One in a Million by Lindsey Kelk
‘Where did I even get this?’ I asked pulling on the material, trying to remember. ‘Christ on a bike, I’m a mess.’
‘You are,’ Miranda agreed. ‘But we can fix it. Cinders, you shall go to the ball.’
‘The only thing is, Cinders wanted to go to the ball,’ I said, swinging my limp ponytail over my shoulder. ‘And I’d rather stay home and work. Why are all those princesses such extroverts? They always say they want to be cuddled up with a good book, but that never stopped them swanking along to every possible party in the kingdom, did it? Everyone would have been saved a lot of hassle if they’d paid attention to their parents and stayed at home.’
Miranda stood up and gestured for me to do the same.
‘Enough’s enough, Higgins. I want no more sulking from you today. We need to put our best foot forward tonight; it’s not just a party, it’s work. Lots of potential clients, lots of potential mon-ay. I want you shiny and bright and working it like the rent is due on Monday. Because it is.’
‘Maybe you could just put me in a bin bag and keep me under the table,’ I said, reluctantly rising to my feet and letting her march me out of the meeting room. I nodded politely at the people waiting to go in. They all recoiled in terror, hustling around each other to avoid touching me. Things were even worse than I realised. ‘Save some time and energy.’
‘You’re not beyond saving just yet,’ Mir promised. ‘But you’re close. Come on, we don’t have any meetings this afternoon, no one’s going to be doing any work anywhere else because they’re all going to the thing tonight. Please, for once in your life, do as you’re told, Higgins.’
‘Yes, Miranda,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Whatever you say, Miranda.’
‘That’s my girl,’ she said, slapping me on the arse as we went.
In our office, a long white envelope with my name written in elegant script was waiting for me on my desk.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, holding it in the air and waving it like I really did care. ‘Who left it?’
Brian and the interns all shrugged, clueless, while Miranda busily tapped away at her phone.
‘None of us,’ Brian reasoned. ‘Nice handwriting.’
My face fell. I gave it a sniff and then held it in front of my face, eyes clouding over with unwelcome tears.
‘Hand it over.’ Brian jumped up from his desk and sprinted around the filing cabinets to snatch the letter out of my hand. ‘That sneaky bastard, he must have brought it in while we were in the meeting.’
‘Why wouldn’t he email you, like a normal person?’ Miranda asked, joining Brian to carefully examine the outside of the envelope. There wasn’t much to see, just the word ‘Annie’ written on the front. The back had been sealed.
‘Because he isn’t a normal person,’ I replied, numb from head to toe.
‘Can I open it?’ Brian asked.
‘No,’ I said, snatching it back. ‘No one is reading it.’
Holding it made the tips of my fingers fizz.
Sam had written me a letter.
When was the last time anyone had written me a letter? Not counting the note my neighbour shoved under my door the morning after our dance party. That only had two words on it and neither of them were pleasant, so I wasn’t sure it counted.
Was he upset, did he miss me? Perhaps he’d realized the error of his ways and he was running away to join the French Foreign Legion. If there was still a French Foreign Legion. That was something to Google later. Or maybe the letter was from Elaine, who had more than likely realized I had a massive crush on her boyfriend, even if he hadn’t. In any case, the odds of it being a longer version of the note from my neighbours far outweighed the possibility of a handwritten declaration of love. While it was still safely in its envelope, it was full of possibilities. Once I tore it open, there was a real chance it was only full of goodbyes.
‘You’re not reading it?’ Mir asked. Zadie and Nat busied themselves at their desks, pretending not to listen while whizzing loaded looks at each other over the tops of their computers.
‘I can’t,’ I said, swallowing a lump the size of a dinosaur egg. ‘I need a minute.’
‘Well, you don’t have a minute,’ Miranda said, pinching the letter out from between my fingertips and tucking it away in her handbag. ‘I just texted my mate down at Hershesons, we’ve got to leave right now if they’re going to fit us in.’
