Just As You Are

by Kate Mathieson

  ‘Well, what you need to know is this – no one eats, so feel free to tuck up the food in napkins and take them home with you. Everyone drinks. Call everyone darling because no one can remember names, and the name tags are useless because everyone is too sloshed to read, so no one wears them.’

  I looked down at mine. ‘No one, huh?’

  ‘Well, except newbies.’ Trent led the way out of the maze and stopped at a large plant that had been shaped into a tall skyscraper. ‘Oh, and you can’t forget the phallic trees. They’re everywhere, just to remind you it’s a man’s world,’ he teased.

  ‘Great, another chauvinist.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Just what the world needs. How refreshing.’

  ‘I’m open to be proven wrong,’ he said cockily.

  I couldn’t believe how he was acting like a grade A idiot, but I had a point to prove now, on behalf of my entire gender. And after Nick, I was ready for a battle. ‘I’ll have you know I’m heading up my own project. And it’s not about medical bits and pieces.’

  ‘Ouch,’ he joked, grabbing his heart. ‘She hits where it hurts.’

  ‘You’re an idiot. And that was an idiot statement and you know it,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Possibly true.’ He smiled genuinely. ‘But how did you go from travelling in London to coming back here and heading up a project?’

  I stopped in my tracks. ‘How did you know I lived in London?’ Had he done research on me?

  ‘Oh, an old friend told me. Nick. You know him? He mentioned that you guys now worked together and dropped in that you used to live in London, because I lived in Clapham for a few years. He also told me about your …’ his fingers air quoted ‘… top-secret event.’

  Just hearing Nick’s name made me feel like throwing up. I wasn’t sure why Nick had told him about the hush-hush event, when he’d sworn me to secrecy, from even telling Phil. But then Nick was turning out to be a complete liar about everything. I managed to spit out, ‘You’re friends with Nick?’

  He nodded. ‘I am. We go back years,’ he said flippantly. ‘And by the way, I love the event theme.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘You love it?’

  ‘I do. But I wanted to hear a female take on it. Rather than Nick’s. He’s always going on about how it feels a little off track and how it could be improved.’

  ‘What?’ I stopped walking and stared at Trent in disbelief. ‘Nick doesn’t like what I’m doing?’ I was shocked. What could you even say to something like that?

  ‘I think he said he would have done it differently.’ Trent shrugged apologetically.

  I felt extremely bothered by that comment, and could feel the anger inside me building. What exactly had Nick been saying?

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He leaned down and whispered into my ear. ‘I know you are more than capable, no matter what he says, and I’m sure you’re doing a brilliant job. Now, should we head inside to grab another bruschetta?’

  I nodded, because I couldn’t risk just exploding here in the middle of the mixer, could I? It wasn’t Trent’s fault that Nick was saying these things. No, it was Nick that needed to be yelled at, not poor, awkward Trent. Who the hell did Nick think he was? Sleeping with me and multiple other women was one thing, but telling people about the event? And that I was terrible at my job? At the job I’d dedicated my entire life to recently, running about doing everything for everybody.

  ***

  Inside, Trent got me another Champagne, which I took gratefully. I could feel the lightness of Champagne bubbles swirl around my head. It felt nice to not be thinking so much, especially round and round in circles, as I had all day. He joked that he was happy just to be at the PR function and was lucky he’d even been invited this time. ‘What about you put your number in my phone? That way when your event gets too much, or you need to blow off any steam, you can call me.’

  ‘That sounds like a booty call,’ I said suspiciously.

  ‘Does it? Oh, boy, I need to work on my game, then! I just meant we can go for coffee, chat – it’s good to know someone in the business you can be open with.’

  He handed me his phone and I was about to put in my number when Trent stepped backwards and into the waiter with a full tray of Champagne. ‘Idiot!’ Trent exclaimed, looking down at his wet shirt. ‘This is Prada!’ The red-faced waiter started trying to mop up the shirt, but Trent shook him off and stalked off to the bathroom.

