked loosely into a pair of battered old Levis. This wasn’t quite the stuffy businessman I’d been expecting — he wouldn’t have looked so out of place strolling down the streets of Ocean Hill, Brooklyn, where I lived.

  He was in his early thirties, and despite the beat-up old jeans, there was definitely an air of money about him. He was surprisingly handsome, too – it knocked me back a little. I’d seen photos of him during my research of course, but there was something about his presence that I wasn’t expecting. He lit up the room, and from the way he acted, it was clear that he knew it.

  “Marianne, so good to see you again,” he said, his voice soft and warm with perhaps just a faint trace of an accent I couldn’t quite place.

  “Blake!” Marianne cooed in return, leaning in to plant two air kisses either side of his tanned, stubble-flecked cheeks. “And how are Alex and Linda? It’s been so long since I saw them last, do tell them I said hello, won’t you?”

  “And who is this?” Blake said, as his grey eyes fixed on me.

  This is going to sound kind of corny, but of nowhere, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

  “Oh, this is just Jessica, my assistant for today,” Marianne explained, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. “Don’t worry about her. She’s only here to take notes. So … shall we get started?”

  Marianne took a seat at the large table, but Blake remained where he was, his gaze still fixed on me.

  “Pleased to meet you, Jessica,” he said, in a slow, hushed voice, like it was some sort of secret between the two of us.

  And this is gonna sound even more corny, but when I shook his hand it was like an electric shock passed right through my body.

  Wow.

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  I thought things like that only happened in the romance novels I used to sneak out from my mom's bottom drawer, but here I was, completely unable to move as I felt the sparks from his handshake pulse through every little part of me.

  “Fabulous view Blake, just fabulous,” chimed Marianne, suddenly reminding me that we weren’t alone in the room.

  “Shall we?” Blake said, nodding over at the boardroom table, a strangely suggestive, conspiratorial tone in his voice — as if he too knew just how annoying Marianne was, and how much of a chore this meeting was going to be.

  I nodded back, desperately willing myself not to blush, as I realized we were still holding hands.

  I felt a flash of relief when he finally broke the handshake, turning and heading towards the table, and I couldn’t help steal a quick glance at him, at the athletic broadness of his shoulders, so visible beneath the flimsy white cotton of his shirt.

  Now I was definitely blushing.

  It was so unlike me to check out guys, especially entitled assholes like Blake Matthews — and after all, he really wasn’t my type.

  What the hell are you doing?

  You have a boyfriend, remember?

  A sweet, funny, sensitive guy who would do absolutely anything for you …

  And with this whirlwind of thoughts swirling around in my head, I made my way over to the table, my Mary Janes clicking softly on the polished wooden floor.

  We sat down, and Marianne began to immediately launch into her vision of Blake’s penthouse apartment, once she’d had her way with it.

  “I was thinking … terracotta paint for the walls? I’ve brought some samples for you to look at, and for the floor in the main room, something daring, masculine … How about black wood, and then … for the curtains, we'll go bold. I know the perfect thing. Leopard print …”

  I hung my head, trying to look as prim and unobtrusive as possible, just as Marianne had asked, but underneath my bangs I couldn't take my eyes away from Blake’s face, which shifted slowly from boredom to, at her suggestion of leopard print, a faint trace of a smirk.

  Marianne was losing him, and fast. Her interior design ideas were becoming as outdated as her Versace blouses. The company was getting by with its rota of incredibly rich, ageing clients. But we were struggling to bring on board anyone new.

  “And then, how about a white sheepskin rug as a kind of centerpiece? I know this great place in Italy. Get this: they massage the sheep, daily. The wool is super soft ...”

  Blake’s gaze shifted lazily across to me, his eyes landing on mine as the corner of his lip tremored in a smirk. “A sheepskin rug,” he repeated, a note of sarcasm now entering his voice. “Sounds really stylish.”

  “I just knew you'd love it!” Marianne continued, delighted, completely oblivious to his sarcasm.

  At this rate, Blake would have us out of his office before coffee had even been served.

  And it was then that I felt it.

  Oh no.

  It’s happening again …

  You see, I got this feeling sometimes: as if there was someone else inside my body, taking control; someone much stronger and more decisive than the usual me, someone who, yes, was definitely opening her mouth and taking a deep breath, ready to speak, ready to interrupt Marianne ...

  “Or, if that’s not working for you, Blake, we could try something fresh …”

  I’d actually said that.

  My words were out there in the room now with no way for me to take them back.

  Marianne stared at me, shocked into silence. She looked like she wanted to tear me, limb from limb, but there was no way she could rock the boat in front of Blake, so she had to let me finish.

