“He gave you the job?” Layla was giggling excitedly. “Unbelievable! Didn't the Human Remains man fill him in on the true facts?”
“I think Sam was mad at him,” I confessed. “Because he just said, 'You're the boss, Curtis,' and he had this glint in his eye.”
“Well, I think it's marvellous,” Layla said. “Let's celebrate! I have a bottle of red here. Let's open it straight away!”
That’s just typical Layla. She’s so generous that she’d give you the shirt off her back and the shoes to go with it. We were friends from the second we met at kindy, right through to being roommates at uni, bridesmaids for each other's weddings, and finally neighbours, our cottages just down the road from each other.
Our boys are like brothers, too. While I was hogging Layla’s breakfast bar, spilling over with excitement at my news, Ben was playing with Will, Layla's small one, as comfortable in this home as he was in his own.
“I made lasagne,” Layla continued. “There's extra, so stay for supper. Will is having spaghetti hoops. Ben can share.”
“When I get my first wages, I'm taking you for dinner,” I promised. God, to be able to take a friend for dinner. Just imagining it made me feel good.
We’re on our way back, inner me smirked. About time, too!
“There's no need for that,” Layla said comfortably. “It's only pasta.”
“And an ocean of wine, a boatload of cake, and who knows how many wheels of cheese. You're a lifesaver, Layla. I don't know what Ben and I would've done without you.”
“Nonsense!” Layla never would be thanked. “Now, tell me about the delicious and very eligible Curtis Weston.”
He’s yummy!
“He loathes women.”
Still yummy.
I ignored my inner lust. “And he yells a lot.”
“Ohhh, lovely! An alpha male! You'll win him over with your gentle ways.”
I remembered the critical stare and shook my head. “No thanks. I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole.”
Liar.
My inner self has no sense. None.
Layla stared for a moment, her eyes wide with surprise. “Really? He's that bad? What on earth did he do?”
I explained and Layla nodded. “Yes, he sounds a little sour. I can see why he's pissed off, though. And a bit anti women.”
“Well, maybe. But you can hardly refuse to marry the love of your life because of a job. And I don't think he gets how much work it takes to be a mum.”
“He doesn't have kids, does he?”
“I don't think so. If I remember right, he's divorced.” I sipped my wine, a heavenly rich and smoky Spanish Rioja. Totally yum. “I bet he’s spoiled by all those awards and all that money. Men like that are usually hell. Self-centred and bossy.”
“But Em, he's so good looking! And rich! He's a billionaire, for goodness’ sake! You have to snap him up. I would if I could!”
“Hey, sitting right here!” Paul, Layla's husband protested.
“Sorry, love. But you have that thing about Dakota Johnson, remember?”
“Yeah, well, all that red lipstick and panting.” Paul grinned. “It's your own fault for making me watch Fifty Shades.”
“I’ll do lipstick and panting, but there’s no way you’re putting a crop across my bottom!”
“And there was me, thinking I was a hot rod,” Paul sighed theatrically. “I’m totally crushed!”
Would it have been that way with Graham? I couldn’t help but wonder. We'd laughed and loved, I could still hear his guffaw sometimes in my dreams, but we'd not shared this easy, loving teasing.
We didn’t have enough time.
Ours had been a whirlwind courtship. Three months of red-hot romance while he'd been waiting to be shipped out, a quickie elopement, and he'd been killed a week later. He'd never known he was going to be a dad, even.
Poor Graham. Such a good man, and his life cut short over a stupid car. It made me sad and mad just thinking about it.
“Thinking about Graham?” Layla and Paul were looking concerned.
“Oh no,” I lied instinctively. “Just considering how I'll spend all that lovely money I'm going to earn.”
I didn’t want to spoil the party mood, so I fibbed a little. I wasn’t going to mention the dyslexia issue, either, or that I was having a quiet panic that landing the full-time job would mean difficulties collecting Ben after school. It would sound ungrateful after the luck of finally landing a decent job.
We’ll make it work.
I’d already scoped out that the school offered an affordable After Care service, but it stopped at six sharp. With my day officially ending at five thirty, I’d have to leave on the dot and run all the way.
