I wake up the next morning alone in my own bed.
For a moment I think I dreamed the whole thing. The conversation in his bedroom, the kiss, the euphoric decision to buy the house next door, the champagne toast from all our friends that made my heart almost hurt with joy . . .
Is it really possible that, after all these years of feeling love was out of reach, I can actually move forward into this new life? I hug the pillow to me. Even the deflated, prongy mattress doesn’t bother me anymore because it’s temporary and I know my new bedroom will have a balcony with sun streaming in and gauzy curtains that will waft in the breeze.
I spring up and instead of groggily stumbling to the bathroom, I find myself singing. And it’s only five a.m.
I had set my alarm extra early so I would have time to update the pitch for Noble Skincare. My intention is to do such a great job that the directors look at each other with open-mouthed amazement and then cheer, ‘We love it!’
Of course, part of me wanted to stay with Gareth last night and spend every minute revelling in the wonder of him but as he said, ‘You have an opportunity to become a Noble Woman, take it!’
I feel extra fired up knowing this man wants the best for me. And there’s no rush when it comes to our relationship. I want to savour the build-up to our first night together, which will now be Sunday night after the party. On the one hand, this seems an age away; on the other, it gives me the chance to go shopping for some decent underwear. It’s time. Not that I think Gareth would even notice the difference between a sports bra and a lacy balconette from Agent Provocateur. Or maybe he would. That’s a whole new side of him to discover. Either way, it’s so unbelievably freeing to be with a man who digs the raw, flawed you. I think of my alternative existence trying to please men like Tristan and it just makes me shudder.
I hone the pitch wording as I lather up in the shower, flipping through font options as I blow-dry my hair, and then sit down with a large mug of coffee and my laptop. This is the most motivated I’ve felt in ages. I pace the flat perfecting the inflections of my presentation and then hop aboard the bus, sitting with nervous excitement, listening to motivational tunes and feeling way too fired up for its slow and creaky progression.
Isn’t life fascinating? I think to myself as the doors open and close. Ever self-renewing. You can feel so flat and bored and disenchanted one day and then something gets you fired up and suddenly the world is filled with possibility again.
I ding the button for my stop.
Okay. Take a breath. Composure.
I cross the street, head into the building, grab a glass of water and in I go.
The presentation goes perfectly. I don’t falter or trip over a single word and as I deliver the segment on donating 5 per cent of the profits to a charity of the customer’s choice I almost hear myself underscored by stirring, righteous music.
Becky’s visuals look stunning and as she flips through each option, I see the representatives from the company nodding and whispering in an animated fashion. There are the two men we met with before, both of whom applaud as we conclude the presentation. And then there is Big Boss Man Cooper – whether this is his first or last name is irrelevant because apparently this is all he goes by.
‘I love everything about this except the five per cent, that’s too big a chunk of the profits.’
I nod. I was expecting this. Worth a shot.
‘The thing is,’ he continues, ‘if you word it as “a percentage of profits”, you never actually have to specify the amount. I mean, 0.005 per cent is still a percentage.’
‘Well, you obviously wouldn’t want to go that low,’ I counter.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it would seem misleading and exploitative.’
‘Excuse me?’ He looks affronted.
My boss Lindsey goes to speak but he holds up his hand to halt her.
‘We are donating money to a charity who didn’t do anything for it and yet we are exploiting?’
I don’t know where to begin with this – a charity who didn’t do anything for the money? I’m starting to feel slightly sick. I sit forward to make my point: ‘I mean that you want to make the donation in good grace and good faith, not purely with an eye on profits.’
‘Are you telling me how to run a business?’ he sneers. ‘Do you run the finances of this agency?’
‘I do not.’
‘Well then, why don’t you focus on what you are good at and I will do the same? Unless you don’t want our account?’
‘Of course we want your account,’ Lindsey simpers.
‘I just feel that if your brand is Noble Man, you should walk the talk.’
‘Amy, can I see you outside for a second?’ Lindsey gets to her feet and opens the door.
My face feels hot as I walk through.
‘I think it’s best you sit out the rest of the meeting,’ she whispers intently as she guides me around the corner.
‘But this is my idea, my concept.’
‘And you are paid for your ideas, which in turn become company property.’