  “How about we go for a more minimal approach?” I continued, shakily. I’d been working on some design ideas of my own, in spare evenings, but I’d never actually spoken them out loud before. “We could strip the walls back to the bare brick and celebrate the building's industrial heritage? I was doing some research, and it was actually pretty exciting to discover that your building was originally a factory. They built some of the earliest radios here! Also, I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the work of Le Corbusier, and I think his clean masculine lines would really suit your style.”

  Oh my God.

  I just couldn’t stop talking!

  Did I really just say all that?

  By the reaction of Marianne — her eyes narrowing to two mean slits, her mouth pursing up in a trembling venomous snarl — I must have.

  There was the longest, most dreadful pause, my heart drumming so hard against my ribs it felt like it might burst out of my chest at any moment.

  To my surprise it was Blake who finally broke the silence.

  “I love it,” he said sincerely, his mouth curling warmly into a smile. “Tell me more.”

  “You love it?” Marianne murmured, flustered. Then louder, “Well of course you do, that was my second design scheme, I don’t know why Jessica has shot ahead to it so early, but yes, if you want, let’s move on to my second idea. Jessica?” And here she turned once more to me, fixing me in her gaze, her anger at my interruption barely concealed. “Fetch me a glass of water would you, darling?”

  I nodded and got up from the table, heading over to the water jug and glasses in the very farthest corner of the room. I could hear Marianne behind me, carrying on with the pitch, practically repeati
ng what I’d just said, stealing my ideas and claiming them as her own, and I could feel the anger rising and my heart drumming and something else too.

  He’s watching me, isn’t he?

  I can feel his eyes.

  And as I poured out the water, I wondered just what exactly Blake Matthews might make of someone like me; whether he thought me too prim and plain, my black pencil skirt and fitted blazer too conservative and boring, the way Marianne was always hinting.

  And when I turned around to carry the glasses back to the table, I realized with a shiver that sure enough his eyes were on me, not Marianne who was chattering away regardless.

  §

  It felt like the meeting would never end, but eventually Marianne pushed the portfolio towards me to carry, and Blake walked us back through to the elevator, pushing the button for us with a bronze, tanned digit.

  “It’s been so good to see you again, darling,” Marianne cooed as we waited for the elevator to arrive, leaning in to kiss him on both cheeks. And as she did so, Blake caught my eye over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile on his face.

  I had to look away to stop myself from bursting out laughing, taking a deep breath to contain myself.

  Keep it together, Jessica.

  Just then, the crisp electric ping of the elevator rang out behind us, and the sleek, brushed chrome doors swished open, signaling our departure.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Blake said, as Marianne waved him goodbye.

  And one last time, his eyes locked onto mine, holding my gaze until the doors slid closed.

  Once we were alone in the elevator, I realized the full consequences of my actions: there would be hell to pay for my unplanned interruption of Marianne’s pitch.

  I’m in deep shit now.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d had one of these ‘out of body’ experiences, as I called them.

  In fact, it had been a similar instance of unexpected, out-of-character confidence that had landed me the job at Marianne’s consultancy in the first place. Last summer, my bachelor’s degree in Interior Design had got me as far as selling $400 throw pillows in Barneys, and Marianne came in to choose fabrics for a client’s curtains. I was only ever paid to chirp, “How may I help you today, madam?” but before I knew what I was saying I'd launched into an unplanned monologue on how to improve her color scheme and found myself on the receiving end of a business card, with instructions to call her sometime if I got bored of my cashier’s position.

  Which was how I ended up, just three weeks later, fetching her dry cleaning and organizing her diary for a living.

  But now that I knew Marianne better, there was no question that this little interruption of mine would have pissed her off, royally.

  We remained silent the whole way down in the elevator — but I just knew that that there was no way she was going to let this slide. Whatever was in store for me sure wasn’t gonna be pleasant.

  Still, I couldn’t help but feel weirdly pleased, too.

  Pleased and flattered at just how much Blake had liked my ideas, even if Marianne had quickly claimed them as her own.

  And as I heard his low sonorous voice, “I’ll be in touch,” echoing in my head, I remembered the heat of his hand and a silly old proverb my mother used to say flashed into my head:

  Warm hands, cold heart.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What the hell was that?” Marianne screamed, once we were back in her office.

  I don’t know why she’d even bothered to close the door; she was shouting so loud, she could surely be heard by all seven of the other staff members. She’d remained silent during the whole elevator ride down, and in the cab back here. She obviously meant to humiliate me just like she felt I'd done to her.

  “You've probably lost us the account! What the fuck did I tell you, Jessica? I told you to keep quiet. And you couldn’t even follow that one simple instruction could you? No, you just had to go and flirt with the client! Ha, don't think I didn't see you simpering away at him behind your eyelashes. Does Blake Matthews make your panties wet Jessica? Is that it? Well, I'm sorry to break it to you, honey, but badly dressed secretarial assistants aren't quite his type.”

  “I’m sorry, Marianne,” I said, quietly.