Still, I’d have a salary, thank heaven. Lots and lots of wonderful money. I couldn’t help but crow. “This time next month I’m going to be flush with cash!”
“Repair the heating, mend the roof, and then Tenerife,” Layla fantasised. “Oh, sunshine and olives and Spanish men! Yum!”
“Hey, I’m still here!” Paul kissed Layla on the cheek and wandered off, remarking loudly, “I’d better go before my male ego is totally destroyed. I'm going to watch the footie.”
I do love Paul. He’s just the nicest. Kind, sensitive, and sweet. “You are lucky, Layla.”
“Yes, he's a treasure, all right,” Layla grinned. Then she thought of Graham. I could see it in her eyes. “Oops, sorry,” she said hastily.
“It's okay. Really.”
“It’s been seven years,” Layla said hesitantly. “Do you still miss him?”
It used to crush me just hearing his name, but thankfully the years had been kind, softening the pain and leaving me with just the loving memory. “I will always love him, but I won't stay alone for the rest of my life.”
“Sensible,” Layla said. “You know, love, we never really talked about this. Maybe we should? When we're not celebrating,” she added hastily. “And when you're ready.”
Isn't she the best?
“My mum and Graham's mum ganged up on me two years ago,” I confessed. “They made me see Graham would hate it if I went through life alone.”
“Bless their hearts.” Layla sloshed more wine into glasses. “Actually, I didn’t realise you’d been dating,” she fished.
“I looked at Tinder but it's all about hooking up, and that's just not me. I tried to meet men at dinners and parties, but that lasted about two seconds.” Clearly the wine was sinking all the barriers, too, because I heard myself whine, “Dating’s expensive. Just a dinner party involves bringing a bottle, taking taxis, and babysitting.”
“And Ben comes first,” Layla nodded. “Work will help with both money and meeting people.”
“Yes, but where are all the lovely men hiding?” I moaned. “All the ones I meet are either married or out for one thing only!”
And some of us are too damn prissy to cat about!
I might have been tempted out of sheer loneliness, but thinking of Ben had always stopped me.
“I think the good ones are snapped up early,” Layla reflected. “But with so many marriages falling apart, people marrying too young and drifting apart, there will be lots of them coming back on the market soon. You just need to be patient.”
“Maybe. I just hope I have the heart to start dating again. It's nerve-wracking, Layla. Like a job interview but ten times worse.”
“I guess we were harder when we were young,” Layla mused.
“Or maybe just less desperate,” I pointed out.
“There are tonnes of good men out there.” Layla picked up the bottle again. “Let’s drink to opportunity.”
“I start work tomorrow. Maybe I should switch to water.”
Layla handed me a wedge of garlic bread, dripping with butter and scented with heavenly parsley. “This will soak it up.”
“Oh lord. I'm too fat, too!”
“Curvy.” Layla corrected me.
“Too curvy for my clothes. My blouse buttons are more strained than US-Iran relations.”
“Men like luscious.” Being loved for herself and having downed three large glasses of wine meant Layla was seeing life through Rioja-tinted glasses.
“I’m so fat they’re offering me group rates on the bus,” I grumbled. “A new job means a new start. I’ll walk to work. That will slim me down.”
Layla swirled the wine in her glass thoughtfully. “What prompted you to go to Weston Enterprises?”
“I need a job, you know that.”
“Yes, but you've been drifting from one zero-hours contract to another, against all my advice, I might add, and now suddenly you're telling Curtis Weston that you're a super-duper office manager whiz beloved by bankers and publishers.” Layla's grey eyes, wide and curious, were gazing at me frankly. “It's not like you, love. So what gives?”
There’s no fooling Layla. Time to confess to that worry, too. “Ben may be dyslexic.”
A few minutes had Layla up to speed. She was gazing at me, silently appalled.
“It’s okay really,” I sounded defensive, even to myself. “He may be perfectly all right. And even if he’s not, I’ll have the money to cope with it.”
We can do it! We rock! Inner me was cheerleading out of sheer habit, giving me courage.
“You know what?” Layla said slowly. “People say cowboys, firefighters and marines are tough, but they’re nothing compared to single mums. If you ask me, it’s women like you who are the heroes.”
