Twenties Girl
Page 89
“Let’s go!” Her legs are twitching. “I can’t wait to start dancing!”
For God’s sake. She’s obsessed. And if she thinks I’m dancing with Ed in the middle of the bar for a second time, she needs to think again.
“Sadie, listen,” I say firmly. “It’s a business dinner. There won’t be any dancing. I’m here to work.”
“We’ll find some,” she says confidently. “You can always find dancing.”
Yeah. Whatever.
As I get out, people in evening dress are everywhere, shaking hands confidently and laughing and posing for the cameras. Several of them I recognize from Business People photo spreads. For a moment I feel all twingey with nerves. But then I glance at Sadie and raise my chin, just like she does. So what if they’re important? I’m as good as they are. I’m a partner in my own company. Even if it consists of two people and a dodgy coffee machine.
“Hi. Lara.” Ed’s voice greets me from behind, and I turn. There he is, looking as square-cut and handsome as I might have expected. His dinner jacket fits him perfectly; his dark hair is brushed back perfectly.
Josh never wears a standard DJ. He always wears something offbeat, like a Nehru jacket over jeans. But then, Josh is really cool.
“Hi.” I take Ed’s hand before he gets any idea of kissing me. Not that I think he would. He’s looking my outfit up and down with a quizzical expression.
“You look very… twenties.”
Well spotted, Einstein . “Yes, well.” I shrug. “I like twenties clothes.”
“No kidding,” he says, deadpan.
“You look delicious!” says Sadie joyfully to Ed. She flings herself at him, wraps both arms around his chest, and nuzzles his neck.
Urgh. Is she going to do that all night?
We’re approaching a small group of photographers, and at a signal from a lady with an earpiece, Ed stops with a slight roll of his eyes. “Sorry. I have to do this, I’m afraid.”
“Shit!” I say in panic as the camera flashes blind me. “What do I do?”
“Stand a little side-on,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Chin up and smile. Don’t worry, it’s natural to freak out. I did media training for this stuff. The first time, I was so stiff I looked like a Thunderbird puppet.”
I can’t help smiling. Actually, he does look a bit like a Thunderbird, with his square jaw and dark brows.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, as the flashes keep coming. “I look like a Thunderbird anyway. It’s OK. I can take the truth.”
“I wasn’t thinking that!” I say unconvincingly. We move on to another group of photographers. “How come you know about Thunderbirds , anyway?”
“Are you kidding? I saw it when I was a kid. I was obsessed. I wanted to be Scott Tracy.”
“I wanted to be Lady Penelope.” I glance up at him. “So you’re interested in one piece of British culture, at least.”
I’m not sure if a children’s TV show counts as “culture,” but I can’t resist making my point. Ed looks surprised and draws breath as though to answer-but before he can, the earpiece lady comes to escort us onward, and the moment’s gone.
As we head into the hotel, I’m looking around, trying to suss out all the people, trying to see if there’s anyone I could approach about the Leonidas Sports job. I have to circulate quickly, before everyone sits down to eat.
Meanwhile, Sadie has been glued to Ed’s side, stroking his hair and rubbing her face against his and running her hand over his chest. As we come to a halt in front of a reception table, she suddenly dips down and pokes her head into his dinner jacket pocket. I’m so disconcerted, I jump.
“Sadie!” I mutter furiously behind Ed’s back. “What are you doing?”
“Having a look at his things!” she says, standing up. “There wasn’t anything very interesting, just some papers and a pack of cards. I wonder what’s in his trouser pockets… hmm…” Her eyes focus on his crotch, and a gleam appears.
“Sadie!” I hiss in horror. “No!”
“Mr. Harrison!” A woman in a chic navy cocktail dress has swooped down on Ed. “I’m Sonia Taylor, head of PR at Dewhurst Publishing. We’re so looking forward to your speech.”
“Pleased to be here.” Ed nods. “May I introduce Lara Lington, my…” He looks at me dubiously, as though searching for the word. “Date.”
