by Shears, KT
The energy and enthusiasm that had been lurking suddenly burst out. His eyes shone as he talked and he waved his hands about to emphasise his point.
‘I used to drive my parents batty taking apart remote controls and alarm clocks to see how they worked.’
I smiled – it was impossible not to.
‘I guess my passion was a little less destructive’
He grinned and nodded and we sat smiling for a few seconds.
‘Right, I suppose we’d better get down to business,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘I usually have my human resources manager do the interviews. Angus is, obviously, far better at asking the important questions, but he said I should do the interviews as I’m going to be working so closely with the person concerned.’
He shrugged apologetically at me.
‘I’m afraid I’m woefully out of practice with how to do one of these things,’ he said, waving a hand around the room. ‘You’ll have to be patient with me.’
He shot me a quick smile and I nodded, smiling back.
After shuffling through some notes that were sitting on the desk, he began with, ‘I suppose I should ask why you’re leaving your current job. In case you’ve been fired for stealing the tea money or something.’
‘Oh no, I much prefer coffee.’ He let out a small laugh and I continued. ‘I’m looking for a new challenge. I love words, but my current workplace is a difficult environment and I’m looking for somewhere with a more caring ethos, and where I’m a valued member of the staff.
‘Ah, say no more.’ Matt winked at me. ‘Your boss is Dave Barry, isn’t it? I met him a city council event last month. Interesting character. Says fuck a lot. Oh dear, is it appropriate to say fuck at an interview?’
‘As long as you’re the interviewer!’ I said, laughing. He laughed too, and shuffled his notes some more.
‘I did notice you don’t have much experience of being a PA,’ he said.
Damn, I’d hoped my cunningly written application would have disguised that. I decided honestly was the best policy.
‘I don’t,’ I said, ‘but I’m a very fast learner, I’m enthusiastic and I’m dedicated.’
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer.
‘I like to think I’m not that demanding to work for. I’m not a diva, I won’t be demanding 12 white kittens in my office every morning or anything like that. And I won’t be calling you at 3am asking you to bring me a Chinese takeaway. Basically, I’m looking for someone just to keep things straight around here, keep an eye on my schedule, make sure I’m not in Portsmouth when I should be in Plymouth, that sort of thing. There’ll be some booking of flights, hotels, you’ll need to answer my phone to people I don’t want to talk to and fob them off with some excuse. You seem like a pretty bright woman, so I don’t imagine you’ll struggle.’
‘That all sounds fine, I’m a pretty organised person.’ I thought of the row with the chief sub-editor and almost blushed, but carried on. ‘I’m good at juggling multiple things. And years of being a reporter have given me a pretty good lesson in how to get rid of people you don’t want to talk to.’
Matt laughed and then glanced at his papers again.
‘It says here you live on the south side of the city. That’s quite a trek every day, will you have to take public transport? If you get the job, of course.’
‘I’ve got a car so it’s not a problem,’ I assured him.
He looked a bit lost.
‘I don’t really know what else to ask,’ he said, forlornly. I burst out laughing at the look on his face and he grinned, sheepishly.
‘Maybe ask about salary and tell me a bit about benefits, that sort of thing?’ I prompted.
‘Ah! Yes, that seems sensible. Now, salary,’ He shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘Oh I hate this kind of thing. We’re still a start-up company, you see, so salaries aren’t huge. I want to change that, but it’s not possible right now. I’m barely drawing a salary myself.’
He must have picked up on my raised eyebrows as I looked round the office and at his suit, and he laughed.
‘All style, no substance! I’m faking it till I make it. No one wants to do big-money business with a guy in a t-shirt and holey jeans sitting in a cubicle. So I’ve invested heavily in looking professional. Now I’m just hoping it pays off.’ A momentary flash of worry crossed his face, but was gone in a second and he smiled at me. ‘I think the salary I had discussed with the finance department was around £17,000 a year. I know it doesn’t sound much, but we’re really on the rise here and-’
‘That’s fine,’ I said. And it was.
