‘Yes sir,’ I said with a sudden smile. He was kind of cute when he was being all earnest and entreating. I decided against accompanying my words with a salute. He was after all a director and only trying to do his job. ‘I don’t mean to be useless with technology, it just doesn’t like me.’
I could see him bite back a smile.
‘Tilly, computers don’t like anyone. They’re not people. They’re machines. They work for us. Do what we tell them. As long as we treat them properly.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked doubtfully.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Hopefully you’ll feel a bit more confident when we’ve had a few sessions.’
‘Sessions?’ That wasn’t the deal with Alison.
‘Yes. As our first champion for the make-up department, we need to spend some time together so that we can identify what processes and systems we can implement to improve the way you do things. While you’re here, we’ll diarise a few dates to get things moving.’
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. But I must have signalled my dismay.
He had to be kidding? We were absolutely fine as we were. Hadn’t he ever heard the saying, ‘If it isn’t broke’?
‘I think a couple of half days in the next week or two, to get started, and then once we’ve identified those areas that we can work on, we’ll develop appropriate systems, get you trained up and then you can introduce them to the rest of your team.’
‘What?’ A couple of half days? ‘Is it really going to take that long? I’m sure there’s not a lot you can help with.’
‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’
I sighed. ‘And why me?’
He smiled, not a nice friendly smile, but a shark going in for the kill type.
‘I think unplugging a computer to reboot it, I think the phrase was, is a perfectly good starter for ten.’
Our eyes met.
I let out a long huff and glared. The room seemed to get smaller as he lifted his head and stared me down. It drew attention to the handsome jaw-line which was smoothly shaven, not like Felix’s sexy but occasionally irritating stubble. This man was the total opposite, a corporate robot, looking to improve things, take the soul out of everything with his streamlining and rationalisationing. Well, he needn’t think I’d be going over to the dark side. I’d grown up with all that crap and escaped it.
‘I thought we’d start with our first meeting a week on Thursday. Have a chat about what you do in more detail and what areas could do with some improvements. I hear you’ve had a few …’ he was fighting back a smirk, ‘issues in the past.’ Alison had clearly gone to town telling him how rubbish I was. ‘Sent a few emails to the wrong people. Copied in the wrong people. Attached the wrong file?’ I could see merriment dancing in his eyes. ‘Dr Who, was it?’
‘Might have been,’ I muttered.
‘Tennant, Smith or Capaldi?’
‘Tennant,’ I muttered, blushing. To be fair, I had been trying to send a picture of the potato headed man, Drax, to illustrate an idea but had got a bit carried away when I started searching the internet for pictures.
As I turned to leave I noticed one more thing. He had really nice lips.
‘You never know you might enjoy it.’
‘What?’ Was he some kind of mind reader?
He lifted one sardonic brow. ‘Learning more about IT?’
With a quick glance at my watch, I figured there was just enough time to finish the hairpiece I was working on before a mad dash to meet up with my sister. The strand of hair wrapped around a piece of doweling only needed a quick spray with setting solution and the last perfect ringlet would be done. I held up the piece with its bobbing curls and admired it, imagining the way it would look on the dancer playing Juliet.
‘Ooh Tilly. You might wanna see this.’ Vince let out an alarmed squeal. He bounced up in his seat, where he’d been ensconced in front of the department computer since ten o’clock that morning. Allegedly he was looking for Byronesque style headshots but as far as I could tell he’d done nothing but sigh over pictures of good looking male movie stars who might once have had a brush with a historical film.
Hanging onto the final curl, I gave him a quizzical look.
‘I thought you’d decided Mr McAvoy and his appropriate sideburns, in Becoming Jane, were what you were looking for. Are you still hunk-spotting?’
‘As if I would?’ He batted his eyelashes as if he’d never once logged onto Onmygaydar.com. ‘No lovie. It’s you. You’re in trouble, girl. You got email.’
‘What sort of trouble?’
‘Seriously, doll.’ Vince’s blue eyes widened, like a small bush baby. ‘Looks as if it’s your virus.’
It wasn’t my virus.
I carefully put down the hairpiece, before scurrying over to the computer, to find an email from a complete stranger.
I heartily wished I’d never sent that first email.
From: [email protected]
Subject: FW: URGENT – Possible loo roll crisis
Dear Matilda
Do I know you? I’ve just had an email from you. Don’t think you meant to send it to me but
loo rolls? Try Tesco. Although funnily enough, I’ve literally just finished that book, funny read. Did you know there was a sequel?
With kind regards
A Liverpool Supporter.
P.S. Didn’t think Arsenal supporters could read, not as erudite as us Liverpool supporters.
‘Oh pants.’ Thankfully, despite his duff allegiance, the Liverpool supporter didn’t seem too upset. ‘Do you think I’m going to get loads of these?’
Suddenly I realised Jeanie was standing behind us. She rolled her eyes, and squinted at the screen beyond them. ‘If they’re all as dull as this, you haven’t got a problem. A football supporter who sounds very sensible. Probably short, bald and lives with his mum. And likes Liverpool United.’ She shook her head, before adding. ‘Oh God, a Northerner.’
Southern born and bred, Jeanie was convinced that anyone north of Mill Hill was slightly suspect.
‘Come on, some of us have work to do.’ She gave both of us a pointed look before turning and heading back to her office.
I shot the screen another look and then my watch. Christelle was incapable of being late, I had no leeway.
‘You’re not going to email him back, are you?’ asked Vince, clutching his throat in dramatic horror, which was a bit rich coming from Mr Online Romance himself. ‘What if he’s a stalker or one of those people that’s looking to groom you for the sex-slave trade?’
With great show, I pointed to my flat chest and raised my eyebrows.
‘Seriously, I read about it in the paper.’
‘Well it must be true, then.’
‘No, honest, girls promised designer clothes and given make-overs and then sold into high-class prostitution.’
In my favourite vintage