“Dammit, let’s drink to that!” Because you can’t get all soppy and cry on the day you get a spanking new job, right?
“So all your lovely cash is earmarked for Ben?” Layla asked.
“There's the roof. It’s seeping every time it rains. But it can wait, I guess.”
When Ben was two, my parents bought me a charming Victorian cottage and then retired to Thailand. While I missed them daily, it meant we had a roof over our heads, which was a huge relief. However, while we adored our home, the antique cottage always needed shoring up in one way or another.
“With the new job, you can pay for testing and whatever else needs to be done,” Layla said. “In the meantime, I'll pick Ben up when I collect Will, and you can get him when you come home at six, right?”
“I was going to enrol him in After Care. He’s old enough now to stay on and not mind.”
“Well, you can,” Layla said. “But it’s just as easy for me to pick him up, and then if you run late, you won’t have to worry.”
“Thank you!” I should have refused, it really was too much, but all I could think of was that it was a huge relief. “And I'll do the school run in the morning.”
“I know,” Layla said smugly. “I'm going to slum about in my jammies till nine o'clock, every day! No more running around in a panic, face unwashed, yesterday's knickers on back to front—”
“Stop!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ohmigod, did you see Sarah-Anne's mum at the school gates last week, trying to pretend that flowery nighty was a Laura Ashley vintage print dress?”
“The sun was behind her, and I could see straight through,” Layla giggled. “No knickers!”
An hour later, flushed with wine, carrying a dozing Ben home, I felt buoyant for the first time in years. Maybe it was the Rioja, or perhaps it was just that life was finally looking up, but I was in a rollicking mood.
We are the champions! The refrain echoed in my head, ceaselessly on rerun.
It didn't matter that I wasn't qualified for the job. I'd work hard, keep my head down, and be the best employee Weston Enterprises had ever seen. The money I'd earn would pay for a psychologist, a laptop and software, even extra classes if Ben needed them, and maybe there'd be some left over to splurge on toys and schoolbooks.
I tucked Ben up in bed, folding the dinosaur duvet around him. “Finally I can give you what you need,” I whispered. “Better times, sweetheart.”
Then I spent an hour picking out suitable clothes to wear to the office. Having not spent a penny on myself for ages, the showing was pretty dismal. The black trousers would do, and I had three tops I could rotate. The navy blue, a stark white, and a plain but happy yellow blouse.
Boring, but we’ll soon have lots of lovely cash to go shopping with!
An image of Caitie, gorgeous in emerald silk, flashed into mind. I pushed it away just as resolutely. “It's a job, not a fashion parade.” And anyway, I’d probably be stuck in the basement, well away from the fancy executive top floor.
My old laptop, kept in a drawer since uni, had an Excel package. I’d used it before Christmas to calculate what I'd need to save every week to fix the roof and buy the dinosaur sheets. Ben being seven, he was at that age where anything dino was just nuts to him. I'd managed the sheets, and he’d been bowled over by them, but the roof was still damp, seeping a little every time it rained.
Oh well, the roof would hold a while, I told myself. A few more weeks wouldn’t matter. In the meantime, I had to get up to speed again on the Excel. I set up a practice accounting sheet and tried to remember how that tricky report function worked. The one that turned spreadsheets into pretty reports, complete with automated bottom-line calculations and tables.
I put my brain to work, and before I knew it, it was two in the morning. I fell into bed, determined to sleep, but I was so excited that I was up again at six, an hour before I had to be. By the time I woke Ben, I’d made him scrambled eggs, his favourite, and I’d gotten myself together. Hair in a corporate bun, perfect foundation, nice pale lippy, and even a spray of scent. Okay, it was cheap peach generic from Asda, but I liked it.
“Mummy, you smell beautiful.” Ben was giggling, my excitement infecting him, too.
“Don’t forget, love. You go home with Will today, and I’ll come and collect you at six.”
“Okay.” He’s easy-going Ben, just like Graham used to be. I gave him a hug. “You’re the best boy in the whole wide world.”
“Eeeeeew, soppy!”
Well, he is a boy.