‘Oh, that’s great! Holidays are the usual deal, four weeks paid and public holidays. Oh, you also get your birthday off too, and once a year the whole office shuts and we go for a picnic. That’s happening next week, actually.’ He said the last part proudly, and I could tell that this picnic had been his own idea.
‘That sounds great,’ I said, truthfully. I couldn’t imagine everyone at my actual work sitting down for a picnic together. Barry would end up ramming a plastic fork up someone’s nose before the ants had even noticed we’d arrived.
‘Is there anything you would like to ask me?’
‘No, I think you’ve covered most things,’ I said, with only a slightly teasing smile playing about my lips. He spotted it and roared with laughter.
‘I’m better with machines,’ he admitted, as he got to his feet. I followed suit and we went out of the door and into the reception area.
‘I’ll be in touch in the next few days,’ he said, taking my hand again. ‘There are a couple more interviews to do. It was truly lovely to meet you, Alice.’
For a second, his eyes lingered on mine, and then he was gone, and I headed out of the building and to my car. I felt a twinge of unease at what I’d been sent there to do. He had seemed so pleasant and friendly. But then I remembered that he had apparently had a lengthy spell in prison. He couldn’t be Mr Nice Guy after all, I reassured myself as I drove off.
Chapter three
Barry had decided that we shouldn’t risk me being spotted near the newspaper office during my stint undercover, so I had a couple of days off to tackle the mound of washing that was threatening to take over my small flat. On Friday morning, as I browsed through a magazine that I’d bought three months ago and hadn’t got round to reading, my phone rang and I answered to find it was Matt Westwall.
‘Hi, Alice? It’s Matt here, Matt Westwall. From Westwall IT.’ It didn’t sound like phone conversation was his strong point, and I understood now his comment at the interview about fobbing off callers.
‘Oh, hi, Matt. How are things?’
‘Oh, fine thanks. Listen I just wanted to tell you that I’d like to offer you the job as my personal assistant. I was very impressed by you at our interview and I think we’ll work well together.’
‘Oh that’s great!’ I said, surprisingly myself by actually believing it myself. I’d half been hoping I’d be rejected, and then maybe Barry would take his idea and bury it, along with the dozens of other ideas that hadn’t worked out. No such luck, but I was actually looking forward to starting work there. And, I thought of the potential scoop that awaited, and the chance of an award and of a job with a proper, big paper.
‘When can you start? I’m in desperate need, I’ve had some bloke on the phone three times this morning already, and no one to tell him I’m currently indisposed or washing my hair or whatever the right excuse is.’
I laughed. ‘I can start on Monday.’
‘Oh that’s brilliant.' Come to the front reception for 9am and I’ll meet you and get you settled in. I think you’ll need to bring your passport, or something, HR did tell me but I wasn’t listening.’ I could almost hear his apologetic shrug over the phone.
‘Roger that,’ I said, smiling. ‘See you on Monday’
I hung up and stood in my living room for a few moments, digesting the news. Then I picked up my phone and texted, Jen.
‘Need to meet you for drinks tonight. Have a tale to tell.’
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.
‘It better be full of romance, intrigue, and possibly murder. I’ve had a shit week, and I need drama that isn’t mine. Felix’s at 8? I’ll be wearing an anorak and carrying an axe.’
I laughed. We’d been best friends for years, and anyone who read our texts would think we were crazy. Sometimes it even felt like we had our own language.
I texted back: ‘Sure. I’ll be the one with fake moustache and big glasses – will explain tonight xx’.
***
I arrived before Jen and ordered us both a round of drinks, pushing my way through the throng at the bar to the quieter seating area at the back. I found an empty booth and quickly sent her a text: ‘I’m a booth babe’.
She arrived a few minutes later, immaculately turned-out as usual, but oblivious to the impressed stares she drew from the men in the bar (and the angry ones from their girlfriends).
‘Sorry I’m late, it’s been manic. One of our clients decided it would be a good idea to tweet a sexist joke last night, I’ve spent the whole day firefighting.’ She grabbed her cocktail and took a long draught.
