Bugger.
What fool forgot the Christmas Party, that was tantamount to a firing offence. Oh, of course, that was the bloody party the BOTP boys were down to attend. How had she managed to forget? Why hadn’t she had it in her diary? She was slacking. Her usual failsafe tools were letting her down.
Stress. It was the only reason.
‘Not sure,’ Emma said. It wasn’t a complete lie because she hadn’t even begun to think about it.
This time last year she had the perfect outfit picked out by the end of October, she remembered. Plus, she had also worked out who she needed to hustle together under the mistletoe and who she had to save from themselves on the dancefloor. It was always a night of carnage and hijinks. And when the next day dawned there were many regrets and not a few injuries; careers made and broken, not to mention a few bruised hearts and smeared reputations. But, of course, what went on at the Christmas party stayed at the Christmas party.
‘You know the BOTP boys are due to put in appearance?’ Jamie grinned wide. ‘Cos Amit is fit as…’
‘Jamie.’ Emma stopped him. ‘I know I’ve said these parties are where everyone lets their hair down and it is hedonistic, but I’d leave harassing the clients out of it.’
Of all the clients who were turning up for the party it would have to be them. What had she done in a previous life for them to be haunting her like this?
And she still didn’t have an outfit.
***
Emma was sweating on the tube in her heavy winter jacket, which had seemed so sensible this morning as the wind whistled down the street, but was less needed when packed tightly in with Christmas shopping tourists.
She rubbed her right shin with her left foot, trying to ease the bruise that was forming from where a large square shopping bag was banging into her.
She had an hour to get to the shops, buy an outfit and get back to the office. All in the week before Christmas. This is not how it should go. She could kick herself for letting it get this far.
She squeezed out of the tube at Bond Street, rushing up the escalators, ignoring the sweat dripping from the nape of her neck and soaking her scarf.
‘There you are.’ Gee grabbed her arm as she spun on the pavement on Oxford Street looking for him.
‘Shops. Clothes. Now.’ She gasped for breath.
It seemed that all those Psycle classes weren’t working if she was winded running up escalators. This was ridiculous.
‘Come on.’ He dragged her through the crowds of Christmas shoppers, her hand clasped in his. Her fingers tingled, had they done this before or was this a new thing? It was as if everything before the kiss was faded and in sepia.
The best thing with being with him in a crowd was that people unconsciously seemed to part to let him through. The worst part was that they then reformed behind him like a wake and bashed her with elbows and packages.
Note to self, she thought, as a well-placed rucksack was swung into her bicep. Don’t buy anything that showed arms and legs, purple bruises were not a good look.
He dragged her through the doors of Selfridges.
‘I pulled in a favour,’ he said. ‘Manny, one of the personal shoppers here, has chosen some outfits for you. We’re meeting him…’ Gee looked round to get his bearings before negotiating his way to the escalators. ‘Up here.’
The clash of numerous perfumes assaulted her nose as they rose above the perfume and make up department. She began breathing through her mouth.
This is why she was usually organised. It meant getting all her shopping done before the rush.
As they got to the second floor, the crowds thinned a little, allowing her to come level with Gee.
‘You didn’t have to do this,’ she said. He was doing so much and all she’d asked of him was to lie. Or at least pretend.
‘What, and miss the chance to help out Little Miss Organised? I think not,’ he said as he smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.
She snorted.
‘Come on, Ems. You are usually the one sorting everything out. It always made me feel guilty. I like being able to repay you. I like being able to help.’
Emma almost stopped dead.
She didn’t want him to feel guilty. The only reason she organised everything was because she didn’t trust anyone else to do it properly. And it made her feel better to know she was in control. It wasn’t supposed to make him feel guilty. She loved looking after him, because, well… he was Gee.
His guilt must be catching, she thought, as it curdled in her stomach and sat heavy.
And he thought she was being thoughtful, when in fact she was a selfish cow who just wanted things a certain way.
But she wasn’t going to tell him any different. Because she did need his help, there was no way she could conjure up a decent outfit in time for tonight. All guilty feelings would have to be suppressed, along with everything else.
‘Hold on…’ She really did try to dig her heels in and stop him. He was dragging her into the designer department. ‘I can’t afford Gucci, Gee.’ Not that it came in proper people sizes, never mind normal people budgets.
The brightly coloured and embroidered clothes teased and tantalised her. The brilliant reds called to her, and she couldn’t help but put her hand out to brush against them. See if she could absorb some of their energy and strength.
You’d need to be a peacock to wear these, she thought enviously. Someone who didn’t mind standing out and being an individual, someone very secure in who they were and wanted to become.
But they weren’t the uniform of the successful PR publicists. These were the clothes of her clients. When you were the one pulling the strings behind the scene you didn’t wear…
Holy crap, those boots were insane.
She was distracted from her inner monologue by an exquisite pair of boots. Calf length, they were in a deep burgundy leather with a tangled scarlet red and gold silk dragon embroidered on them, curving from the arch and over the foot till it twined round the heel up the back of the boot. Plus, the heel wasn’t too high.
They would make anyone wearing them feel like a superstar.
Her finger traced the gold burnished buckle that rested at the top.
‘I thought you’d like those.’ He stopped next to her.
Emma snatched her fingers back as if touching them was a sin.
‘They’re okay but they are completely impractical.’ It hurt to dismiss them like that. Reluctantly she moved her hand away.
‘Look, I can’t afford to shop in the designer section,’ she hissed.