So it was all good. Peaches and sunshine, actually. I was humming as I walked to work, looking forward to a richer, slimmer, and totally toned new me. Even the hole in my shoe didn’t bother me. I could feel the pounds melt off me, so I was smiling in happy anticipation as I entered Weston Enterprises.
“Your office is upstairs,” Polly, the receptionist informed me. “Executive floor.”
“Really? How exciting!”
“Sam says it’s people like you who keep people like us in funds,” Polly grinned. “So you’re on the top floor with all the bosses.”
Yes! Close to yummy Curtis Weston! My devil was awake and chortling lasciviously.
Too close to trouble, I was thinking, but I smiled. “Awesome!”
And so it was. Until I actually got upstairs.
“Good morning, Mrs Reed, Emma, I mean,” Sam was rushing, clearly running late. “We run an informal office; it's first names for staff.”
“That sounds nice.” Be positive, I reminded myself. Smile and be cheerful. If you’re nice enough, maybe it will help when everyone discovers how hopeless you really are.
“Jenny, my PA, isn't in today. Her toddler has come down with flu,” Sam blurted out. “And I'm late for a meeting.”
If Curtis heard, he’d be apoplectic, I thought quietly.
“Our previous office manager Suze was supposed to come in and hand over,” Sam worried, “but she called to say she can't make it.” He showed me my office, a plain room with a desk and a row of filing cabinets but with a glorious view of Oxford. He handed me a file. “Here is the rundown of her duties, and you can see tech for orientation.”
My stomach rose up and did a complete flip. Sam was throwing me in the deep end.
“Also, Caitie, Curtis' PA, left yesterday, no notice I'm afraid, and she had her desk at reception,” Sam continued. “A temp starts tomorrow, but for today I've arranged for all calls to come through here.”
“No problem!” That came out okay, but in my head I was wailing like a banshee. I was going to screw up big time. I’d be unemployed again by lunch. Or maybe even before.
“You may get some calls from the media,” Sam continued. “Our press relations exec left last week, and we haven’t replaced her yet.”
Another job I knew nothing about. It just got worse and worse.
“Ask them to email you, and then forward it to me,” Sam said.
“Of course. No problem.”
Aaaaaand, breathe! You can do this.
“The main focus of your job is to keep the revenue stream under control,” Sam explained quickly. “You check on money coming in and going out. Sort out any problems, anticipate them if you can, and keep good track of the paperwork.”
“No problem.” It would be just like sorting out my own household expenses. But with cash coming in, which would be a relief.
“Start by checking out our sub cons.”
“Sub cons?”
“Sub contractors,” Sam translated. “We have fifty, and you need to know who does what.”
At least I'd get plenty of contacts out of this. Maybe even a nice cheap roof. “Okay.”
“Afterwards go through the weekly reports, and I'll come and explain about our vendor system tomorrow.” Sam was picking up his briefcase. “Got to run. Bye!”
Tech turned up half an hour later, panting. “Hi, I'm Simon. Listen, some silly arse in Purchasing found a thumb drive, stuck it in his PC and now we've got a ransomware attack.” He dumped a spiral-bound handbook on my desk. “Look, can you read this, and I'll get back to you later?”
“Sure,” I said brightly to his swiftly vanishing back.
It took an hour to read the handbook and another to go through the weekly reports. As the paperwork made little sense, I decided to be practical. I went through all the receipts for petty cash, prepared the expenses report, and then, just when I thought I might be getting somewhere, I made the mistake of answering the phone.
“Suze, it's Mac,” an impatient voice blared. “I'm still waiting for that bleeding cheque!”
“This is Emma; I'm afraid Suze has left. If you could give me details, I can help.” I was brisk and positive, just like those women in the customer service centres when you call the bank. It didn't go over well.
“What the bloody hell do you mean, Suze has left? You mean she quit?”
“I'm so sorry. It was rather sudden. But if you give me details—”
“Oh dear God. You’re three sodding weeks behind already!”
Hey! Watch the mouth!
“I’m so sorry,” I did not call him an arse even though I wanted to. “Give me the details, and I’ll get on it straight away.”