‘You’re worth it,’ Brian whispered as he bundled me up in a quick hug. ‘Fuck him, Annie.’
‘We’ll see you at the Haighton Hotel at seven,’ Mir shouted. ‘Black tie, clean shoes, brush your hair. And everyone on time, please.’
Everyone called out their promises, hollering with excitement as we left, completely unaware we could all be out of a job in less than a month. Meanwhile I traipsed along behind Miranda, thinking about nothing other than the crumpled white envelope peeping out the top of her handbag.
The candlelit ballroom of the Haighton Hotel was full of people by the time we arrived. Everyone was hugging, shaking hands, raising their glasses and generally pretending they didn’t spend five days out of every seven desperately trying to run each other out of business. It was only four weeks since we’d found out we were nominated for our TechBubble awards but it might as well have been a lifetime ago. I glanced around, looking for familiar faces and fighting the urge to do a Cinders. It was only seven o’clock, I realized, plenty of time to be home and in bed by midnight.
All around us, people had polished themselves up spectacularly. There wasn’t a single hoodie or pair of Converse to be seen. There was still a pretence of professionalism but it was early – a work awards do was basically a wedding reception without the bride or groom. I had yet to attend a single event like this that didn’t tick off at least three items on the Formal Function bingo card – shagging in the toilets, puking in a plant pot, crying on the boss, a regrettable resignation or, my personal favourite, proper drunken fisticuffs.
‘Annie!’ Brian grabbed my hands and held them out in front of me before spinning me around on unsteady high heels. ‘You look amazing.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, tossing my carefully arranged casual curls over my shoulder before immediately putting them back where I had found them. It was unlikely I would ever look this good again; I didn’t want to cock it up before the evening even started. ‘You scrub up all right yourself.’
‘Please,’ he said, dusting his own shoulder. ‘I always look amazing. But you should live in that dress. Who knew you had such nice tits?’
‘Me?’ I replied, looking down. Miranda had put herself in charge of my wardrobe while I was getting my hair done and raided the showrooms of a PR buddy. She chose a black silk dress printed with beautiful red roses, something I would never, ever have picked for myself and quite frankly could in no way afford. From the second I’d slipped it over my head, I was in love. I was also under strict orders to only drink clear liquids for the duration of the evening. The V-neck of the dress was held up by delicate double spaghetti straps that ran over my shoulders all the way down my bare back to meet the nipped-in waist, and the skirt poufed out with a romantic ballgown silhouette, ending a little bit above my ankles to show off my simple black sandals. Through some feat of spectacular engineering, the slender straps held up my boobs without a bra, even when I gave them a proper shake in the privacy of the office toilets. Even if I did say so myself, I looked really, really nice. My dad always said you had to dress for the job you want. According to this dress, I wanted to be Meghan Markle. And actually, I did so that was perfect.
‘You smell nice,’ I said, giving Brian a sniff as we pushed our way through the crowds to find our tiny table right at the back of the room. ‘What cologne is that?’
‘I ran out so I sprayed some Febreze in the air and just ran around in it,’ he whispered back. ‘Tell no one.’
‘It goes to my grave,’ I replied, pulling out a chair at our table.
‘Are you ready for some good news?’ Mir asked, hurry
‘Zadie got Buzzfeed to feature Sam’s Instagram and their tweet has been retweeted six thousand times already,’ Miranda said, waving her own phone right in front of my face. ‘He’s got two thousand more followers!’
‘You’re kidding me?’ I grabbed the phone out of her hand and tried to focus. There it was, the Top Ten Facts from the Hot Historian. And there was our follower count – seventeen thousand. ‘Zadie, you did this?’
‘I sent it to my friend, she’s an intern at Buzzfeed,’ she nodded, seemingly unaware of how amazing her achievement was. ‘She’s always looking for stuff like this.’
‘And I got my cousin at Instagram to put it on the main search page,’ Nat offhandedly added. ‘They won’t be able to do it every time, but now and then, it’s cool. Except for how I have to dog sit for him when he goes to Ibiza at the end of the month.’
