Eyes Wide Open (2 page)

It was only on her third read-through, when she was mentally picking out key words and phrases she could use to help tailor her CV to the role and to write a spectacular covering letter, that she noticed the closing date for applications.

For fuck’s sake!
How typical was that? The only job she’d seen since arriving in the capital that had gotten her genuinely fired up, and she’d missed the bloody date by one day. One. Single. Day.

Barely stopping herself from screwing up the page and throwing it across the room in a fit of temper, Fiona stepped away and took a long drink from the pint of Coke she had stashed behind the bar. Just as she replaced the glass, another customer came up—one of the few she actually liked.

“Hello, Bob,” she said pleasantly, genuine this time. “How are you?”

“Not too bad thanks, love. And yourself?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I’m all right, thanks.”

Bob narrowed his eyes. “Well, that didn’t sound very convincing. Want to tell me about it while you’re pouring my pint?”

Unable to help the grin that took over her face, Fiona replied, “Subtle, Bob, very subtle. Being nice on the surface, but underneath it all you’re really saying, ‘Hurry up and pour my drink, wench!’”

Clutching a hand to his chest, Bob looked shocked. “What, me?” After a beat, his expression morphed into a good-natured grin to rival her own. “What can I say? I am a nice guy, but I like my beer. Seriously, though, tell me what’s wrong.”

As she slotted the pint glass into place beneath the pump and began filling it, she found herself wanting to tell him. She wasn’t in the habit of chatting with the customers, and they weren’t the sort that wanted to prop up the bar all day and regale her with their no doubt utterly fascinating tales. She was more accustomed to pouring pints, handing over packets of crisps and pork scratchings, taking money and giving change with nothing more than basic manners and a smile.

But what harm could it do? She didn’t know the guy beyond these four walls, didn’t know what he did for a living—though by the looks of him he was getting close to retirement age. Maybe he could help, give her some advice? And even if he blabbed to her boss, the pub landlord Cyril, it wouldn’t matter. He probably wouldn’t care either way. Bar staff were ten a penny and he’d have the role filled within a day.

Plus, underneath all that gruff, abrupt bluster, she had an inkling that Cyril was actually human—and smart. He’d have known from day one of taking her on—from the moment he interviewed her, even—that she wasn’t in the job for the long haul. And as long as he had someone behind the bar, it didn’t make the slightest difference to him.

Fiona jerked her head in the direction of the newspaper. “Just found a great job in that crummy old newspaper.”

Bob frowned. “Why’s that a problem?”

Sliding the pint onto the bar, she replied, “Emphasis on
old.
It’s a fantastic bloody role, but the closing date for applications was yesterday. I’m gutted. I’ve been treading water a bit since I’ve been down in London because I didn’t know what direction I wanted to go, career-wise, and that could have set me on the perfect path. Reckon I’d have been good at it, too.”

Bob handed over the money, then took a sip of his beer. Swallowing, a thoughtful expression on his face, he then said, “Wouldn’t hurt to send your application anyway, would it? I’m guessing you can send it by email, can you? Send it today and explain you only just saw the advertisement and know that the closing date has passed, but you’re so interested in the role that you thought you’d apply anyway. Who knows? Maybe they’ll be impressed by your enthusiasm and put you in the running. For what it’s worth, I reckon you should try. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her hair. Then she punched numbers into the till, opened it, put Bob’s cash in the drawer and retrieved his change. “I was thinking the same thing myself about the job before I realized I’d missed the closing date. I think I will. After all, if I don’t apply, I won’t even be in with a chance. And a chance is better than nothing!”

“Better than working here, too.”

Passing him the change, she said, “How do you know? You don’t even know what the job’s for.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s got to be better than here. Besides, I’ve always thought you were too good for this place. Too damn smart to be pulling pints—though you’ve got that down to a fine art, I must say.” He took another sip and winked at her over the rim of the glass. “Still,” he added, “if you do end up getting that job, or any other, I will be sad to see you go. Brighten up the place, pretty girl like you does. Anyway, let me know how you get on. Good luck!”

With another broad grin and a wink, Bob stuffed the coins into his pocket and sauntered over to take a seat by the window.

