I Heart Forever: The brilliantly funny feel-good romance. Lindsey Kelk
to lose their jobs, six weeks before Christmas. It was like the first hour of a Lifetime movie without the happily-ever-after resolution tacked on the end. And I should know, I’d seen every single one of them.
‘Once the new marketing team has been established,’ Joe added. ‘We’ll be doing the same thing with the sales teams.’
‘And then the editorial teams,’ I guessed. He nodded and my knee crashed into the underside of my desk, knocking over my pencil pot. I righted it with trembling hands.
‘Nothing is confirmed,’ Joe said, resting his hands on his knees and graciously looking away as I calmed myself. ‘And we don’t want to worry anyone at this moment in time, so this conversation will be strictly confidential.’
‘I wasn’t about to call everyone in to announce the good news,’ I replied, full of fire for my magazine, for my team. ‘My people are good, Joe. They’re creative, they work hard. You won’t find better people doing what they do anywhere in this building or anywhere else in the city.’
It took me a moment to realize my voice had risen, I was half out of my chair and the entire team was watching through the glass walls of my office. Pushing my hair behind my ears, I cleared my throat and sat back down. Joe leaned forward and a full, wolfish grin appeared on his face. He had fantastic teeth. The utter bastard.
‘I heard you were passionate about what you do,’ he said. ‘And I heard you have a great staff at Gloss, so there’s no need to go to war just yet. I won’t lie, Angela, I like passion and I like balls. That attitude is going to serve you well in the new Spencer Media.’ Joe’s eyes lit up as he spoke and I was suddenly very, very worried. ‘Gloss doesn’t have the heritage of Belle or the familiarity of The Look but it is a fresh and vibrant brand. With you, I see growth potential. My job here is to prune the dead wood and encourage new buds and I already know I don’t need three mags in print with three full editorial teams and three editors to run three very similar outlets.’
Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. Shit.
‘Is Gloss a bud or are we dead wood?’ I asked, my brain completely blank. I’d never been much of a gardener, as the dead succulent on my windowsill would attest.
‘Gloss is a branch on the Spencer Media tree,’ he corrected, ‘that will either flower and bloom or wither and die.’
Such a reassuring man. Clearly Delia had employed him for his gentle way with words.
‘I’m meeting with all the editors in my brand stream this week.’ He flipped at his iPad and raised his eyebrows. ‘And then I’m out of town for Thanksgiving. I’ll schedule a follow-up meeting with you as soon as I’m back so we can discuss my strategy.’
‘Fantastic,’ I said with altogether too much enthusiasm for someone who felt as though they’d just been slapped across the face with a four-day-old kipper.
‘I have to say, I was very curious to meet you.’ Joe reached across the desk and took my hand in an absurdly firm handshake. ‘You didn’t take a traditional route into this job and you seem to be excelling. I know Delia has a tremendous amount of faith in you.’
It should have been a compliment but instead, it felt like a question. A massively unsettling, wanky, unanswerable question.
‘Hopefully I’m not too much of a letdown,’ I replied.
He cocked his head in agreement and I almost vaulted across the desk to knock him out. He was a monster. A horribly attractive and impressively tall monster.
‘Let’s get that follow-up in the diary,’ he said, still squeezing the life out of my right hand. ‘Great to meet you.’
‘You too,’ I managed to half stand and almost smile at the same time and it felt like too much of an achievement. ‘Looking forward to our follow-up.’
Like a hole in the head.
Considering my words with a nod, he released his handshake, leaving white indentations across the back of my hand that turned red as I flexed my fingers. I watched him walk out the door and close it carefully behind him, counting to ten before I picked up the phone.
‘Hey, what’s up?’
Jenny answered on the first ring.
‘Are you busy after work?’ I asked. ‘I need a drink.’
‘Yeah, I can be done by six if I hustle,’ she replied. ‘You want to get dinner?’
‘There can be food,’ I said, my skin prickling from head to toe. ‘As long as there is alcohol.’
Jenny made an unconvinced sound down the line. ‘We got drinks last night.’
‘Yes, we did,’ I replied. ‘What’s your point?’
‘Fair,’ Jenny acknowledged. ‘Meet at the St Regis? I’m sure it’s nothing a martini can’t fix.’
‘Let’s hope that’s true,’ I confirmed, suddenly aware of the seven staffers peering through my glass door. ‘Gotta go, see you in a bit.’
I hung up the phone and waved everyone in.
‘Was that the new boss?’ Megan asked. ‘The new brand director?’
‘They put a man in charge of women’s brands?’ Sophie, the fashion editor, looked confused. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘What did he say?’ Jason gnawed on his thumbnail as he spoke. ‘Are there going to be cuts?’
‘Um,’ I squeaked. ‘Everything’s fine?’
‘Then why were you jumping out of your seat and shouting?’
Trust Megan to expect truthful answers. Why couldn’t she accept my sugar-coated lies like everyone else?
‘He said he could get me tickets to a secret Taylor Swift show,’ I told her, not quite managing to meet her eyes as I spoke. ‘Everything’s fine. There’s no news, which, I’m reliably informed, is good news.’
Jason pouted. ‘My friend Stevens who works in sales says they’re going to close five titles by the end of the year.’
‘Your friend added an “s” to the end of a perfectly good name just to look more interesting on Grindr,’ I replied, concerned that an assistant in the sales team had better insider knowledge than I did. ‘So, let’s not give him more credit than is due. I’ll fill you all in properly at the team meeting in the morning,’ I promised. Another lie, I’d clearly be dodging the facts for as long as humanly possible. ‘But there’s nothing for any of you to worry about. He actually said a lot of nice things about Gloss. So, the best thing we can do is keep everything as it is. We’re doing such a good job, let’s keep that up.’
I watched as they filed out of the office, all relieved giggles and sighs. At least it wasn’t a complete lie; there wasn’t anything for them to worry about at that exact moment. There was at least a good week before they needed to start shitting themselves.
Until then, the only person who needed to worry was me.
The St Regis was a great choice for an emergency after-work drink. It was a fancy hotel with a classy bar that made you feel like you were either a very important person or a very expensive call girl, depending on which boots you might be wearing at the time. Nothing terrible could happen at the St Regis, it was altogether too swanky for that, they simply wouldn’t allow it. There was something about necking a twenty-five-dollar cocktail that made the rest of the world disappear, leaving just you, your booze, and an extortionate credit card bill to take your mind off whatever troubles you’d trotted in with.
‘It’s six ten,’ Jenny greeted me,