‘Nat, that’s amazing,’ I said, clicking through the slideshow.
‘Yah, I guess it’s a pretty good dog,’ she said. ‘He’s a puggle. He has his own YouTube channel.’
‘Well, I meant the Instagram thing, but that’s pretty great too,’ I replied. Every time I went back to Sam’s profile page, the numbers just kept going up and up. ‘This is so, so incredible.’
They looked at each other, shrugged and sat down.
‘Oh, and a man called from This Morning wanting to know if the fittie in the photos was doing TV appearances. I said I’d let them know,’ Nat added. ‘I have always wanted to go on This Morning. Can I go with him, please?’
I looked at Miranda to check I hadn’t gone mad but she was too busy staring at the girls with her mouth hanging open.
‘French Bulldogs and iPhones for everyone,’ I shrieked, throwing my hands in the air. ‘And hands up who wants to spend the weekend at Disneyland?’
‘Even if we win the bet, I say we sack Brian and give these two a job immediately,’ Miranda whispered as everyone put up their hands.
‘We’ll talk about that tomorrow,’ I said, stuck on the last picture in the slideshow, one of Zadie’s latest posts. It was one of the first shots we’d taken of Sam, right after Coast cut his hair and Brian dressed him up and he was still that weirdo from down the corridor, only with a better haircut. Before I knew him. Before I loved him. I closed my eyes, concentrated on my deep, calming breaths.
‘I’m ordering champagne,’ Miranda announced, snatching her phone out of my hand. ‘The company card can take it for one night,’ she promised. ‘Although, if it gets declined, are you able to run in those heels?’ She threw me a wink as she headed to the bar.
‘Annie?’ I was still standing by the table with my eyes closed when I heard someone say my name. I opened one eye slowly and saw Harry from SetPics, all suited and booted in his tuxedo, smiling my way. ‘I thought that was you.’
He leaned in for the obligatory double-cheek kiss and I slipped the phone back into Miranda’s bag, only to notice the crumpled white envelope nestling next to her lip gloss, credit cards and house keys.
‘Sorry it’s taking so long to get back to you on the Uniteam pitch,’ he said, glancing over my shoulder at the rest of my table. ‘Do you have a moment to talk?’
I nodded, and followed him away from the table. I didn’t want to cry in front of my team. Again.
‘I’ll be straight with you,’ he said, propping himself up on the back of a chair and folding his arms high on his chest. ‘We liked your pitch a lot but we’re not going to give Content the job.’
The universe gaveth and the universe taketh away.
‘Feels as though that could have waited until tomorrow,’ I replied as my stomach fell through my tasteful sandals, through the floor and through to the centre of the Earth. I wanted to argue, I wanted to fight but this wasn’t the time or place. ‘Can we discuss this later?’
When I was least expecting it, Harry smiled.
‘Content is too small, the company isn’t big enough to manage the account,’ he said. I frowned, there was nothing like negging a girl’s beloved company to convince her to crack a bottle over your head. ‘But we were impressed with you. I want to offer you a job.’
Clearly I hadn’t heard him correctly.
‘I want to offer you a job at SetPics,’ he repeated, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Head of UK digital marketing. Reporting to me, complete control over all our properties. Interested?’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said, very much wishing I was wearing something else. It was hard to have a serious conversation when your heels were so high you could see his bald spot.
‘You’re good, Annie. You’re ambitious and talented,’ Harry said. ‘And this is a big job for an exceptional person. Content could grow, in time, but it could also disappear like so many other start-ups. I’d hate to see someone like you wasted.’
I looked down to see my hands were trembling. Also that I was revealing altogether too much cleavage for this conversation.
‘I don’t need an answer right now,’ he said. The chair he was leaning against wobbled slightly and he threw out his arms to maintain his balance before turning his slip-up into a shot with the finger guns. So slick. ‘I wanted to speak to you before things got crazy. Whether you win or not, I want you to know, we at SetPics know your worth. Give me a call tomorrow, we’ll talk.’
