By the time Friday morning rolled around, I felt as though I’d been alive for a thousand years. Alex woke up the morning after his hissy fit, acting as though nothing had happened, Cici had stayed silent, my parents were relatively well behaved, and the rest of the week passed in a whirl of last-minute wedding preparations and work.
Delia knew I was leaving at lunchtime. Jenny’s rehearsal dinner was taking place at Prune at seven and we were both going. I only knew Delia had RSVP’d yes because Jenny had told me. I hadn’t seen her once since our chat in her office over two weeks ago but finally, I had been summoned. Not to Delia’s office but to Joe’s. It didn’t seem like a great sign, but it still felt better than being ordered in to HR, like half the sales team had been the week before. Erin had not been wrong, Delia was slashing staff left, right and centre. I’d even heard some of the girls at Belle refer to her as The Butcher in the Starbucks on 7th Avenue on my way in.
The almost unbelievably shiny young man who sat outside Joe’s office smiled his animatronic smile as I paced up and down in front of his desk. I couldn’t stop moving for fear of actually falling over. I’d worn heels, which I now realized was a mistake, but since I couldn’t button up any of my clothes that morning, I needed something to dress up my Topshop maternity jeans. And to think Jenny had said it was early for maternity wear. Now I’d tried these on, I doubted I would ever take them off.
‘He had a meeting in HR at eight thirty,’ the assistant blustered when I pointedly looked at the clock again. ‘He said he’d be back here by nine.’
‘Brillbags,’ I said, clicking my tongue at him and walking the length of the room once again.
‘Angela, there you are.’ Joe marched towards me with an all-business look on his face. ‘Shall we get started?’
‘Here I am,’ I agreed, wondering where else I might have been given that our meeting was supposed to start ten minutes ago. My baby-related emotional meltdowns had given way to the world’s shortest temper and I couldn’t say I was too upset about it.
‘How are things going with Eva?’ he asked, closing his office door behind us and automatically handing me a tiny bottle of water from his mini fridge. Joe’s office was the opposite of mine: sleek and neat and devoid of personality. No sign of his British girlfriend, I noticed. Or evidence that he wasn’t actually an android. I’d watched Westworld, I knew these things were possible. I hadn’t entirely understood the show, but I got the general gist.
‘If I’m being brutally honest, I wouldn’t choose to share an office,’ I said, a sentiment he was already aware of thanks to a somewhat emotional email I’d sent upon finding out about his plan. ‘I think she’d do better in with everyone else, not stuck in my office, listening to me all day.’
‘But that’s exactly what we want,’ Joe corrected. ‘It’s the best method of immersion. You and Eva are something of a pilot programme for us, Angela, you’re her mentor. It’s really a huge honour when you think about it – we could have done this anywhere in the company but we did it with you.’
‘I’m sorry, I must have bumped my head and missed about seventeen meetings where all this would have been discussed,’ I replied with a painfully pleasant laugh. ‘But she’s there now, isn’t she?’
‘She is,’ he agreed.
‘And she’s not going anywhere?’
‘She isn’t.’
‘Right.’ I sat down on the black and chrome chair opposite his desk and crossed my legs. Why did I already need a wee?
‘I’ve got a lot of these meetings to get through today, so let’s get to it,’ Joe said. ‘There’s a reason I wanted to see you first thing.’
‘Did my name come out the hat first?’ I asked.
He leaned forward across his desk, pointing at me with both fingers.
‘You, Angela Clark, have potential.’
‘No, I definitely tested negative for that on my last smear,’ I replied. Joe looked confused. ‘Sorry, I make jokes when I’m anxious. I get it from my dad.’
‘No need to be anxious,’ he insisted, tapping the desk with both index fingers.
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Because I’m fairly sure you’re about to tell me whether or not you’re closing my magazine and sacking twenty people I’m responsible for.’
‘You’re looking at this all wrong,’ Joe replied. ‘This is the day, this is your day. We’re pulling you out and lifting you up.’
‘Pulling me out of where?’ I looked around as though there would be actual people with actual forklift trucks. ‘Where am I going?’
‘We’re closing Gloss,’ Joe said with a shrug, cutting me off when I opened my mouth to scream. ‘It’s done, it’s agreed. We’re shutting the print edition next week.’
‘I’m going to be sick,’ I said very quietly. I could see my feet. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel anything.
‘We’re also shutting The Look,’ he added. ‘And in January, we will be launching a new hybrid print-and-media-content platform, The Gloss.’
He clapped his hands together and held them out, waiting for a reaction.
Without a word, I grabbed the brushed chrome wastepaper basket under his desk and threw up. Giving Joe a quiet thumbs up, I reached out and took a tissue from the box on his desk and wiped my mouth.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘Please continue.’
‘You just vomited,’ he said, staring at me in abject horror. ‘In my trash can.’
‘I did,’ I agreed. ‘But I’m quite all right. Let’s say it’s lactose intolerance. You’re closing both magazines and opening one new one?’
‘Yes,’ he said, visibly disturbed. ‘In January.’
‘What will happen to the staff?’ I asked, clutching my tissue.
‘The editor-in-chief will select which staff move to The Gloss and which staff are surplus,’ he replied. ‘It won’t be down to me.’
‘And who is going to be the editor?’
My heart was racing so fast, I could see little sparkles appearing at the edge of my vision. There was only one answer, one reason I was brought in first and staring at this gurning goon. But did I want this? Could I even deal with this right now?
