A Wild Affair (24 page)

“Yeah,” I said. “Nice idea. Not sure it's going to work.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “God, I wish Hugh Barter were dead,” I said, picking up my bag. “I hate him. I really, truly hate him.”

“If this men Hugh is the problem, mebe we get rid of the problem,” Ivana said, suddenly reengaging. “I know people. One call, one thousand U.S. dollars, and is done. Pop.”

I looked at her for a moment, trying to work out if she was joking. From the look on her face, I deduced that she wasn't.

“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “Well, I think this conversation is over. Thanks so much for your great ideas, but I think maybe this is something I'm going to have to sort out on my own.”

Ivana shrugged. “I just say. Pop, all gone.”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “And that was really helpful. But I just have this teensy-weensy problem with it.”

“Uh-huh?” Ivana said expectantly.

“Not wanting to be a murderer,” I said. “You know, that whole not really wanting to kill someone thing. Gets in the way, I know, but there we are.”

“Suit yourself.” Ivana stood up. “I hef to go anyway. I have appointment with gynecologist. Men going to poke around my underwear and not even leave money tucked in. Pregnancy. Pah!”

She stalked off and Giles pulled me back down to my chair again. “So what are you actually going to do?” he asked.

“Do?” I looked at him wearily, then at Helen. “Well, I'm going to go back to the office for starters. And then …”

“Yes?” Helen asked immediately. “Then what?”

“Then …” I sighed. “Then I don't know. I guess I'm just going to hope this all blows over.”

“It will,” Helen said, putting her arm around me and giving me a quick squeeze. “It will, just you see.”

“And in the meantime,” Giles said hopefully.

“In the meantime, I guess I'm going to carry on planning the wedding,” I relented.

Giles clapped his hands together. “That's my girl. That's the attitude. Brave, committed, and not fazed by little problems.”

“You mean like the string quartet on the
Titanic
who kept on playing in spite of the bloody big iceberg headed their way?” I muttered, but he chose not to hear me.

“And if that fails, there's always Ivana's hit man,” Helen deadpanned, a wry smile on her face. “Frankly, I don't know what you're so worried about.”

I don't know if it was Helen's words or Giles's little hug as we said goodbye, but by the time I got back to the office, I was determined that things would be okay, that somehow Max and I would get over this bump in the road. I wasn't entirely sure how, but I did know I wasn't going to just roll over defeated. I was a fighter, Max was a fighter, and together we were invincible. Together, we'd work this thing out.

Max's door was shut when I got to reception and I decided that now wasn't the time to bother him, so I walked toward my desk instead, passing Gillie on the way. But she didn't say anything to me, not even to ask about the wedding, and Caroline met my eyes with a doe-like expression, her lips quivering slightly.

“Are you … all right?” she asked tentatively.

“Fine,” I assured her. “I'm fine.”

“Great.” She sort of smiled, then the doe eyes came back. “I've been doing some research on the Superfoods account,” she said earnestly. “I think actually it might be really great. You know, something we can get our teeth into.”

“Exactly,” I said with relief, then I sat down, turned on my computer, and sighed. “Everything really is going to be okay,” I said seriously. “It really is.”

“I know.” Caroline nodded, swallowed, then turned back to her computer. “And Beatrice is going to the States next week now anyway,” she said, her voice small. “Which could have been when Project Handbag launched. So in a way, it's really good, you know, that we're not … that you're not … that they're not … I mean …”

“Well, that settles it then,” I said firmly. “Good riddance to Jarvis, I say. Who needs 'em. Right?”

“Right.” Caroline nodded. “Absolutely right.”

She smiled brightly at me, but she held it just a few seconds too long.

“So, do you have anything else you want me to do?” she asked eventually. “Any filing? Research? Anything?”

I looked down at my desk. It was all Project Handbag—all my “to do” lists, all my piles of paper. “You know,” I said after a while, “I can probably handle the Superfoods account for today. Fancy taking off? Maybe doing some shopping or something? You've been working so hard lately, you deserve a break.”