Jen spent most of her time trying to extricate overpaid men in suits from sticky situations they had gotten themselves into.
‘So, what’s this tantalising tale you have to share?’
I took a sip of my cocktail and told her about Barry’s idea, my interview, and subsequent job offer.
‘He’s crazed, that man.’ Jen shook her head. She knew Barry through work; he was often on the phone yelling at her for information, and she was not a fan. ‘It’s quite exciting though, isn’t it? Undercover? I get the moustache and glasses reference now.’
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
‘It’s a great opportunity.’ I said. ‘If there’s a good story here, I could win scoop of the year or something, it would be amazing for my career and I could leave that shitty paper and go somewhere proper.’
‘But?’ Jen prompted, hearing the hesitation in my voice and knowing me so incredibly well.
‘But, he was so nice, Jen. Matt, I mean. He was so keen and friendly and it just feels awful.’
Jen nodded, and sipped her drink. ‘But he’s been in prison, right?’
‘Well, according to Des from Spain. Apparently he has it on good authority.’
‘Well then. He can’t be that nice a person, surely? Nice people don’t go to prison.’
She had a point. ‘I guess. How can someone seem so nice, though, and be a criminal?’
Jen laughed. ‘Come on, Alice, you’ve been a journalist long enough to know that people can appear to be something they’re not, surely?’
She was right, of course. I’d let myself be utterly blinded by a sharp suit, a good handshake, and a pleasant manner.
‘See, this is why I like you, Jen. You see right through me.’
Jen raised her glass in a mock cheers. ‘Right back atcha, chick. So when do you start?’
‘Monday.’ I groaned. ‘I’ll need to get some new clothes, appropriate for a personal secretary. I wore a skirt to interview so he’s probably expecting that all the time now.’
‘So go shopping and charge it to that idiot Barry,” Jen smirked at me across the table. ‘I’ve seen some simply gorgeous things in Prada that would be ideal.’
Despite Jen’s tempting suggestion, I spent Saturday trawling high street stores for some cheap and cheerful options. I got a couple of skirts and tops, and some fabulous knee-high boots that were on special offer.
Barry had been overjoyed by my news, although not so far as to pay for any of my work things. He’d also managed to wheedle out of paying my salary, saying only that they would make up any shortfall between my ‘new’ salary and my ‘old one.’ Generosity personified, I thought, bitterly, as I laid out my new clothes on the dresser ready for my first day.
I curled up in bed with my notebook and outlined a brief strategy for my undercover investigation. It felt a bit ridiculous calling it that; I was hardly infiltrating the Mafia, or becoming part of a drug ring. I jotted down some ideas – I felt that getting close to Matt Westwall would be key. If I could make myself useful, even indispensable, he’d start to trust me and maybe let slip something I could investigate further. I drew the line, though, at snooping around desks in the dead of night. Of course, if I just happened to see something that maybe, just maybe, had some interesting information on it, that was another matter entirely…
I eventually laid my notebook and pen to the side and turned off the light, after checking my alarm was properly set for the morning.
Chapter four
‘And this is your office,’ Matt said, proudly, as he showed me into the room beside his own, much larger, one. I looked around. My own office, that really was a treat. No more sitting next to Hairy Harry and his BO and having to listen to him belch and bellow down the phone at hapless PR consultants. No more having my mug constantly stolen, finding it weeks later in some god-forsaken corner of the office, thick with weeks-old tea mould.
‘Wow, it’s lovely,’ I said, truthfully, as I took in the large window with a view over the city, the big, glass desk with flatscreen monitor, and the chair that looked like it had more functions than my car. The carpet was of the same plush quality as the room my interview had been in, and I had to resist the urge to bounce on my heels on the springy surface.
‘Good, I’m glad you like it,’ Matt said, with a relieved smile on his face. ‘Look, I’ve got to dash to a meeting so I’ll let you get settled in. Feel free to have a wander around the place. If you get lost, just cry for help and one of our IT geeks will rush to your assistance.’