My shoulders slump in frustration. ‘Are you happy with what this Cooper is saying?’
‘It’s not about me being happy, it’s about the client being happy.’
‘At what cost?’
Her eyes take on a steely, if exasperated glint. ‘I’ll speak to you after.’
I stand stunned for a few minutes and then head back to my desk feeling teary and deflated. How did that all go wrong so quickly? I didn’t even say that much! I push my keyboard out of the way. I can’t bear the thought of Cooper taking people’s money on false pretences, especially thanks to me. Just the other night at dinner I said that the brand’s intentions didn’t matter but now I very much feel that they do. I reach for my phone, unsure of who to text first – May for outrage, Gareth for calming, Charlotte for pragmatism, Jay for a fantastic put-down to keep in my back pocket, should I encounter Cooper again. ‘You peculiar little man!’ has served me well over the years.
‘What a dick.’
I look up to see Becky returning to her desk, giving me a sympathetic look.
‘Is Lindsey still in there?’
‘She’s gone out for coffee.’
‘With them?’
‘I don’t know. She said she wouldn’t be long.’
I tap the desk nervously. ‘Do you think I’m going to get fired?’
‘Noooo, of course not,’ Becky assures me. And then her phone starts to ring. ‘I should probably get that, I’m expecting a call from the printer’s.’
‘Of course. Go ahead.’
What if I just walked out? Stood up for my principles? I so want to work for a company I believe in and to do meaningful work but then again, if I lose this job, I won’t be able to pay the mortgage on the new house, Gareth won’t be able to open his cafe and our dreams of doing good through that will be over before they begin.
If I do get to stay, I would at least want to know a bit more about this Cooper character and his business dealings. I pull the keyboard back towards me and begin feverishly googling.
‘Amy?’ I jump as I hear my name. Darn Lindsey and her stealth shoes.
‘Yes?’ I try to sound casual.
‘Can I see you in my office?’
The sense of doom deepens. Today is not going according to plan.
I sit down opposite her desk, avoiding eye contact. I always try to be bright and receptive and enthusiastic but right now all I feel is disillusioned and crushed of spirit.
Lindsey clasps her hands together. ‘Cooper suggested I let you go.’
I look up with a jolt. ‘From the account?’
‘From the company.’
‘What?’ I gulp. My heart thumps noisily. I’m not sure how me having a good idea that everyone loves could end in, well, the end.
‘I know you’ve been wanting to go in a different direction for a while—’
‘Yes,’ I hastily cut in, ‘but I wanted to incorporate that new direction with the work we do, not replace it.’
‘I know.’ She inhales a long breath. ‘I think it’s time . . .’
Oh god, here we go! I close my eyes to brace myself.
‘. . . for us to take on some non-profit clients.’
I look up in confusion. ‘As in . . .’
‘As in, we offer our services to a non-profit. For free.’
I can’t believe it. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘General disgust at Cooper and then realising that while he’s talking about donating 0.005 per cent of the profits, I don’t even do that.’
‘Oh.’
‘I just had a “What is my legacy?” moment.’
‘What kind of coffee were you drinking?’ I ask, wondering if the rumoured CBD cafe has, in fact, opened.
‘Actually, I wasn’t getting coffee, I wanted to call our lawyer about withdrawing our Noble Man pitch.’
‘Seriously?’
‘I mean, I like irony as much as the next British person but I think it’s a step too far aligning Cooper with that brand.’
My mouth remains open. ‘I can’t believe this.’
‘This was not how I was expecting today to go either. But . . .’ She takes a breath and raises her jaw. ‘It feels good. I’m turning forty next week and I don’t want another decade of kowtowing to bullish clients. It’s time to try something new.’
‘I want to hug you!’
‘Not that new,’ she grimaces.
I laugh, somewhat deliriously.
‘So, next step, I want you to bring me a list of people you think we could work in harmony with – but do a bit of digging about the company ethos, find out who is at the head and the heart. We can afford to be picky.’
‘Right, right,’ I nod, getting to my feet, eager to get started. ‘Thank you so much!’
Lindsey gives a light shrug. ‘Sometimes a “no” can lead to an even bigger “yes”.’
I walk away from her office feeling like I’ve just been handed the title for my autobiography, should I ever feel the need to write one.