“Really?” She looked at me dubiously. “You're not just saying that to get me out of the building, are you?”

I frowned. “What? Why would I want to get you out of the building? I mean I do, you know, to go shopping, but that's all.”

Caroline bit her lip. “It's just that people were saying …” She took a deep breath. “People were talking about, you know, redundancies, that sort of thing. There was that company that told everyone by text message that they were fired. I just wanted to be sure …”

I stared at her incredulously. “Caroline, we've lost one account. One teensy-weensy little account, okay? You're not being made redundant. Or being fired. Okay?”

“Okay.” Caroline picked up her bag. “I'll just go then,” she said. “And I'll see you tomorrow?”

“That sentence did not require a question mark,” I said crossly. “Yes, I will see you tomorrow.”

She nodded and walked off; immediately I regretted suggesting the stupid shopping trip because everyone's heads poked up, watching. “She's going shopping,” I said as loudly as I could. “That's all, folks.” Then I brought up my email. At the top was an email from Caroline, helpfully titled “Superfoods, ideas and suggestions.” Below that was an email from Max, which I clicked on immediately.

From Max Wainwright: Jess, got a moment?

I jumped up. He'd sent it over an hour ago. I raced over to his office and knocked tentatively on the door, first forcing a big smile onto my face. I was determined to hold it together, to be strong for Max. It was the least I could do. Frankly, it was all I had. “You wanted to see me?”

Max looked up and managed a smile. “I wanted to apologize,” he said standing up and walking toward me. “There was no need for the way I spoke to you earlier in the car.”

“It's fine,” I said dismissively. “You're under a lot of pressure.”

“Pressure or not, it was unnecessary and rude and I'm sorry.”

“It's fine Max,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. “Please don't apologize. I deserved it. So how's it going?”

He shrugged and I stepped back. “Superfoods have canceled their account,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice light, but I could hear the strain. “They said that trust and integrity were important to them. Chief exec was very good about it—said they'd had an offer they couldn't refuse from Scene It. Said under the circumstances, it was the only thing they could do.”

“The only thing?” I stared at him in disbelief. “What about staying with us? What about demonstrating a bit of loyalty?”

Max turned around and walked to the window. “I can't say I blame them. I'd do the same in their position.”

“No you wouldn't.” I gulped. “You wouldn't. You'd be loyal. You'd believe you. You'd …”

“I'd go straight to Scene It, which is what he's done,” Max said flatly. “Although, ironically, it seems that whoever leaked the information about the deal also went straight there. My friend at
Advertising Today
tells me that the information came from Hugh Barter.”

“It did?” I felt myself getting hot. “Really?”

“Apparently.” Max nodded. “Although who told him, I don't know. If I did, my God, I would wring their neck.”

“You … you would?” I asked. My throat was suddenly very dry. Parched even.

“Wouldn't you?” Max asked, his eyes flashing. “Bastard would probably tell us if we pressed him, too, but Chester won't hear of it.”

“He … he won't?” I asked, desperately trying to keep my voice light.

“I called him. Told him Hugh was the source. He told me not to be such a sore loser. Told me it only made him respect me less.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “So what are you going to do? What are we going to do?”

Max looked up. “I don't know yet,” he said quietly. “But we'll come up with something. I'm sure we will.”

I nodded, biting my lip. He was looking older, I noticed suddenly. It was like he'd aged in the space of a couple of days. He was tired. Not tired, exhausted. And it was all my fault. I studied his face; I desperately wanted to see him smile again, wanted to see his eyes twinkling. And suddenly I thought of Giles. Of course—the wedding. I would tell him about the wedding. Take his mind off this nightmare for just a minute or two.

“I guess one good thing about all of this is that I've got loads of time to concentrate on the wedding,” I said, realizing as I spoke how pathetic I sounded, but somehow unable to stop myself. “I really think it's going to be great. Giles wants to make the flowers look like sunlight,” I continued feebly. “Every shade of yellow and orange …” I trailed off; I could feel my heart beating rapidly, my fight-or-flight response kicking in. “It's going to be okay,” I said stupidly. “Everything, I mean. It's …”

“Jess,” Max said quietly. “You know we can't get married right now, don't you?”

