Emily dropped her hand back into her lap, wondering whether her dismissal had become common knowledge yet. She couldn’t imagine that the office gossips had not yet caught wind of it, but then again, maybe she just wasn’t worth gossiping about. She bowed her head over the magazine, figuring it was probably best to avoid attention just in case.
Going into this project, Scott Denny wanted to eschew a traditional office setting in favor of a “warm and welcoming vibe.” Inspired by the lofts of New York, an industrial feel is juxtaposed with a “residential” ambiance, creating a textured materiality that brings radiance and depth to the space. Earthy tones and subdued colors provide a peaceful touch, while overscaled artwork and high ceilings create a sense of awe.
Awe. Yes, that was the word. That was what Emily felt when she thought about Scott.
The same loud, bored voice rang out again. Emily looked up. The copy-room door was ajar.
“So, any news on the summer party?”
“I heard we’re booking a restaurant.”
“Ugh, really? So lame.”
“We should do the superyacht again. That was insane.”
“I literally have no memory of that night. Total absinthe blackout.”
There was a wave of sniggers.
“So, Scott’s not offering up his French mansion this year, then?”
Emily’s ears pricked up. She shuffled to the end of the sofa, leaning closer to the open door.
“Dude, let it go,” said the female voice, wearily. “It’ll never happen. I’ve been at him for years, but apparently his batshit-crazy wife shuts him down every time.”
Emily froze. Wife? She put down her magazine. What wife?
“I heard she’s a bitch,” murmured one of the guys.
“Who even is she?”
“Is she hot?”
“Can’t be that hot if he never sees her.”
“I don’t know, sounds like the perfect marriage to me.”
Emily felt her heart sink. He’s married, she thought. Then: Of course he’s married. What did you expect? She leaned a little closer.
“I’m telling you, she’s a bitch.”
“Cut her some slack. You know what happened, don’t you?”
“Well, sure, but that was years ago. And you know what they say; be stronger than your strongest excuse.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“He hates her. You can just tell.”
Suddenly there was a neat clack of heels. “Sssh,” someone hissed. “Kim Kardashian’s on the warpath.”
Emily jumped back in her seat, scrabbling to pick up the magazine again, and the voices in the copy room fell into a hush as Scott’s PA, Verity, strutted into reception like a supermodel president, all spiky stilettos and arched eyebrows. “Make sure that’s couriered in the next five minutes,” she said to Emily’s replacement, dropping a thick black file on the desk. “And please tell those fuckwits that it doesn’t take three people to photocopy a contract.”
Emily watched from behind her magazine as, one by one, the analysts trickled sheepishly out of the copy room.
“Oh, and Ms. Proudman?” Verity threw a look over her shoulder that was so sharp it made Emily jump. “Scott will see you now.”
CHAPTER TEN
SCOTT
SCOTT LAY on the floor of his office, his face pressed against the concrete. While bending down to pick up a dropped piece of paper, his eye had been caught by two dead cockroaches lying on their backs by the skirting board, their legs twitching as a swarm of ants fed on their spindly carcasses. Why two? he wondered. And why so close together? Perhaps there been a duel, or a suicide pact. Maybe these were the Romeo and Juliet of the insect world.
He’d watched the ants for some time and eventually got down on his hands and knees for a closer look. He was struck by both the complexity of the churning mass and the simplicity of the individual task: march, eat, march, eat. Each one of them working as part of a giant superteam to consume and survive. It was hypnotic. Also, the floor felt good. Cool and solid. So, onto the floor he went.
It had been a difficult few days. After a short phase of relative calm, during which Scott had felt comfortable enough to book flights for the upcoming long weekend, the credit account had gone crazy. New charges had started popping up all over the place: three at first, then five more, then another three, the total of which came to ￡97,556. He’d tried to reach Nina, but his calls and emails had gone unanswered, the only sign of life being one last gigantic charge that had shown up that morning, like the final firework in a pyrotechnic display. There was nothing he could do but watch it all unfold; the only saving grace was that he was not obliged to watch in person. He canceled his flights.
