Lindsey Kelk - I Heart Paris

‘Angela Clark, this is Robert Spencer,’ she said, rising out of her chair as I hobbled around the table.

Mr Spencer held out his hand and gave me a very, very firm handshake. Ow.

‘Well, hello Angela,’ he said, gesturing for me to take a seat beside Mary. ‘I have to say, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a while. And please, call me Bob.’

I gave Mary a quick sideways look, but she was too busy spitting her water back into her glass to respond.

‘Thank you, uh, Bob,’ I replied, setting my handbag between my feet, underneath the table. ‘It’s really lovely to meet you. A real privilege. An honour, really.’ Mary kicked me sharply under the table before I could carry on. It seemed fair.

‘Not at all,’ he said smoothly, nodding to the waiter at his elbow to pour three large glasses of white wine. ‘I always like to take time out to meet our rising stars here at Spencer Media.’

He held up his glass. ‘To you, Angela.’

‘Thank you.’ I tried not to think about what could happen if I started drinking wine on a completely empty and panicky stomach and took a small sip.

‘So, Mr Spencer wanted to meet with you and talk about some new opportunities,’ Mary said, folding the menu with which she was clearly very familiar. ‘Things you might do outside the blog, outside The Look .’

‘He did?’ I asked, staring into the opaque glass of her sunnies. Was she serious?

‘Ladies,’ Mr Spencer folded up his own menu and placed it in front of him. ‘Shall we at least order before we talk business?’

‘Of course, Bob,’ Mary smiled tightly and sipped her wine. It was so strange. I’d never seen her outside her office and she did not look comfortable at all. In fact, nothing about this entire scenario was comfortable. I was starting to feel as if I were at dinner with my mum and dad while they were in the middle of a particularly nasty argument. And no one who’s ever argued with my mum would want that.

‘Have you eaten at Pastis before, Angela?’ Bob asked.

I shook my head and chugged my wine. I had a feeling that it was just going to be better to avoid talking whenever possible.

‘Then I’d recommend the scallops to start and then maybe the pasta puttanesca ?’ Bob folded up his menu.

‘You know pasta puttanesca means whore’s pasta?’ I dropped in casually.

Mary coughed into her wine glass.

‘I mean, it’s what whores would make after they’d you know, worked.’ I looked from Mary to Bob and back to Mary again. Yep. Should have stuck with the no talking plan.

‘Perhaps the moules frites ,’ Bob said quietly.

Before I could agree, someone’s mobile started to chirp. Bob pushed out his chair and took a tiny phone out of his jacket pocket. ‘So sorry ladies, that’s me. Excuse me for a moment?’

‘Of course, Bob,’ Mary said again, this time through gritted teeth as he left the table.

‘How is he even wearing a jacket?’ I asked, turning in my seat to watch him walk out into the street. My head span as I turned back around. ‘It is so bloody hot.’

‘If I were you, I wouldn’t drink quite so fast, Angela,’ Mary said, pouring me a glass of water. ‘This isn’t a social lunch.’

‘Arses. I was really, really hoping that it was,’ I reluctantly swapped my, wow, more than half empty wine glass for a tumbler of water. ‘So what is it?’

‘It’s a pain in my ass, is what it is.’ Mary drained her wine glass and returned my raised eyebrow with a look of her own. ‘I can hold my liquor, don’t you worry. This, Angela, is a “Big Deal For You”. Apparently one of Bob’s granddaughters is your “biggest fan” and she seems to think you should be doing more, I don’t know, “legitimate journalism” for some of Spencer’s other magazines like Icon or Belle .’

‘Legitimate journalism?’ I didn’t enjoy the number of times she had made air quotes during her last sentence. ‘ Belle ? They want me to write on a fashion magazine?’

‘Apparently so. I don’t know what though, so don’t ask me.’ She poured herself more wine. ‘I’m only here because I heard about this through Cici and called Bob to find out what the hell was going on.’

‘Hang on a minute, how did Cici hear?’ Now I was really confused.

‘Cici Spencer. She’s one of Bob’s granddaughters.’

I was sober in a heartbeat. ‘Of course she is.’

‘You don’t think I employ her for her charm, do you?’ Mary gave me an understanding grimace. ‘Bob and I are old friends.’

It took everything I had not to raise an eyebrow. Old friends. That old chestnut.

‘But Cici hates me,’ I said, swapping my water for wine. Definitely time for wine. If I was going to stay in control of my facial expressions as well as my mouth though, I had to stay off the booze. ‘Why would she tell her grandfather to give me more work?’

‘Cici doesn’t hate you,’ Mary said, topping up my water again. ‘Cici is jealous of you. She knows she’s only my assistant because of who her grandfather is. She’s been trying to get on the writing staff since she finished college, but even Bob knows she can’t write for shit.’

‘Oh. Wow. That’s awful.’

‘Don’t start feeling sorry for her Angela, she’s a bitch. And she’d get rid of you without a second thought if she thought she could take your job.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said, packing away any blossoming Cici-sympathy. ‘But then why would she recommend me for more projects?’

‘I keep waiting for her to lose interest and embrace her trust fund like her sister, but that girl just will not give up,’ Mary nodded towards Bob as he strode back towards the table. ‘I’d be impressed at her tenacity if she were working for anyone else, but me. And don’t be a fool. She didn’t, it was her cousin.’

Bob took his seat opposite me as our starters arrived. The food looked delicious, but I really wasn’t very hungry any more.

‘Apologies ladies, I’ve asked my secretary to stop my calls for the next couple of hours, so I’m all yours,’ he said with another beaming smile.

‘What a relief,’ Mary replied, spearing a scallop.

I looked nervously from one to the other, Bob’s benevolent grin clashing with Mary’s openly pissed off expression, and reached for the wine. Sod it.

‘Let me,’ Mary said, snatching the bottle from my hand and splashing a mouthful of wine in the bottom of my glass.

This wasn’t going to be awkward at all.

‘I don’t know if you’re aware, Angela, but you have a great fan in one of my granddaughters,’ Bob finally got around to business over coffee. After Mary had refused dessert on behalf of both of us. Bugger.

I blew on my cappuccino and smiled nervously. It was still far too hot for coffee, but this really didn’t feel like a Diet Coke kind of situation. ‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ I lied, hopefully convincingly.

‘Oh yes. And Mary speaks very, very highly of your writing.’

‘She does?’ No need to fake surprise this time. ‘You do?’

‘I do,’ Mary replied, grudgingly. ‘Your blog is very good.’

‘And the piece you did for Icon , I read that one, Angela. Very good. You have a fun style, very personable.’ Bob set down his coffee cup. ‘I understand from Mary that you’re only with us on a part-time basis at the moment. On a freelance arrangement?’

‘Well, I don’t work in the office,’ I explained, trying to read Mary’s face,, which she was hiding behind her poker straight bob. ‘But my work permit is tied to my writing the blog for The Look , so…’

‘We own her ass, Bob, so just get to where you’re going,’ Mary interrupted. ‘You’re taking her off me, is that right?’