Maya stands small in front of the big screen in the boardroom, five pairs of executive eyes look her up and down. She has just finished her presentation, her vision of the evolving voice of FASH: words like STRONG, BRAVE, CONFIDENT jumped out from the screen against a backdrop of models on rollerblades that she lifted from the Miami lookbook. Catwalk footage of so-now supermodels juxtaposed with FASH models wearing similar designs. All current FASH content that Sam helped her put together in a PowerPoint presentation, but Maya’s words helped make it feel ‘next-season now’. She dreamed up future campaigns in the hope that Rich Robinson would rub his moneyed palms together with glee, which he almost did, but it might have been an itch. HIKER CHICK. FUTURE FRESH. The FASH girl is quite different to Maya. She is brash, bold, oozes confidence and will take risks. Maya is more measured. Measured in the art of precision baking, measured in the way she advises her friends. Although right now Maya wants to make the very unmeasured move of ruffling up her hair, screaming at the CEO and his closest advisors and running out of the room, out of the building and out of London, like a crazed banshee. One part relief: two parts exhaustion.
Five pairs of hands clap and bring Maya back into the moment. Lucy’s palms, straight and tanned and hopeful, clap the most vigorously, her neat bob even sways as she does so.
Staff walk past the glass walls of the boardroom and pretend not to glance in. They glimpse in casually and look away, not realising how nerve-wracking and important these few minutes are to Maya.
Now it is the part Maya is most dreading. Questions. Rich Robinson holds court in the middle of the five, sitting at the long table like a TV pundit in a white shirt and black blazer. Maya can’t see his legs but already knows that beneath the table he is wearing his uniform of faded denim jeans and stacked Cuban heels.
‘Great presentation, er, Maya,’ he says, looking down. ‘Well done.’ Rich Robinson oozes confidence and wealth. Maya made him a lot of money thanks to the FASHmas Fairies last Christmas, he really ought to be able to remember her name. ‘I can see your clear vision for how the site should look and read, but one thing you didn’t touch on is how you would manage the team to ensure they’re all working towards your vision, even if they’re not on board.’
Maya looks at Lucy for reassurance. ‘Well I’m a team player, so I’d never want to ruffle feathers, but I’d just stress the importance of consistency and ask everyone to get behind it.’
‘And if they didn’t like it?’ asks head of customer experience, Geri, a pocket rocket who looks like her touchpaper has just been lit.
Maya knows how Geri would react to people who didn’t agree with her, which is why she’s always been relieved to have Lucy for a boss.
‘Well I’d ask for their opinions and consider them, because they might come up with an even better idea, and we’re all a team, so I’d value what they had to say.’
Head of womenswear, Zara, looks Maya up and down.
Geri looks down at her notebook.
Did she just shake her head?
Rich Robinson has more.
‘Maya, how would you deal with difficult situations? Like, say, with the bonuses.’ He makes an exaggerated awkward face, as if to mock the disappointment the staff felt. ‘How would you have told staff they wouldn’t be getting a bonus this year?’
The FASH models on rollerblades in South Beach, with all their effervescence and exuberance, seem a world away, as a party popper fails to go off and a tumbleweed rolls across the desk.
Maya is stumped. She doesn’t understand why staff didn’t get bonuses this year, especially after all the back-slapping emails about sales booming… And she couldn’t help reading the story in the Evening Standard last week about Rich Robinson naming his new yacht Deedee after his wife Denise. Right now, with her clammy palms and dry mouth, Maya doesn’t know how to answer.
‘Well… to be honest… I don’t know why bonuses weren’t awarded. All the talk about great sales built up staff expectations. People started to plan their lives around it. Holidays. Helping out with deposits for flats. Buying a car…’
Sarah, the head of international sales, leans forward slightly and shoots Lucy a look down the table. Now it’s Lucy looking down at her notebook and ever-so-slightly shaking her head. Maya realises she might have just shot herself in the foot and needs to backtrack.
‘It’s just that last year’s bonus was so generous, maybe it raised hopes and expectations.’
‘Well a bonus is just that. Never something to be expected,’ interjects Geri, toeing the party line and thinking about how Rich will like that one, how she might keep her bonus this year, because all the board are still in line for theirs.
‘Well if I were site editor I would take the team to one side, explain it’s for the greater good, and suggest some kind of group night out or lunch to raise morale.’