“What?” I cleared my throat. “Sorry, what?”

“Not with all this hanging around my neck.”

“It's hanging around
our
necks,” I faltered. “And the wedding
is the one good thing happening right now. We can't call it off.”

“We have to,” Max said seriously. “I'm a mess. I'm bringing nothing to the table, Jess, except mayhem, failure, mass resignations.”

“Resignations? What do you mean?”

“Half the firm is leaving. Hugh Barter's offered them all jobs at Scene It and I can't promise them I can keep them longer than a few weeks.”

He looked broken. I stared at him desperately. “But, but …”

“But nothing, Jess. This damage won't repair easily. And in the meantime, the firm is going to suffer. We need to let people go.”

“We've got other clients.”

“You know as well as I do that Jarvis was bankrolling the rest of the firm.”

I swallowed, tried to clear my throat again; it seemed to have seized up. “Then I'll cover the losses,” I said in a strangled voice.

Max shook his head. “No, Jess.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice rising several octaves. “We'll use Grace's money. It's mine to do what I want with, and I want to save the firm. Tell everyone to stay. Tell them it's business as usual.”

“But it's not, Jess. We don't have the work.” Max walked toward me and put his arms around me. “I need to rebuild this place,” he said quietly. “I need to salvage what I can from the rubble and then start again.”

“So then we'll do it together. We'll take some time out, get married, then come back and …”

“No, Jess.” His voice was quiet but firm. His arms fell from my waist and he leaned on his desk, exhaling loudly. “We can't get married now, not until I've got something to offer again.”

“Something to offer?” I looked at him incredulously. “Max, you have everything to offer. I'm not interested in money. For God's sake—we've got more than we need anyway. I don't understand—don't you love me anymore?”

“Of course I do,” Max said, his voice cracking. “But it's not about money. It's about self-worth. I need to be worthy. Of you. Of … of …”

I stared at him, at his bewildered expression, his defeated shoulders, and then I started to cry because I realized what I'd been trying to avoid, trying to push to one side: He was serious. He was more serious than I'd ever seen him before. And little did he know that I was the one who was unworthy. So unworthy it made me feel sick.

“But I love you,” I sobbed. “I love you and I want to marry you and I want us to start our life together.”

“And we will,” Max said gently. “But not now, Jess. Not now.”

“Because of Hugh Barter,” I said.

Max shrugged. “Because of Hugh, because of his source, because Chester won't listen to reason … it doesn't matter anymore.”

“What if his source … I mean, what if they came clean,” I said, feeling my skin go all prickly, because I suddenly knew I had to tell him, had to tell him the truth, because there was nothing left to lose. “What if they were … were …”

“Max?” The door flew open and I turned, my mouth falling open. “Maxy Maxy I go away for three months and I come back to a complete mess. What on earth is going on, old boy?” Max and I watched silently as Anthony, my ex-fiancé, Max's ex-best friend, and the former head of Milton Advertising, walked in, patted him on the back, and ruffled my hair. Then he pulled out a chair at Max's meeting table and sat down. “Naturally I came right away. I think I'd better take back the reins for a bit, wouldn't you say? Steer us out of these troubled waters?”

“Anthony,” Max said, his eyes looking very dark all of a sudden. “Anthony, what the hell are you doing here?”

I LOOKED FROM ANTHONY to Max and back again. Two people could not have looked more different. Anthony was sitting back in his chair, his skin lightly tanned, his hair bleached by the sun; he looked like a Greek god, shining with good health, with confidence. Max, on the other hand, didn't look outraged, like he should, like he would have a few weeks before; instead, he looked pale. At Anthony's appearance he had seemed to shrink slightly. His fingers were drumming on his desk, his eyes darting around uncertainly. My shock made me feel tough, suddenly—or maybe it was the body blow Max had just dealt me. Either way, I was in no mood for Anthony; no mood to see Max diminished any further because of me.