‘Look,’ he mimicked. ‘Manny said he was pulling from the high street section. We just have to meet here because it’s usually calmer and easier to get a fitting room. Plus, they give you glasses of wine if you’re lucky.’ He waved to a slim dark-haired guy who was approaching from the tills.
***
Twenty minutes later, Emma had to admit that Manny was a genius as she spun in a slow circle.
‘How did he know my dress sizes?’ She asked Gee as she stared at her reflection in the mirrors. The dressing room was more like a salon, all dark velvet sofas with a curtained off area for her to change in. Gee was sitting back, spread out on them looking like the lord of all he surveyed.
Maybe it was a bit hot in here, she thought, as she saw the colour of Gee’s cheeks redden as she spun. He wasn’t quite as flushed as he’d been earlier with the other outfit she’d tried on.
‘A lucky guess?’ He spoke without meeting her eyes but he definitely was watching the rest of her through his eyelashes as he took another sip from the coffee that one of Manny’s colleagues had brought him.
‘Which is it going to be?’ he asked.
‘What do you think?’ she asked back.
‘I asked first.’ He smiled round the edge of the cup. It felt almost back to normal, as if they had found their old groove again.
She wasn’t sure why that made her want to laugh and cry.
Looking at what she was wearing, she decided she didn’t have the energy to untangle her haywire hormones. This was a beautiful dress, grey and black satin stripes, skimming her figure, eminently suitable. But the previous outfit… she sighed. The vibrant ruby velvet trouser suit, with a subtle pattern in the satin of the lapels. And with the black low-cut vest… she looked like a rock star. Either would do for the party and neither were going to break her bank balance, which was a blessing. She just needed to decide which one she preferred.
‘I’ll go outside while you make a decision.’ Gee wiggled his eyebrows at her, now looking at her properly. ‘I wouldn’t want to influence you.’
If only it was that easy. Just pick an outfit. Black and grey or ruby red. When had she become so indecisive? She was the one person who knew exactly how everything was going to play out.
When had life become some complicated? There was one life plan, one way things went, but now…
Now she kept being knocked off her path again and again, and the worst thing was that she could see possibilities spring up in front of her, tempting her away from everything she’d worked towards. And they looked so full of life, offering everything she’d ever dreamt of but never thought she’d get. But none of those possibilities came with guarantees of a happily ever after.
No, she needed to stick to her plan.
She looked between the red velvet suit hanging in front of her like a beacon and the subtle black and grey dress she had on.
There was only one sensible choice.
As she came out of the dressing room, she noticed that Gee had been cornered by some fans over in the Dior section. She couldn’t help but smile, the number of people stopping him had risen ever since what he grouchily referred to as ‘The Great Instagram Incident’ in LA. But he never turned anyone down. She could see him talking with them quietly and posing for selfies. By the time he joined her at the till her choice was already wrapped in the yellow Selfridges bag and she was paying for it.
‘Which one did you choose? Can I get a sneak peek?’ he asked.
‘You can see it tonight,’ she said. ‘You didn’t forget I’d sent you the invite, did you?’
‘I hadn’t forgotten but I thought you had what with everything else.’ Gee winked. He shook Manny’s hand, and she thanked him with a hug. And before Emma knew it, she was descending back down through the bowls of the earth and into a crowded tube where she fought back against the other shoppers with her own oversized bag.
***
When Mega! Management put on a party, they didn’t worry too much about the budget. They were legendary bacchanalian feasts that everyone in the industry talked about in hushed whispers. Interns and new starters cited them as the reason they had joined the company.
And Malcolm McKee presided over them, his gap-toothed smile never slipping all evening. He watched, taking it all in, never missing a thing until he left, usually around ten thirty. It was all above board, not too many shenanigans. But as soon as the door to his car closed behind him, the hedonism took over.
They’d taken over the Toy Box nightclub. Emma shuddered at the stuffed teddy bears that hung from one of the light fixtures. It seemed she couldn’t escape them.
A well-known radio DJ had somehow been roped into playing tracks all evening for them. He’d probably heard about the craziness, she thought. A mélange of Mega! Management’s clients’ hits echoed out of the room over a techno beat. The DJ knew who was paying his bill.
As she walked further into the club, she caught sight of the senior management team. The people she wanted to emulate, the ones who had the jobs that she yearned to have. They were a group of mostly middle-aged men, not a woman among them. All of them dressed in a variation on monochrome, even if some of their shirts bore floral designs but even those were in grey and black. They tried to keep up with the beat, nodding their heads and tapping their feet, but always just out of time.
She grimaced.
But wasn’t that what she wanted? Who she wanted to be? Even her thoughts were having to shout to be heard over the music.
Yeah, so these were the people who currently held the jobs that she had listed on the Google document she religiously checked and updated every day. Some of the positions were close, only two or three years in the future. Mind you, with the way things were going with BOPT, it could be longer.
Emma looked down at the outfit she’d chosen.
The grey and black satin striped dress. It had been the only sensible choice. Even though the velvet had felt so sumptuous under her fingers. The red suit she had turned down was for rock stars, no matter how much she wanted it. But this dress, it was suitable, it was what those with the power behind the scenes wore. Trendy but not standing out, blending into the background whilst pulling the strings. And it echoed the clothes of the men she’d grimace at. She’d made her choice and she’d keep choosing it, because without goals, without this structure, what did she have?
And she wouldn’t completely turn into them, at least she could still keep time with the music. There was hope for her yet.