  Left with his phone, I entered my number and wrote Emma, then changed it to Em, then back to Emma and, as an afterthought, added Maker. While I was calling my phone number so I could save his details, a message popped up on his screen:

  Call now. Belview spillage is worse than first thought.

  A few seconds later a quick call came through, then another text.

  SOS, stop anyone finding out.

  As Trent was walking back a third text came through, which read:

  CALL NOW

  I didn’t want him to think I’d been snooping so I handed back the phone as someone was calling again and said, ‘My number’s in there and I called my number from yours.’

  ‘So now we’re official.’ He laughed. ‘What a night. Lovely spending time with you. I have to go sort out this wet shirt.’ He was wearing his jacket buttoned up and his white shirt was wet and folded in his hand. ‘Until next time.’ He waved and disappeared out of the front door.

  I took out my phone and texted Honey, because it was still my job to babysit Nick’s extra-young mistress (God, what was my life?). Where are you?

  She wrote back, Silly, I’m in the VIP section of this ultra boring PR mixer! Of course, except there wasn’t a VIP section at a PR mixer, because all PR people assumed they were the VIPs of their industry. Then I saw a small roped-off area in the corner, and, behind the rope, Honey’s hair. Her delicate hands were moving about as if she was animatedly chatting about something, pausing only to lift a glass of Champagne. I could see the leg of a perfectly creased black trouser next to her. Was it him? From the looks of it, it was. My stomach sank. I didn’t want to look and see if she was with Nick; I bet she was. I didn’t want to see him. I wasn’t ready – would I ever be?

  Feeling exhausted, I took this as the perfect moment to leave. On the way home, in the back of an Uber, I couldn’t shake off the night. Firstly, PR mixers were an entire waste of time. Secondly, Honey was with Nick and maybe he’d been with her all day. Or maybe he’d been with Chloe. Either way, he’d clearly not thought about contacting me. How about a sorry? How about something? God – how did I keep choosing men so badly? And thirdly, Nick thought I wasn’t doing my job well at all. And instead of telling me, he’d told Trent. I wondered if they laughed about it, laughed about me.

  I felt a rush of frustration through my body. I’d been busting my butt, working longer hours than most people, living, sleeping and eating work. I hadn’t even had time to do anything else and they paid me a pittance in return. My stomach churned and my face flamed red with anger. I was seething.

  I wanted to call Nick and give him a piece of my mind. I wanted to yell every swear word under the sun at him. But he’d probably see it was me calling and not even answer. Coward, I thought bitterly. Either that, or he’d fire me. And despite disliking my job, I still needed it. Which made me feel even more like a prisoner.

  Suddenly the last thing I wanted was to go home alone and sit in my studio apartment. I asked the Uber driver to stop at the next pub on the corner, but it was closed. And the next one too. Locked and dark inside.

  I gave up and went home, opened my bottle of Lagavulin and poured a double nip. Sitting on the couch, I suddenly felt really alone. I had tried so hard to make things work, to make them right. But things just kept on going wrong. I needed to talk to someone who would understand. I couldn’t help myself – I opened my phone and dialled Trent.

  ‘Yes.’ He sounded annoyed.

  ‘Hey, it’s Emma. From tonight.’

  ‘Oh, Emma. Hi.’ His voice immediately shifted gears. ‘What’s wrong? You OK
?’

  ‘Actually no.’ I sniffed a bit. ‘I’ve had a rotten night, and I can’t stop thinking about what Nick said.’

  ‘What Nick said?’ Trent sounded distant.

  ‘That he would have managed the project differently.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. It’s a shame when a manager doesn’t see talent standing right in front of him. I think he mentioned he wasn’t sure if you were up to the task.’

  I couldn’t keep it in any longer. ‘I’d like to see what Nick would have done. When you have a theme like Macabre Nights, what else are you going to do? I mean, mixing African kids and orphanages with a dance of the dead murderous theme – who chooses that idea? God only knows. Turning it into a magical death celebration night, well, at least that gives it a hint of something glamorous. The executives thought it was quite ingenious, so God knows what Nick would have done.’

