A. Michael - The Last Word

A satisfying ping announced that she had a new email, an official-looking one at that. From the Specialist Blog Editor at The Type , the latest digital newspaper to emerge. Tabby scanned the email, then re-read it three times. Then walked downstairs to Rhi, clutching her laptop.

‘Did you order the pizza yet? No pineapple, please, I can’t bear it – ’ Rhi paused, looking up to see Tabby’s look of confusion. ‘What happened? Did you accidentally stumble onto Rule 34 again? I told you, the internet is full of freaks with Disney fetishes.’

‘I got offered a job.’

‘That’s great!’

‘A real writing job. At an online newspaper. Writing about real issues,’ Tabby said in monotone.

‘What’s the problem? This is amazing! I’m getting fizzy wine, and I won’t even buy the own brand stuff!’ Rhi went to get up.

‘Well, I didn’t apply for a job…this just…appeared.’ Tabby frowned. ‘And the interview is tomorrow.’

Rhi twitched her lips. ‘Do you think it’s a scam?’

Tabby shook her head. ‘The address checks out as the paper’s office, I looked up the Specialist Editor, this Harry Shulman guy, and he seems to be for real. They referenced a few of my articles…am I allowed to be happy about this? Or is it all some big joke?’

Rhi rolled her eyes. ‘You know how I said you needed to cheer the fuck up or do something about it? Well, apparently fate was on my side and knew you were a lazy cow and decided to help me out. So be cheerful about this or so help me Goddess I will – ’

‘Happy, look, see face? Happy face. Go buy wine.’ Tabby grinned.

‘There you go.’ Rhi hugged her fiercely and Tabby felt herself welling up with tears. ‘I’m really proud of you and pleased for you. You’ll see, things are finally starting!’

Tabby took a deep breath. ‘Well, let’s not get carried away. It’s a great opportunity; let’s see what happens. I’ll order that pizza now.’ She froze in the doorway. ‘Oh shit!’

‘What, what now?’ Rhi turned back.

‘Need to do washing! And what do you even wear to an interview? I haven’t been to an interview in three years! And I should have got a haircut and do I have any shoes, or any cash for my Oyster card, what’ll the traffic be like at that time? I haven’t printed any portfolio pieces! I – ’

‘TABITHA RILEY!’ Rhi yelled, forcefully pushing Tabby into a chair. ‘Chill the fuck out. I am going to get wine, you are going to order pizza, and we will sort this out.’

‘Yes, yes we will.’ Tabby pretended to sound in control so that Rhi would stop shouting at her. And continued making lists in her head.

Chapter Two

Tabby hated waiting. Sure, she liked being early and everything running smoothly and having enough time to grab a coffee before a mysterious meeting with an unknown editor. But the email had said ten-thirty. It was now twelve. Her stomach was starting to growl and the longer she waited, the more she realised it was probably a joke at her expense.

The office seemed overly bright; everything white and glass and shining. All the people looked younger than her and yet more switched on. The women were skinny and tall, with razor-sharp tresses and five-inch heels. They strode everywhere, holding massive files. The men were well groomed, young and attractive. Everything about the place seemed designed to make Tabby feel on edge.

At least she looked cute. She was sure of that. The exact meeting of professional and quirky with her smart black trousers, cherry-print blouse, cherry hair clips to pin back her unruly bob, and her smart black heels with red tips. A power outfit with a splash of whimsy. Perfect.

She looked up at the clock on the wall, then back to the receptionist, a waif of a girl who’s own bob was peroxide blonde, along with her eyebrows. So far, she seemed only to be able to pout or grimace. Tabby raised her own – perfectly shaped thanks to last week’s article – eyebrows at the girl.

She rolled her eyes in response. ‘Look, just go in. If he’s busy, he’s busy.’

Great. So helpful.

Tabby crept along the corridor until she came to a glass door with HARRY SHULMAN etched into it. She poked her head around the door and knocked lightly. She could tell the guy behind the desk was going to be a nightmare. She could only hope she had screwed up the times and had accidentally missed the interview. Then she could go home to a bottle of wine, a bar of chocolate and moan until Rhi told her to shut up.

This guy had his feet up on his enormous white desk and was frowning at his iPhone while he reclined in his chair. His large framed glasses were so fashionable that Tabby highly doubted he even needed to wear them. He had a shadow of stubble on his jaw, his cheekbones were painfully prominent and his hair was perfect. Tabby already felt worthless. She was pretty sure as soon as he made eye contact she was going to feel invisible.

It was somehow worse that he looked about her age, and yet had so clearly surpassed her. At least Richard, her last editor, had been in his forties, so his accomplishments seemed just. But this guy. And now she was thinking about Richard, which could only serve to fuck with her head before an interview with an Adonis. Great.

She just had to get through the next ten minutes, then she could fake a severe case of the plague and get the hell out of there. Wine and her imminent mental breakdown were waiting. Maybe she had that disease where she couldn’t leave the house. Maybe she was OCD or a sociopath. She couldn’t deal with other humans and needed to recede into a safe place with internet and back-to-back Buffy episodes. That’s what it was.

She plastered a polite smile across her face. ‘Excuse me, I believe we have an appointment.’

He looked up, took his feet off the desk and nodded grimly. Green eyes. Of course. Why not just fashion in a hatred of Russian literature and a love of Spaced, seeing as he was checking every other idea of the perfect man. Except the scowl. That was most certainly not perfect. Neither was the way he was surveying her, taking in her outfit and clearly…Was he smirking?

She stamped her heel slightly in irritation and just about held back on rolling her eyes. He gestured to the seat opposite him. Then just looked at her, smiling. Not the kind of smile where you automatically quirk your lips in response. The kind where you know someone’s just put a whoopee cushion on your seat, or a snake in your locker.

‘Well?’ she said, exasperated at the silence and the smirking.

‘Tabitha Riley. Of course. I’m Harry Shulman.’ He said this with such pride she was surprised he didn’t whip out a business card. He seemed to wait for her response, which she assumed was meant to be something along the lines of, ‘Gee whiz, really?’

‘I presumed so.’

He sat up slightly and took his glasses off. He suddenly looked a lot less intimidating. Sadly, it also showed the flecks of yellow in his green eyes. Tabby blinked. Somehow, gazing into the eyes of the man who was about to make your life a misery seemed like a bad idea. Or at least a social faux pas.

‘You mentioned a job. In your email. I’m assuming it was a last-minute opening?’

‘And why would you assume that?’ Harry raised an eyebrow maddeningly.

‘Because I received it at six p.m. yesterday and the interview was today? It was lucky I didn’t have any other meetings this morning.’

Harry made a noise that suggested he severely doubted she had any other meetings that morning or otherwise.

‘We’ve noticed the attention your blog is getting. Miss Twisted.’ He checked his notes, that snarling grin again. ‘Cute name, very high school. Seems you’ve got quite a few Twitter followers out there too.’