On the floor, the ants continued to swarm over the cockroaches. A small group succeeded in breaking off a leg and bore it away like a prize. One little guy had lost his way and was missing out on the action, so Scott nudged him back on course with his finger. “Wrong way,” he whispered to the ant. “The chow is that way. Go on, off you go. Bon appétit.”
“Sorry, are you talking to me?” said a voice.
Scott jumped up. There was a girl in the doorway. No, wait. The girl. Emily.
“Hello,” she said. “Sorry to disturb you while you were, um…”
“No, not at all. I wasn’t…” Scott brushed himself down. “It’s fine. Thank you for coming in.” What on earth had he been doing? How could he lose track of the time like that? And how many of his employees had seen him crawling around on the floor? He glanced at his office wall. The smart glass was still transparent, but, mercifully, the corridor beyond was quiet.
“So,” he said, crossing to the wall. He hit a switch and the electrochromic glaze immediately rendered the whole thing opaque. “How are you feeling after last week? No broken bones, I take it?”
“Oh, no.” She blushed. “I mean, I’m still a bit rattled but, you know … fine.”
“What happened there, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the bus stopped in time. It never touched you, and yet you went down like a sack of potatoes.”
“Oh, yeah.” Emily’s face went even pinker. “I do that. Faint, I mean. Haven’t for a while, but when I was younger I used to get these panic attacks where I’d black out and stuff? Bit weird. I thought I’d got rid of them, but I guess with all the stress lately…” She stopped and shrugged.
Scott sat behind his desk and gestured for her to take the chair opposite. He noticed she was wearing an unusual interpretation of office wear: a floral scoop-necked top tucked into a bright-green high-waisted skirt, thick black tights, and shiny round-toed high heels. She walked as if she’d never worn a pair of heels in her life.
They shared a smile, and there it was again: that vague sense that he knew her or had met her somewhere before.
“Coffee? Tea?” He reached for his desk phone.
“Oh, no, thank you.”
“Probably wise. I need to cut back, but nothing else will see me through the day.” He pressed a button. “Verity, can I get a long black please? And would you grab me some of those cookies? The chocolate ones? Thanks.” He hung up. “This feels like a cookie kind of meeting,” he explained with a grin.
Across the table, Emily took a deep, wobbly breath. She seemed nervous, and Scott could sympathize. His own heart was fluttering, his hands were clammy, and his shirt was sticking to his back.
“Right, so let’s get down to it.” He placed his hands on the desk and laced his fingers together to stop them from shaking. “With regards to the termination of your employment, I’d like to reiterate that the order, so to speak, did not come from me. Personally, I was very happy with your work. You did a wonderful job for us. You were very popular.” Emily made a face as if she didn’t quite believe him, and she was right not to. At best, most staff members ignored her; at worst, they mocked her for the very same things that had brought her to Scott’s attention: she was naive, flaky, inattentive.
Scott carried on. “You may not have seen me much during your time here, but I saw you and I was very impressed. I think it would be a great shame to lose you.” For a moment his confidence wavered. It wasn’t too late; he could still back out. But then he thought of the orange envelope and the printed pages within, and again the whole situation felt out of his hands. Something had brought Emily to him. The wheels were already in motion, and he couldn’t stop them if he tried.
“I’d like you to continue working for me,” he said, pressing his shoulders back and sitting up straight. “If that’s also what you want, of course. But before we discuss the details, I thought perhaps you could tell me a bit about yourself, given that we were never formally introduced when you started work here.”
“Oh. Okay, sure,” said Emily. “Though I’m not sure there’s much to tell.”
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Verity walked in carrying a small black tray. “Lomax meeting in thirty minutes,” she said, placing Scott’s coffee and cookies in front of him. She cast a sidelong glance at Emily, then swept out of the room as quickly as she had entered it, her perfume swirling behind her like exhaust fumes.