There was a flurry of swearing, none of which I'll repeat, and then he sighed. “All right, take this down.” He rattled off an invoice number and ended with, “Please! Cut me an effing cheque, make a goddamn transfer, do what you like, but fecking pay me!” Then the rude bugger hung up before I could reply.
The phone rang a minute later, just as I found the invoice.
“Suze. I'm still waiting for that blinking transfer.”
By lunchtime I’d been yelled at by sixteen contractors, none of whom had been paid. From the files, it seemed Suze hadn't done a stroke of work for weeks. I found the file for pending vendor payments hidden in the bottom of a drawer. From the way they’d been shoved in any old way, it was clear they were totally untouched.
I let rip. “Oh lord, what a mess!”
It was bad enough that there was nobody in the office to help me settle in, but I knew from experience that paying late meant fines and future difficulties.
Last summer when I’d been unable to pay the plumber for fixing a burst pipe in the bathroom, he’d let me pay in instalments. I’d been chuffed at first until I realised the change came with a distinct drop in service. I went to the back of the queue for absolutely everything, and had to pay interest on what I owed, too. On top of that, the bugger pinched my bottom every time he came to the house.
You should have swatted him.
And maybe I should have. Except I couldn’t afford to pay anyone else.
Weston Enterprises could afford to pay more, and it was unlikely sixteen angry sweaty contractors would line up to bother me. However, I knew that any more delay might have bad consequences for the company. I didn’t like that idea at all. It was essential that I get some help.
Frustrated, I searched the desk, hoping maybe Caitie or Suze had left a home number.
“Jenny?” Curtis was loping in, dressed in a grey suit and crisp white shirt that was straight out of James Bond. He would have looked sexy, except that he was frowning furiously. “Oh, hi, erm—”
He'd forgotten my name. Typical. “Emma.”
“Right, Emma. Send Jenny to me when she gets back, please.”
“She's off sick. Flu.” I quietly decided not to mention it was Jenny’s little one who was sick. “She’s back tomorrow.”
Curtis dithered for a moment. “Okay, you then.”
Yes, please! On the desk? Right here and right now?
“Me what?”
“I need a presentation done. It’s urgent. I need it for today.” Then his eyes fell on the file. “What's this?” He picked up an invoice. “Dear God! Why haven't these been paid?”
I swallowed an impulse to yell. “I'm sorting it out now.”
“Do it immediately,” Curtis ordered. “We lose our discounts if we pay late.”
As if it's my fault, right?
Curtis looked at the mess on the desk. “I suppose I'll have to do this myself,” he muttered. “I've got a giant payroll, and I still have to do every damn thing!”
He’s sexy when he’s mad.
Oh, shut up, I told myself. He'll go away in a minute, and then you can go ask the people in accounting to help. Or purchasing.
“Why aren’t you paying these?” Curtis demanded.
“I've listed them by date pending,” I started to say. But as I picked up the file, a sheaf of papers spilled out. Quick as a flash, Curtis caught them before they hit the floor. He brushed against me, and I got that heavenly scent again: leather and citrus.
Yum. Knicker-dampingly good.
“Thanks,” I said reluctantly. If only he’d been less of an arse, Curtis Weston would have been heaven on a plate.
I thought he’d bugger off, back to his plush office, but Curtis had stiffened. “Hey wait. These aren't current. They're last month's!”
“I know,” I said crossly. “I’ve been getting calls all morning. And the expenses were three months behind, too.”
“What?” Curtis was furious. “What the hell am I paying you for?”
That did it. I gave him a hard stare, perfected from when Ben went through the terrible twos, and gave it to him straight. “As I have worked for you for precisely three hours, you haven't paid me at all,” I pointed out coldly. “Now, do you want me to sort this mess out, or do you want to continue standing there moaning and distracting me?”
The second the words snapped out, I was regretting it. You don’t treat award-winning billionaires like toddlers. At least, I bet it’s not the norm.
Curtis was red with fury. “How dare you speak to me like that?” he snapped.
I looked into the hazel eyes, dark now with rage, and my heart sank. I’d been in the job precisely three hours and now I’d get the boot.
Oh hell, inner me sighed. Goodbye salary and hello poverty!