  If I thought I was blushing in the boardroom, I was certainly blushing now.

  Everyone in the office must have heard her say that about my panties.

  But on top of my embarrassment, the gravity of my situation was finally sinking in, too.

  I needed this job.

  Greg and I were barely scraping by as it was; I just couldn’t go back to retail.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” I murmured, knowing that there was simply no use in arguing with her. Besides, it was the truth.

  All I could do now if I wanted to save my ass was agree that I’d messed up, even though I knew deep down that, if anything, my outburst might have made the difference between Blake completely dismissing us as an agency and perhaps taking us on after all.

  “It’s just lucky I was there to talk him around,” Marianne continued, doing what she always did and completely re-imagining the scenario, placing herself at the center of it, skewing the facts until they fit whatever argument she wanted to make at that moment. “What did you think you were you doing? Trying to upstage me?”

  I shook my head.

  “Think you’re ready to run this company, is that it? Think your ideas are better than mine?”

  I felt my cheeks begin to sizzle with heat; she was right, it had been deeply unprofessional of me to question her judgment in front of the client. And anyway, what the hell did I know? I wasn’t even sure I had what it took to be an interior designer, to build up an agency on my own, the way Marianne had done. I mean, sure, with her shoulder pads and obsession with leopard print she was a little out of touch these days, but she still had that necessary spark, that fiery don’t-give-a-damn core that, deep down, I wasn’t sure I possessed.

  “I’m really sorry, Marianne,” I repeated, just hoping to God that she didn’t fire me. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “You’re damn right it won’t happen again!” she snapped, little flecks of spittle frothing at the corners of her heavily-lipsticked mouth. “You want to know why?”

  I shook my head, the cold dread settling on me now.

  She’s definitely gonna fire me.

  “It won’t happen again, Jessica, because it’ll be a cold day in hell before I take you out on a job with me again.”

  At this I felt a flush of relief.

  I can make rent after all!

  “Now get out of here and leave me to think,” she hissed. “Since your little outburst, I’ve got a lot more work to do. Let’s just hope it hasn’t cost us Blake Matthews altogether.”

  I turned and quickly left Marianne’s office, before she could change her mind. To be honest, I was relieved that I wouldn't be attending any client meetings for a while. Hiding away at my little desk in the far corner of the office, wading through emails and keeping my head down, was far more my style anyway. I actually gave a little sigh of relief when I dropped into my chair, never thinking I’d be so glad to be back here at my desk again, ready to once more spend the afternoon grappling with Photoshop.

  I turned on my iMac, and as I was waiting for it to boot up, I felt a hand softly touch my shoulder.

  I looked up.

  It was Talia — a far more senior assistant at the agency. She’d been here for “decades” (or so she liked to joke), and had slowly built up a small client base of her own over the years. But of course, that still didn’t stop her having to report in to Marianne on every little choice or development she made along the way. I often looked at Talia and wondered if that was really what I wanted, if that was what I was aiming for, five or ten years down the line …

  “Hey, I heard what went on in there,” she said softly, her pretty face breaking out into a friendly, considerate smile.

  “I’m su
re you did,” I replied, remembering again just how freaking loud Marianne had been while balling me out. “I bet the web design agency on the next floor heard most of it, too.”

  “I just wanted to say that you shouldn’t let her get to you,” Talia said, letting her voice drop to a whisper and checking briefly that Marianne was still safely in her office before she continued. “You just need to keep your head down for a little while, let the wicked witch call the shots. Let her think you've learned your lesson. Don’t push too much, too quickly. Your time will come one day.”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  But the thing was, I didn’t even know if I wanted my time to come. I mean, was I really cut out for this business? Did I really have what it took?

  The truth was, I had no idea.

  I set about my work. There was tons to do. I tried to focus, but my mind was elsewhere. And the funny thing was, it wasn’t Marianne’s humiliation of me that was occupying my thoughts. No. I just couldn’t get that final look Blake gave me out of my head.

  §

  “So, how'd it go, my little hotshot designer?” Greg called from the kitchen, almost the minute I stepped into our tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn. He knew that I’d been working myself up all weekend over my first client meeting with Marianne, and I understood that he was just trying to show an interest in my work, but what the hell was I supposed to say?

  Oh, hi honey! Actually the meeting went kind of badly because I lost my head over some cute guy and I embarrassed Marianne and almost lost my job!

  I slipped off my shoes, sighing as the aching arches of my feet touched against the cool wooden floorboards and, before I walked to the kitchen, I couldn’t help but cast a critical eye around the apartment. It had been my very first grown-up design project, and I felt my gaze assessing the room once more, taking in the 1950's fabrics, retro vases and furniture I’d managed to pick up cheap from Goodwill (or sometimes even free from dumpsters and giveaways on Craigslist), trying to train my eye to know what worked and what didn’t in such a small space.