I laughed. ‘Okay. If I’m not here when you return, send out the search parties.’
He winked at me, and left the office. I sat down in the chair and fiddled about with the various levers and cogs, almost sending myself shooting across the room in the process. Dangerous things, chairs. Maybe I should write a story on workplace injuries involving chairs. I took my notebook out from my handbag and jotted it down underneath ‘Squirrels. Harmless critters or menaces to society?’.
Right, what now? I should be ferreting for information; Barry would want me rifling through Matt’s desk but I’d settled on a more subtle (and less ethically dubious) option so my main task was to get comfortable and start doing the job I’d been hired for.
I switched on the computer and it booted up to a login screen. I leafed through the sheets which formed my welcome pack, and found one detailing my username and password. I typed both in carefully and clicked OK. There was a brief churning from the box under the desk, and then a window popped up informing me my ‘credentials’ were wrong. I sighed and typed them in again, carefully, one finger at a time. I pressed OK again and the same message popped up. I glowered at the machine and typed them in a third time, absolutely sure every keystroke was right.
‘You have been locked out of the system. Please contact an administrator.’
Well, I was off to a flying start. First I’d nearly killed myself in a horrific chair incident, and now I was in system lockdown, or something. I thumbed through the rest of the sheets, but I could see no mention of this mysterious administrator or how to contact him. Maybe if I said his name three times he would appear…
Oh hang it. I pushed the chair back cautiously – I didn’t trust it one bit – and left the office, determined to at least find a cup of coffee successfully, if it was the only thing I managed today.
After turning down a few corridors that ended up leading to rooms filled with computers and young men and women feverishly tapping away, I finally found myself in the large canteen. There were brightly coloured chairs dotted all around, and here and there groups of people sat, talking animatedly with each other. To my immense relief, I spotted a coffee machine and made a beeline for it, choosing the strongest one they had. I took a sip and grimaced. Lukewarm. Could this morning be g
oing any less swimmingly?
I turned to go, planning to pour my coffee down the sink on the way, and my whole body was suddenly jarred by an impact. My coffee went flying, all down my white blouse and new skirt. I let out a shriek of surprise.
A woman, scurrying with her head down, had walked slap-bang into me. While I managed to keep on my feet, she let out a squeak and ended up in a heap on the floor. I immediately bent down to help her up.
‘Are you ok?’ I asked, anxiously. She’d taken quite a tumble. I held out my hand and she took it, using it to haul herself to her feet.
The woman brushed herself off and I got a good look at her. She was very pretty, blonde hair tied up in a tight ponytail, and smart trousers that hugged her shapely form. She was wearing black-rimmed glasses that really suited her.
‘Oh I’m so sorry,’ she exclaimed. ‘ I had my head in my phone again. Matt’s always telling me this would happen, and now it has. And, oh, I’ve totally ruined your outfit. And, oh my god, aren’t you burning?’
‘Oh no, it wasn’t hot,’ I said, gesticulating at the coffee machine.
‘Oh, must be on the blink again. Can you believe it? It’s brand-new that machine, only been here three weeks, and this is the third time it’s broken. I’ll have to let Matt know.’ She stuck her hand out, and I went to grasp it with my sticky, coffee-stained hand and then thought better of it. I ended up doing an awkward little wave, instead.
‘I’m Alice. I’m new here, this is my first day. I was just having a look around.’
‘Oh gosh, your first day and I walked into you and spilled coffee all down your front. I’m so terribly sorry. I’m such a klutz. Matt is always telling me to be careful. I’m Sarah, by the way, Sarah Elliot. I’m head of applications support here.’
She laughed at the puzzled look on my face.
‘It’s even more boring than it sounds. Look, I have a spare top and some gym leggings in my office, please borrow them. You can’t go around like that all day.’
I agreed, reluctantly. I looked like I’d been the victim of some unfortunate sewage accident. I followed Sarah to her office, listening to her talk. The main subject was Matt and I got the feeling she was slightly keen on him in a more-than-colleagues way.
