Page 2 of Untamed Heart
He laughed, shaking his head.
‘I’ll fix you up,’ he added, nodding towards my phone, the list open on my notes app. ‘Give me the rest of it.’
I read out all eight drinks, then watched as he prepped them quickly, tapping my company card and collecting the receipt.
‘So, why’s a pretty girl in a beautiful suit with a bag to die for’ – he nodded at my new Bottega Veneta, another ridiculously lavish gift from Kyle – ‘having to fetch drinks for a whole bunch of people? You look too good for that, honey.’
I smiled. It felt hollow, but I knew he was trying to help.
‘I’m just the assistant and my boss is . . . well, she does things in her own way. It’s a great job, though, I’m just glad to have it.’
‘They give you a clothing allowance?’ he asked, finishing up the last two cups and arranging them all into two trays, carefully balanced inside a large carrier bag.
I shook my head. ‘Boyfriend in investment banking.’
He laughed, hand covering his mouth.
‘You come back and let me know if he’s all right with you bringing a friend out to shop on his card, okay?’
It was my turn to laugh, the idea of Kyle’s well-mannered bewilderment at me swanning around Harvey Nics with my new barista best mate setting off a feeling of mild hysteria, quickly stymied as I realized the time.
‘Deal. I’ll be back for the Xanax later.’
‘You got it, sweetie,’ he called, waving me off as I somehow made it back out onto the street without dropping anything or twisting an ankle.
Eventually, like a desert mirage, the main entrance to the office appeared, the security guard opening the side door to allow me through without having to navigate the revolving one.
‘Can I give you a hand with anything?’ he asked politely, holding out a hand towards one of the bags with the coffees inside.
‘Ah no, don’t worry – thanks so much, though!’ I lied as I struggled in, determined to make it up to the seventh floor without help. Almost defeated by the barriers, knowing my pass was buried in my handbag, the building’s night manager opened the one nearest to me. She nodded, her expression knowing, as I mumbled more thanks, using my elbow to stab the lift button and finally stepping out at the almost silent open-plan office.
‘Lottie, we’re in the boardroom. Get a move on, would you?’ a voice called out across the expanse of empty desks.
‘Be right there,’ I called back, almost whimpering at the sharp stab of the blisters, promising myself the sad reward of plasters for my feet after delivering the coffee.
Hurrying over, I opened the door with my hip and set the coffee down on the side counter. The main table was covered in laptops, a presentation slide on the big screen at the back and Tom, the marketing director, and Cressida’s boss, giving instructions for amends.
‘Did you really go to . . .Starbucks?’
Cressida’s face was aghast, as though I’d just presented a brace of severed heads.
‘Carrelli’s is closed today,’ I replied quietly. ‘There was a note on the door. I thought arriving with no coffee would be worse.’
Tom quirked an eyebrow.
‘Right,’ she said, pinching her brow. ‘And you didn’t go over to Notes on Victoria Road because . . .’
‘Oh Cress, give it a rest.’ Tom gestured me over with his hand, shaking his head. ‘She’s trying. It’s just coffee. We can go out after we’ve delivered this.’
I passed him his drink as some of the others came over to help themselves, not daring to catch his eye or hers, fear suppressing the internal seething. Cressida huffed, flicking her perfect, poker-straight blonde hair over one shoulder. It was the colour of champagne, contrasting with the sharp black skirt suit and blood-red lips.
‘Well, I can’t drink that slop,’ she snapped, grey eyes piercing mine. ‘Could you get me a bottle of water, if you can manage it? It’s in the small kitchen by the double doors.’
Her voice was slick ice, every other gaze and reaction from the team sliding off her to me. The passive-aggressive directions to the kitchen we used every day threatened to bloom across my cheeks, so I left before they could.
Feet still on fire, I marched to the kitchen and snatched a glass bottle from the fridge, delivering it to the boardroom as quickly and silently as possible. No one so much as looked up, Cressida actively ignoring me and the rest engrossed in making the final tweaks to the slides I’d spent the last week creating.
Finally, tears rising, I took off the torturous shoes outside the meeting room and hobbled to the toilets. In silence I peeled and stuck plasters on both feet, grimacing as I slid the shoes back on. Then, sighing, I pulled myself together and scraped my now rampant curls back into a tight bun, reapplying my make-up to calm myself, as though painting on my composure.