  ‘Could spell PR nightmare really,’ Trent said soothingly. ‘I think you’ve done so well, Emma. Really.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I really do.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I sniffed. ‘It was good chatting to you, Trent.’

  After speaking with him I felt so much better. He was right: it was good to have friends in the industry. People who I could trust. And who needed Nick?

  Chapter 25

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Phil said, almost dropping his phone.

  ‘What?’ I looked up from my email and mega-takeaway cup of coffee, which wasn’t doing anything to make me feel awake this morning. I’d hardly slept a wink last night; my brain had been teeming with everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours. Sleeping with Nick. Being alone in his apartment. The text messages. And to top that off, now I was bad at my job. Urgh. What a nightmare.

  I couldn’t even be bothered getting dressed up for work or being Professional Emma. I had barely a speck of make-up on, my hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and I was wearing a blue dress that I hadn’t washed (again), and I didn’t care. At all. I’d even refused to put on my heels, opting instead for small white ballet flats that were a little shabby on the end, with a streak of dirt. And I kind of liked it. It was my way of rebelling against the fashion-obsessed here at Faker.

  I wasn’t ready to see Nick at all. When I’d woken up this morning and looked at my phone, he’d left me three voicemails, and two texts. But it was too little, too late.

  In an angry rush I’d deleted them all. Ten minutes later, in a moment of weakness, I’d wondered what they’d said, but then I’d replayed the image of me walking around his apartment alone, and that had made me angry all over again. And I’d realised I didn’t care what he wanted to say; I didn’t want to hear it.

  Thank goodness, when I’d arrived at work, later than usual at just before 9 a.m., he was in his office and his door was closed. Sitting at my desk, though, I felt miserable, and horrible, and I was thinking of ways to feign sickness again and go home. The only place I wanted to be was my bed. Could I pretend I had tonsillitis? Maybe measles? Something that was awfully contagious and would make Glenn want to send me home, rather than telling me to just take a Tylenol. I was wondering how hard it was to feign a case of necrotising fasciitis, and was about to search for symptoms, but Phil was getting in the way, flapping his arms up and down like a cockatoo over something.

  ‘Holy shit. Have you seen this? Holy shit.’

  I heard Nick wrench his door open. ‘We have a problem.’ He was staring directly at me.

  Yes, we do, I thought. You’re a wanker. But it’s not ‘our’ problem, that’s very much yours.

  ‘I’m a little busy,’ I said, looking at my computer, scrolling through the latest media alerts.

  ‘Emma, we need to talk in my office.’ Nick’s face was white.

  Shut up, Daniel Cleaver, I thought. What do you have to be angry about? I’m the one who gets that right.

  ‘Emma, honey, it’s … it’s bad. Really bad,’ Phil whispered and continued his weird flapping.

  I thought about grabbing my bag and leaving. I considered ignoring Nick, but some of the other employees from other teams had heard his tone and were looking at me. I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I stood, and walked into his office, wondering what the hell he was worked up about.

  ‘I don’t really want to talk to you,’ I said bluntly, sitting on the couch and not looking at him. ‘About anything. Especially personal.’ I could feel my voice was shaking and I tried to gain control, but being around him still made me feel strange – part of me still liked him, my body wanted him, the other part wanted to never see him for as long as I lived.

  ‘We can talk about personal things later,’ Nick said, looking slightly distressed.

  Fat chance, I thought. That won’t be happening.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ He swivelled his screen around to show me the Mail News. ‘Front page news.’

  PR Firm Maker Makes Fun of Children Being Murdered by Hosting a Star-Filled Death Night.

  I gasped. Then he flicked to The SydneySider, which said, Maker Is the Real Faker: Lead PR Rep Has Zero Experience.

  I felt sick; waves of nausea were permeating my entire body. I stammered, ‘I- I don’t understand.’

  ‘The theme was top secret. So top secret not even our execs knew about it. How the hell did it get out, Emma?’ Nick started pacing up and down his office.

  My mind was racing. ‘I don’t know …’ I faltered. I could feel myself getting weak, as if I was about to faint. Or throw up. Or both.