She watched him for a moment or two, pondering what he’d said. Then, her mind made up, she grabbed the newspaper and tore out the advert, folding it carefully and putting it in her pocket. There were only a couple more hours of her shift to go. As soon as she got home, she’d dust off her creative writing skills, tart up her CV, craft an awesome covering letter and ping them over on an email.

The Totally Five Star London wouldn’t know what had hit it.

Chapter Two

Fiona spent the next few days in a blur of working, doing her share of chores in the flat—which this week included shopping and cooking—and catching some sleep when she could. She also spent an inordinate amount of time checking her emails, hoping for a reply from the Totally Five Star.

When it came, just three days after sending the application—which to her felt like three weeks—she was too scared to open it. She was so sure it was going to be a very polite
thanks, but no thanks
that she let out a squeak and quickly shut her laptop lid.

One of her flatmates, Gary, glanced at her from the other easy chair in their shared living room and raised an enquiring eyebrow. “What are you squeaking at, Fi? It sounded like you just squashed a mouse in your laptop.”

With heat taking over her cheeks, she shook her head and tried to adopt a nonchalant tone of voice. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

Now both of Gary’s eyebrows inched toward his hairline. “Really? I’m not convinced, ’cause usually you’re as cool as a cucumber. Come on. What’s got you all het up?”

She sighed. This was the exact reason she hadn’t told anyone—except Bob—about the job application she’d sent off. Her flatmates, she knew, would have been nothing but supportive, but rejection was bad enough without the humiliation of them knowing about it too. Then coming out with the usual,
Oh, there’ll be other jobs
or
you’re too good for them anyway
or even
well, it’s their loss
.

“I applied for a job.”

“Uh, yeah? Isn’t that kind of the point of being here?”

“Well, yes, but this one’s special. Or it was, anyway. It’s a PR role at a swish Mayfair hotel. I saw the ad in a newspaper a few days ago. Trouble is, I’d already missed the closing date for applications by the time I saw the ad, but I sent my CV and a covering letter anyway.”

“Good for you. But I’m still failing to see why this is a bad thing.”

“Well, they’ve emailed me.” Unconsciously, she crept her hands across the laptop and gripped its edges, as though it would spring open by itself if she didn’t.

“So read it!”

“I can’t! They’re bound to have said no. I was late sending in an application, and I’ve no experience.”

Gary shook his head, unfolded his lanky frame from the chair and came to perch on the arm of Fiona’s. “They may also have said yes, but you’ll never find out while you’ve got your frigging laptop in a death grip. Come on. Open it up. Or give it here and I’ll read it for you.”

“No!” She cradled the machine to her chest, then reluctantly placed it back on her lap. “All right… I’ll look. But if it’s a no, can we just move on and forget about it, please? No sympathy. Just go back to what we were doing before this conversation even started? And please don’t mention it to the others, either.”

He held his hands up in supplication. “You have my word.”

Nodding slowly, Fiona carefully lifted the laptop lid up and waited for the screen to flicker back to life. After a second or two, her inbox reappeared, now with that particular unread email sitting at the top, seeming to scream at her to open it.

Taking a deep breath, she did just that. It took all her effort not to squeeze her eyes shut as the words filled the screen. She felt the heat from Gary’s body as he leaned in closer to read it, too, but she forced herself to ignore him and focus on the message.

Dear Ms. Gillespie,

Thank you for your recent application for the PR assistant’s role at the Totally Five Star London. Having read your covering letter and CV, we would very much like to invite you to attend an interview at our premises. Are you available at 2.30 p.m. on Wednesday?

We look forward to hearing from you.

Kind Regards,

Jane Cresswell

Human Resources Department, Totally Five Star London

Gary reacted before her brain had even processed what she’d just read. “Wow, that’s fantastic, Fiona. Well done! See? There must have been something in your CV or letter that they liked, because despite you missing the deadline, they still want to see you.”

“Th-they want to see me.” She blinked. Then it suddenly hit her. “Holy fuck,
they want to see me
!”

“Yes! Come on. Pull yourself together, woman, and email them back, letting them know you’ll be there on Wednesday.” He nudged her in the ribs with his elbow, grinning.