“Hello, Lara.” Sonia turns to me with a warm smile. “What line are you in?”
For God’s sake. She’s obsessed. And if she thinks I’m dancing with Ed in the middle of the bar for a second time, she needs to think again.
“Sadie, listen,” I say firmly. “It’s a business dinner. There won’t be any dancing. I’m here to work.”
“We’ll find some,” she says confidently. “You can always find dancing.”
Yeah. Whatever.
As I get out, people in evening dress are everywhere, shaking hands confidently and laughing and posing for the cameras. Several of them I recognize from Business People photo spreads. For a moment I feel all twingey with nerves. But then I glance at Sadie and raise my chin, just like she does. So what if they’re important? I’m as good as they are. I’m a partner in my own company. Even if it consists of two people and a dodgy coffee machine.
“Hi. Lara.” Ed’s voice greets me from behind, and I turn. There he is, looking as square-cut and handsome as I might have expected. His dinner jacket fits him perfectly; his dark hair is brushed back perfectly.
Josh never wears a standard DJ. He always wears something offbeat, like a Nehru jacket over jeans. But then, Josh is really cool.
“Hi.” I take Ed’s hand before he gets any idea of kissing me. Not that I think he would. He’s looking my outfit up and down with a quizzical expression.
“You look very… twenties.”
Well spotted, Einstein . “Yes, well.” I shrug. “I like twenties clothes.”
“No kidding,” he says, deadpan.
“You look delicious!” says Sadie joyfully to Ed. She flings herself at him, wraps both arms around his chest, and nuzzles his neck.
Urgh. Is she going to do that all night?
We’re approaching a small group of photographers, and at a signal from a lady with an earpiece, Ed stops with a slight roll of his eyes. “Sorry. I have to do this, I’m afraid.”
“Shit!” I say in panic as the camera flashes blind me. “What do I do?”
“Stand a little side-on,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Chin up and smile. Don’t worry, it’s natural to freak out. I did media training for this stuff. The first time, I was so stiff I looked like a Thunderbird puppet.”
I can’t help smiling. Actually, he does look a bit like a Thunderbird, with his square jaw and dark brows.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, as the flashes keep coming. “I look like a Thunderbird anyway. It’s OK. I can take the truth.”
“I wasn’t thinking that!” I say unconvincingly. We move on to another group of photographers. “How come you know about Thunderbirds , anyway?”
“Are you kidding? I saw it when I was a kid. I was obsessed. I wanted to be Scott Tracy.”
“I wanted to be Lady Penelope.” I glance up at him. “So you’re interested in one piece of British culture, at least.”
I’m not sure if a children’s TV show counts as “culture,” but I can’t resist making my point. Ed looks surprised and draws breath as though to answer-but before he can, the earpiece lady comes to escort us onward, and the moment’s gone.
As we head into the hotel, I’m looking around, trying to suss out all the people, trying to see if there’s anyone I could approach about the Leonidas Sports job. I have to circulate quickly, before everyone sits down to eat.
Meanwhile, Sadie has been glued to Ed’s side, stroking his hair and rubbing her face against his and running her hand over his chest. As we come to a halt in front of a reception table, she suddenly dips down and pokes her head into his dinner jacket pocket. I’m so disconcerted, I jump.
“Sadie!” I mutter furiously behind Ed’s back. “What are you doing?”
“Having a look at his things!” she says, standing up. “There wasn’t anything very interesting, just some papers and a pack of cards. I wonder what’s in his trouser pockets… hmm…” Her eyes focus on his crotch, and a gleam appears.
“Sadie!” I hiss in horror. “No!”
“Mr. Harrison!” A woman in a chic navy cocktail dress has swooped down on Ed. “I’m Sonia Taylor, head of PR at Dewhurst Publishing. We’re so looking forward to your speech.”
“Pleased to be here.” Ed nods. “May I introduce Lara Lington, my…” He looks at me dubiously, as though searching for the word. “Date.”
“Hello, Lara.” Sonia turns to me with a warm smile. “What line are you in?”
