‘Both of you, huh?’ She sighed and prepared for battle. ‘Do you think my readers are stupid, Mr Crane?’
‘Now, Tabitha, we don’t think that.’ Harry focused all of his energy on her, and seeing as he wasn’t wearing those stupid glasses, she let herself listen. ‘We think your readers are intelligent young people who just forked out a ridiculous amount for an education that isn’t benefiting them, and after eight hours a day working at a job they hate for shitty pay, they want to read something that tells them the facts with minimal effort and optimum humour.’
Tabby almost blinked in the wake of the charm offensive. Right, so that’s what Harry was there for.
‘I know we didn’t get off to the best start yesterday, and that was largely my fault – ’ he smiled ‘ – but I think, we both think, you’d be excellent at this. It could be a perfect fit.’
Tabby counted to three and forced herself to break eye contact, and instead looked over to Crane, who seemed rather confused as to why he was being involved in this at all. She decided she’d go for it. Like she’d ever really doubted it. If the opportunity was there, irritating gorgeous editor or not, she was going to go for it. She needed to stop depending on her mother for handouts. Maybe she was OK again, maybe she could write proper stuff, for a proper paper again.
‘OK, well, let’s talk salary then.’ She shrugged. Her stomach dropped as she watched Harry and Crane make awkward eye contact with each other.
‘Well, you see Miss Riley, as you said this is an excellent opportunity, a chance to make your CV shine, so – ’
‘So you want me to work for nothing. Right.’ She did consider it for a moment, that same in-built intern inclination that every creative graduate has: I have to work for free until I am valued. But Tabby had been valued once, she’d been going places. ‘Gifted’ that’s what Richard used to call her. She was worth something, even now, she was sure. Even if it was only the love of a handful of Twitter followers. Love meant money, or something.
‘Thank you for your time, honestly.’ She smiled gently and stuck out her hand to Crane, who automatically shook it before frowning at her.
‘Now, Tabitha,’ Harry drawled. ‘Let’s not be hasty, I’m sure we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.’
She wondered if he worked hard to make every word that came out of his mouth sound like sexual innuendo, or if it was just an unfortunate habit. Luckily, it was not her problem.
Tabby raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure that would be lovely, Mr Shulman, and I was really excited about this job opportunity. But I need a job, not an internship. I’m on the wrong side of twenty-five for those, I’m afraid.’ She shrugged. ‘Best of luck though.’ She smiled again at Crane, somehow so eager for him to know it wasn’t personal. And that she wasn’t really a mad bitch.
For the second time in two days, Tabby walked out of an interview for a job she had really wanted. Although this time, Harry followed her, his hand hovering at her back as she marched along, trying not to drown in disappointment. When they reached the lift, he spoke.
‘You know, we’re never going to get anywhere if you keep throwing hissy fits.’
Tabby met his eyes again, and immediately wished she hadn’t. ‘Look at my face. Smiling, see?’ She bared her teeth. ‘Not angry. I just don’t want to work for nothing. As I said, I can get by writing for women’s magazines and website content.’
‘But that doesn’t excite you.’ Harry seemed to tower over her, leaning into her personal space like he could draw her in if he kept her talking long enough. Which he probably could. The guy was a salesman: persuasive, convincing and completely without morals. And maybe if anything excited her, that did. She squared her shoulders.
‘Whether heated eyelash curlers work better than regular ones? Super exciting! The world is waiting for my response with baited breath!’ she said dramatically, and allowed a little shared grin with the man who was trying to con her out of her living.
‘Look, I’m not greedy, I’m a pragmatist.’ Why she felt she had to explain her choices to Harry Shulman of all people, she had no idea. Maybe it was so she didn’t notice how close he was standing and that whatever aftershave he was wearing smelled really good. Urgh. ‘People read my work and think I’m kooky and sweet and a pushover. But I think you know that I’m not a pushover, don’t you, Harry?’
She unleashed her smile on him, the one that made her feel in control as his eyes briefly wavered from hers, down to her lips, then back again. She walked into the lift, and he straightened.
‘Pushover is definitely not the word I’d use.’ Harry smirked as the lift door closed, and Tabby suddenly felt out of control again.
***
Tabby had certainly not felt like shoe shopping after that ordeal. Besides, all that talk about money had made her worry even more. And she was probably going to have to call her mother back some time. She wouldn’t survive if she withheld the monthly cheques like she did last year when Tabby had missed her birthday. To be fair, her mother was in LA, and Tabby didn’t want to get charged international rates just because her mother refused to use Skype, but whatever. The person with the purse is in control. And her mother’s purse was made by Prada and full of cash.
Instead, Tabby went home, changed into her baggy clothes, cleaned the house, hoovered, scrubbed and polished everything she could get her hands on. Then she went for a run. Then she had a shower. In between peeling potatoes and deciding whether or not she needed to flip her mattress, Rhi came home, and they spent a considerable amount of time not talking about the interview. They talked about the crazy people Rhi worked with at the library and watched the news just so they’d have things to moan about. When it got to nine p.m., even Rhi was agitated.
‘Turn on your bloody laptop, scaredy cat! I can’t deal with the pressure!’
In her inbox was an email from Harry Shulman, offering her a twelve-week contract, a decent salary and expenses. Goddamn charm boy, got everything he wanted.
‘Shouldn’t we be celebrating?’ Rhi asked, already halfway to the bottle of white wine in the fridge.
‘Guess so.’ Tabby sighed. Twelve weeks. In a small office with Harry criticising everything she wrote, then laughing his way out of it. Going from arrogant to interested in under a minute. It was going to be an exhausting twelve weeks.
‘Start being more happy or I’m going to hit you,’ Chandra warned dryly, as they sat at the bar with oversized, overpriced cocktails. ‘I swear, if you turn out to be one of those people who moans and then doesn’t actually change anything, we’re not going to be friends any more.’
‘Way to go with the tough love, Chands.’ Tabby rolled her eyes, but nudged her friend. OK, she needed to cheer up. This was her celebration, a night out to, ‘Herald the return of the kickass reporter Tabby Riley,’ as Chandra had put it earlier, when she showed up at the flat, forced Tabby into a clean dress and painful shoes, and dragged her to Covent Garden.
‘I really do appreciate this, you know. I needed a night out,’ Tabby said, and instead thought about how what she really needed was her pyjamas, takeaway Chinese food and episodes of Come Dine With Me. Or something, anything, to stop her thinking about her very first ‘Concept Meeting’ with Harry on Monday.
‘Yes, yes you did. Is Her Majesty meeting us here, or is it a bit too posh for the Proletarian Princess?’ Chandra raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and sipped at her Cosmopolitan.
‘Don’t call her that. She’ll meet us in the pub later.’
‘Pubs,’ Chandra scoffed, and looked down the bar to catch the eye of