Rich smiles at Maya, who can’t work out if it’s a smile of pity, but she suspects it’s a smile he’s forced many times in his career.
‘I think that’s all then, Maya, that was wonderful, thank you for taking the time to present.’
Rich stands up to indicate that it’s time for Maya to skedaddle.
‘Oh, thanks for seeing me.’
Maya clumsily collects her laptop, notebook and bottle of water, her face getting hotter with each scramble. As she shakes Rich Robinson’s proffered hand, she drops her shiny silver laptop on the floor. An apple dims.
‘Oh gosh!’
Zara lets out a gravelly laugh.
‘Oops,’ cringes Rich. ‘I hope that wasn’t a FASH one,’ he half jokes, as he bends to pick it up. Maya bends down too and clonks her chin on Rich Robinson’s head as he rises.
‘Ouch.’
‘Uff.’
‘I’m so sorry!’
Geri shakes her head again.
Blushes abound, Maya makes her exit clutching a laptop as dented as her pride and strides out of the glass boardroom and back to the sanctuary of her desk.
Sam swings around in his chair, leaning so far back Maya wonders how it doesn’t tip backwards.
‘How’d it go? Did my mix tape work its magic?’
Maya’s face feels hot. ‘It was awful, Sam, I have to get out of here.’ Maya slings her things onto her desk and picks up her bag.
‘Wanna grab a bite?’
Maya is so embarrassed she can’t speak in case she cries, so she looks at Sam through watery eyes and nods a yes. Besides, when Lucy comes back to her desk after the post-mortem she knows is happening right now, she’d rather not be there sitting at the opposite computer.
Sam and Maya walk out together into the spring sunshine and across busy Baker Street to a little coffee-shop-cum-deli over the road, owned by a Venezuelan couple.
‘You get a table, I’ll get the drinks. Hot chocolate yeah?’
Maya wonders how Sam knew.
Sam walks up five rickety wooden steps to the counter, Maya walks down nine to the underground seating area and slinks towards the sofa at the back. The lunch rush hasn’t started yet so she gets them the comfiest seat and plays through the past forty-five minutes in her brain.
Why did I say that about the bonuses?
Maya puts one palm on her forehead.
Sam skips down the stairs and little splashes of hot chocolate and cappuccino dance out of their cups. Sam sees Maya at the back, puts the drinks down on the wooden table and falls into the leather sofa next to her.
‘Oh Sam, it started so well! The presentation – your presentation – went really smoothly. Thank you so much for your help by the way. They seemed to like my new words and new direction, and they gave me a big clap at the end, BUT…’
Crinkly eyes laugh in anticipation, even though he knows there’s a but.
Maya tells him about the bonuses part.
‘Well it’s a true fact, My, they can’t deny that.’
No one calls Maya ‘My’. Apart from Sam.
‘Yeah but it kinda killed the moment. After that, the whole vibe changed, the Q&A bit was cut short. They probably think I’m not on song, or brand, or whatever they call it.’
As a head of department, Sam knows the executive team better than Maya.
‘Or Rich might just think you’re the mutt’s nuts for saying it like it is, for caring about how his staff might feel. I know he looks like a bit of a tool, but he’s an all right guy.’
Maya’s left arm and Sam’s right arm mirror each other as their elbows lean on the top of the low leather sofa, palms supporting their heads. Sam looks at Maya’s face closely, trying to read her.
‘Arghhhh I can’t believe I messed up!’ Maya buries her head in her hands, and waves of chestnut fall forwards.
‘I’m sure you didn’t.’
‘Oh well,’ she says, emerging from her hands and tucking her hair behind one ear. ‘I’m not sure I wanted it anyway. I’d be a rubbish boss.’ Maya wonders if Sam can see through her breezy change of tune, she had rather warmed to the prospect of more responsibility. And a payrise, she could really do with a payrise since having a mortgage.
‘You wouldn’t.’ Smiling eyes turn serious. ‘You’d be great.’
Maya lifts her drink to her face to break Sam’s lingering eye contact and changes the subject. ‘So, guess who was back on the train on Monday?’
‘Gee I dunno, Maya. Mother Teresa?’
Maya places her cup back down and licks chocolate froth from the top of her rounded lips. Sweet comfort. Train Man is back. The job doesn’t matter.
Sam’s heart breaks.