‘Caroline,’ Joe said, resting backwards in his chair. ‘Caroline is going to be the editor.’
‘I think I’m going to throw up again,’ I said, lurching forwards and grabbing the bin.
‘Should I call someone?’ he asked, not making any effort to move. ‘Do you need a doctor?’
‘No, it’s just all that pesky lactose,’ I said, blinking into the bottom. How could one man eat so many protein bars? ‘Carry on.’
‘I’m going to offer Caroline the editor-in-chief position,’ Joe said as I slowly sat up, keeping the bin in my lap. ‘And I’d like to offer you the position of Junior Global Brand Director for Women’s Lifestyle Brands.’
I gripped the sides of the bin very, very tightly.
‘You’d like to what?’
‘I’d like to offer you the position of Junior Global Brand Director for Women’s Lifestyle Brands,’ he repeated, pushing a piece of paper across the desk. It was a job description. ‘It’s a new role, working with me to oversee the expansion of The Gloss into all our territories. All the editors would be reporting in to you on a global scale. It’s a very exciting role for someone with your passion, Angela.’
Someone so passionate she’d just thrown up twice.
‘Say the title again?’ I whispered.
‘Junior Global Brand Director for Women’s Lifestyle Brands.’
‘It’s got the word brand in it twice,’ I said. ‘Can a title have the word brand in it twice?’
‘We can work on the title if you don’t like it,’ Joe offered. ‘But this is such an opportunity. You know how hard it is for someone to come out of the editorial melee and move into a bigger role. This puts you on the fast track to VP.’
‘VP of what, though?’ I asked, lightly resting two fingers against the inside of my wrist and attempting to take my pulse. Oh good, it was going so fast I couldn’t even count.
‘That’s a hypothetical point, much further in the future,’ he said, furrowing his manly brow. ‘Right now, I need you to think about this role. Moulding The Gloss brand, hiring the global teams, managing the brand expansions. It’s travel, it’s people management, it’s making the most of your creativity and your passion for this brand that you created.’
‘Is it, though?’ I was asking myself more than him. ‘There would be no editorial at all, right? I wouldn’t have anything to do with the actual magazines themselves?’
‘You’d have everything to do with the magazines!’ he cheered. Pointed to various framed titles behind him, Belle, Gloss, The Look, HQ, The Spencer Report. All safely behind glass where he couldn’t possibly be expected to read a single word. ‘I know it’s going to be a strange shift, but this is such an exciting challenge.’
‘And if Caroline takes over the magazine and the website, she could just sack everyone from Gloss and keep everyone from The Look?’ I said. ‘My entire team could be out on their arses?’
‘I get that perhaps this looks a little like a, uh,’ Joe flapped a hand around in the air, looking to pull the right word from the ether, ‘forgive my terminology, a shit sandwich right now, but we’re elevating you, Angela, we’re making you a focal point in the company. If this works out, you could be in my job two years from now.’
It was the most horrifying thing he could have said.
‘It’s not a shit sandwich, Joe, it’s a shit buffet,’ I said loudly. ‘There’s no bread, there’s no butter, there’s just shit. Loads of different kinds of shit. One kind of shit held together by two other kinds of shit and forced down someone’s throat and that someone is me.’
He blanched at the metaphor as I fell back against my chair and carefully covered my stomach with my arms. Wasn’t it my passion he said he was interested in? It probably wasn’t a good idea to expose my unborn baby to so many expletives at once, but if it was going to live with me for the next eighteen or so years, it was better that it became desensitized as early as possible.
‘I don’t want your job,’ I told him, pushing my hair back from my hot face. ‘I know that might not make sense to you, but it was never in my plans. It’s not what I’m good at.’
‘I think you’re underestimating yourself,’ Joe replied, straightening his tie. ‘You have a skill for nurturing talent, you’re good at it. And you’re the heart and soul behind Gloss, I know that. You’re the person who made this brand a success.’
‘I didn’t make the brand a success, I made the magazine a success,’ I insisted, standing up on the other side of his desk. I paused for a moment to steady myself in my badass high heels and wished I’d listened to my gut instead of my Pinterest board. ‘Gloss is my magazine, not my brand. I care about every word that goes into it, and every person that writes every word, every person who reads every word. Delia made it a real magazine, Spencer made it a brand, what I did was show up every day and do something I loved.’
He looked up at me, considering his response without a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
‘I hear what you’re saying.’
When he finally spoke, his words were perfectly measured and managed, all his years of executive training shining brightly, and I really, really wanted to punch him right in the mouth.
‘And I understand your concerns.’ He stood up too and was suddenly towering over me. ‘You don’t have to give me an answer right away, of course you should take the weekend to think about this, it’s a big move, but we would like an answer on Monday.’
‘Monday,’ I said, nodding to myself. ‘OK. And what happens if I don’t take the job?’
Joe shrugged, the easy smile completely vanishing from his face.
‘Then we no longer have a role for you at Spencer Media,’ he said, returning to his seat. ‘And I’ll be very sorry to see you go.’
Nodding to myself, I turned to leave with the job description in my hand.
‘Could you take the trash can with you?’ Joe asked just as I reached the door. ‘And you should look into some of those lactose pills. You can buy them over the counter now.’
‘Awesome, yeah, thanks,’ I said, coming back for the bin and tucking it under my arm as I let myself out of his office. ‘I’ll definitely do that.’
A shit buffet and a bin full of vom.
What a way to start the weekend.