Playfully nudging him back, she was aware that her own face had broken out into an enormous smile too, but she tried to rein in her excitement. Just because she had an interview didn’t mean she had the job. Not even close. A job like that, at a place like that, with those benefits and career prospects, was very desirable. She’d have a ton of competition. But, she reminded herself, it was all good interview experience. She had nothing to lose.

Dear Ms. Cresswell,

Thank you for your email. I would be delighted to attend an interview with you at 2.30 p.m. on Wednesday. Thank you for the opportunity.

Kind regards,

Fiona Gillespie

“Does that sound all right?” She turned the laptop so Gary could read her reply more easily.

After a minute he replied, “Yep, looks great to me. Enthusiastic but not desperate, polite and professional. Damn, you really know how to work that degree of yours, don’t you, gorgeous? I think I’m gonna have to get you to have a look at my CV.”

“Let me just send this, and I’d be happy to.” Reading the email through one more time, just to make sure she hadn’t made a silly mistake or typo or anything, she then gritted her teeth and hit ‘Send’. Okay, it was gone. She was officially going for an interview for a job—a brilliant job! One that could launch an exciting and lucrative career—

Shaking her head to rid herself of all the thoughts that were bubbling around in her mind, she looked up at Gary. “I mean it, you know. I could do with something to distract me now, I’m so bloody excited. Do you want to email me your CV and I’ll go through it with you? I’m sure there are some improvements that can be made.”

“Yeah, sure. Hang on. I’ll go and grab my iPad. Shall we celebrate with a cup of tea?”

“Oh yes, good idea. Go on. You get your iPad and email me the file. I’ll make the tea.”

* * * *

Fiona stepped carefully from the Tube and scurried over to the wall to avoid being pushed and shoved by the rushing crowds. She’d deliberately left plenty of time to get from her dump of a flat in Leytonstone to Mayfair, determined not to arrive at the Totally Five Star sweaty, stressed and flustered.

Emerging from Bond Street station, she stood out of the way of the throngs as she retrieved the map she’d printed out to get her from here into the heart of Mayfair. It wasn’t an area she knew, aside from having done some shopping—mostly window shopping, but also a smidge of the real kind on Oxford Street, Bond Street and Piccadilly—and admired the luxury hotels on Park Lane. It was barely a ten minute walk to the hotel, nestled in a spot between Grosvenor and Berkeley Squares, and she still had fifty minutes until her interview—ample time to get there, have a little look at the adjacent buildings and get a feel for the area, then head inside and announce herself.

Tracing the route with her finger as she memorized it, Fiona nodded, then put the piece of paper back into her handbag.

Right. Time to get this show on the road.

She looked up and around, as well as ahead, as she walked, admiring the beautiful, regal-looking buildings, exclusive boutiques and restaurants and garages selling high-end luxury and sports cars. It was like a complete other world, particularly when compared to the grimy, run-down area of the city she’d just come from.

God, what would the interviewers—she assumed there’d be more than one—make of her, a recent graduate with a broad Brummy accent? Yes, she’d made a serious effort with her appearance. She wore a beautiful outfit she’d splashed out on when arriving in London, seeing it as an investment in her career, in her future, but she couldn’t hide who she was—just a regular girl from the Midlands. How was she supposed to fit in with the other staff, never mind the clientele, who would all be filthy rich and speak in posh upper-class British accents?

Pausing on the opposite side of the square from the hotel, she chastised herself for being so ridiculous. For one, they knew perfectly well where she was from. It was there on her CV in black and white. Secondly, the very idea that all the hotel staff and clientele would sound the same was ludicrous. Both the employees and the patrons would come from all over the world. It was bound to be a veritable melting pot of appearances, backgrounds, voices and accents. One slim, blonde Brummy was not going to stand out, not even a little bit.

Her silly ideas knocked on the head, Fiona moved across the square, drinking in the lavish sights before her. Damn, she hadn’t even crossed the threshold yet and already she was impressed. The square was quiet—especially by London standards—since it was well off the beaten tourist trail, and it was full of beautiful red-bricked buildings with white stone window frames, balconies and porticos.