He stood up, straightened his bow tie and walked straight over to the Oz table to shake hands with Gordon Ossington, leaving me standing and sweating in my nice dress. I couldn’t leave Content. I would never leave Content. Even if we weren’t doing so well and might all be out of a job in six months anyway. No, it was my baby and mothers never left their babies. Except this was a huge opportunity. I would never have dreamed of getting a job this big before we started our little company. Head of digital marketing. Corner office, squishy sofa, minions upon minions upon minions. I’d even heard a rumour they had a hot tub and executive ball pool in their basement …
‘Earth to Higgins?’
I spun around to see Miranda brandishing a bottle at the head of the table.
‘Are you with us?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I nodded in response. No, I wouldn’t even consider it. I could buy a paddling pool on the weekend and get myself down the Harvester if I wanted a ball pool that badly. ‘One hundred per cent. Now where’s that champagne? I thought we were celebrating.’
We didn’t win campaign of the year or best boutique agency, so by the time they were ready to announce best new agency, everyone at the table was properly sloshed. Everyone but me. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking about Harry’s offer. Not that it was even a real offer. Not that he’d put money on the table or a job description or anything.
I pasted a smile on my face and laughed along with the rest of the table. Brian’s boyfriend Rob had made an appearance and Miranda was feverishly tapping away at her phone with a look on her face that let me know she was only texting one possible person.
‘What’s Martin up to tonight?’ I asked.
She looked up suddenly, as though she’d been caught out.
‘Tell him to come,’ I said as a grin found its way onto her face. ‘He should be here.’
‘He’s on his way,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘You sure you don’t mind?’
‘Your boyfriend should be here,’ I said pointedly. ‘I’m glad.’
And I was. For her. For one night at least, everyone should be happy and with the people they loved. Even Zadie and Nat seemed satisfied, constantly streaming every second of their evening on Instagram stories.
My phone buzzed on the table and I snatched it up before anyone could see who had sent the message.
Good luck tonight, luv Dad & G xoxo
There was no way my dad had sent that message, I realized, putting i
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam’s letter, peeking out of Miranda’s little handbag as it swung from the corner of her chair, probably thinking I would drunkenly demand to read it once I’d had a couple. She knew me so well. Only I had no intention of waiting a second longer.
I flexed my fingers, ready to make the pinch but instead, I saw something far more troubling than a letter from Sam. Gordon Ossington was making a beeline for our table, beaming from ear to ear. I looked all around, trying to work out the quickest way to the lavs, but every route was blocked with people.
With no better option, I grabbed the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket, slid out of my seat and disappeared underneath the table. Thanking the sartorial gods for everyone’s decision to wear knickers, I nursed the bottle and made myself comfortable, surrounded by a circle of crossed legs and shiny shoes. Miranda’s heels were off her feet and under her chair, while I noticed with not a small amount of curiosity that Nat was actually wearing two mismatched black stilettos. I wondered whether or not it was on purpose.
With a swig out of the bottle of Veuve Clicquot, I made myself as comfortable as possible, preparing to wait Gordon out. It was actually quite nice under the table. Five minutes off from forcing a fake smile and laughing at another of the host’s terrible jokes. Besides, I’d already eaten everything on offer, we hadn’t won anything and my feet were killing me. What was the point in hanging around?
‘Good evening, Content London.’
Somewhere above me, I heard Gordon’s insufferable, nasal voice.
‘Don’t let him see me, don’t let him see me, don’t let him see me,’ I whispered into my bottle of bubbles.
‘Bad luck tonight,’ he said. ‘Just wanted to stop by and make sure you weren’t too disappointed. You’re only babies, you’ve got time.’
‘I’m a thirty-year-old grown woman and I’m at least a foot taller than you,’ Miranda replied. ‘Also, I don’t remember seeing you up on stage.’