  Nick ran a hand through his hair. ‘Think, Emma. Did you let any proprietary information slip?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘No one had access to your phone?’

  ‘No one,’ I promised.

  ‘Did you tell anyone, speak to anyone?’ He had his fingers pressed against his temples as if a migraine was coming.

  The smell of Nick’s breakfast on his desk – egg and tomato roll drizzled with garlic sauce – started to smell rancid and off, as if it had been sitting out in the sun for days. I gulped down the bile I felt rising.

  ‘Not anyone that didn’t already know. Just you and Donna and your friend Trent.’

  ‘Trent?’

  ‘From Hunters PR – you know, he looks after medical supplies.’

  Nick looked confused. ‘I don’t know anyone called Trent.’

  ‘You don’t?’ I asked in a small voice. ‘He said he was your friend.’

  ‘Oh, and because he said that you believed him? Jesus, Emma.’

  My stomach dropped and my mind was a blur trying to work out why Trent had said they were friends, and remember exactly what I had said to him on the phone.

  Nick stopped pacing and stared at me. ‘Where did you meet this guy?’

  I bit my lip. ‘He was at the PR function.’

  ‘Great, so you spilled our secrets to someone in our industry, someone who’s a competitor.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Wait, not the blond guy you were talking to at the food table?’

  ‘You saw us?’ So Nick had been there. With Honey. I should have known.

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped. He typed quickly into his computer and swivelled the screen around again. ‘That him?’

  I looked up into the piercing green eyes of Trent, in a smart suit, a headshot. The title read Lachlan Groves to Inherit the Hive PR Firm and Media Empire.

  ‘Lachlan Groves, son of the CEO of Hive. Nice work, Emma.’

  My mouth fell open. I felt a rush of panic, and then shock, and shame. ‘God, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.’ I looked up at Nick, who was refusing to look at me. ‘So sorry.’

  ‘I don’t need to be the one to tell you this is bad, Emma. This is worse than bad.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m really struggling to understand …’ He paused. ‘I don’t want to ask this question, but I have to. I need to,’ he said pointedly, ‘as your boss.’

  I braced myself.

  ‘Is what they say true? Have you ever actually worked in PR, before Maker? If I called through to th
e companies on your CV, what would they say?’

  A look of dread showed on my face. And I knew the timing couldn’t be worse, but I had to tell Nick. Everything.

  I felt as if I was shaking, about to faint. I could feel my head pounding. Sweat dripping down my back. When I started talking, the voice that came out was squeaky, and didn’t sound at all like me. ‘You know, I was travelling for a while, around the world. And when I was in the UK, it was hard to get a job, any job.’ I licked my lips. ‘So I took the only thing I could get.’

  ‘A job in PR.’ Nick nodded.

  ‘Actually …’ I squeezed my eyes shut ‘… I worked in a Mexican restaurant.’

  ‘In PR? How did that work?’

  ‘No, as a waitress. I took orders and …’ I saw the look on his face.

  ‘And before that?’ He looked worried.

  ‘Before that I worked for a PR company in London.’

  ‘Oh,’ he sighed with relief. ‘As a PR executive?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘This isn’t even funny, Emma,’ he warned, looking as if he expected me to suddenly yell, Surprise, it’s a joke!

  ‘I uh … received press releases, and did a bit of filing, and made teas, and set up meeting rooms.’ I cringed as I heard what I was saying aloud. I knew it didn’t sound good.

  He made a face. ‘So, you have no idea what you’re doing. God. I should have known.’ He slid a hand through his hair.

  I looked at him nervously, my head still reeling from what had happened. ‘I mean, I did a PR course and I passed with the top mark. And I’ve been making sure I’m doing everything right, by uh, um using Google to double check things, and for best in practice approaches.’

  His face looked stormy. ‘Thank you, Emma, for that concise How to Be a Liar speech.’

  That was rich coming from him. I snorted. ‘Ha! If we’re talking about liars, I think this conversation goes both ways, don’t you, Nick?’