Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s (15 page)

‘Oh, Ed, I’m so sorry. I’d give you a hug if I could but …’ I nod towards the folders.

‘And get this, only said we could still see each other. I ask you … flaming cheek,’ he sniffs, haughtily.

‘Damn right. Hope you told him to sod off.’

‘
Weell
, let’s just say I’m working on it.’ Eddie purses his lips, and I roll my eyes at him.

‘You’re such a manwhore.’

‘I know. Isn’t it fabulous,’ he sniggers. The lift rumbles into action again. I glance at the digital display.

‘Ed, you do know this lift is going up, don’t you?’ I tell him, and wonder if James will be in yet.

‘Well there you go, proof I’m officially mentally impaired from sleep deprivation,’ he sighs, waving jazz hands in the air. Then he pushes the button for the next floor.

‘I’m going to knuckle-drag my weary body out here and take the customer lift down. And you know what, I don’t give a fuck if I’m caught and disciplined, they can kiss my big queen arse,’ he says with a flourish.

‘Well try to get some sleep in the next few days,’ I call after him as he staggers out theatrically. He gives me a withering smile as he slides the cage door shut behind him.

The lift is just getting ready to move when a hand flies in between a gap in the metal. Instinctively, I lean over to press the ‘lift hold’ button, and momentarily forget about the folders. They crash to the floor as the cage door is slid open.

‘I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.’ It’s Tom. I scrabble around trying to retrieve the folders, the contents of which have cascaded everywhere. Frantically, I try and cram the papers into their rightful folders. Tom is crouched down next to me, and his face is just a few centimetres from mine. I tug at the collar of my jacket. The heat in the confined space is suffocating. He hands me a heap of papers and then suddenly loses his balance and accidentally bumps into me. He quickly springs back up.

‘I’m so sorry. You’re not hurt are you?’ he asks, sounding concerned. I look up at him. He’s so delicious that for a moment I’m not sure I can move my legs. They feel like jelly. He offers a large hand down towards me. I shove the folders under my arm and manage to haul myself up, attempting the move as daintily as I can, conscious of his eyes scanning me.

‘Think that makes us quits now. You took a tumble and now I have too,’ he says, grinning, and I notice that his eyes are seeking out mine. He’s irresistible, but I still don’t trust him after what he said in the club and then practically ignoring me in favour of his phone. I quickly turn away and bend down to retrieve the rest of the folders.

‘Indeed, and err thanks for, well …’ My voice trails off. He hands me a few more folders.

‘How come you have these?’ he asks, scrutinising the last one from the floor.

‘Oh, they’re not mine. I bumped into Maxine on her way into work with them. I’m just taking them up for her.’

‘I see. So why isn’t she taking them herself?’ he asks, looking puzzled.

‘Well, I did offer,’ I say, feebly, thinking what a creep he probably thinks I am. But secretly praying that if I’m ever going to get stuck in a lift again for any length of time, then,
please please please God
… could it actually be
right now
.

‘But she shouldn’t be taking them home. I’d better let her know.’ He flashes a look of disappointment as he shakes his head. This is strange – I’m surprised he thinks he’s in a position to contemplate pulling her up about it. It seems far too assured. They must be on really good terms, as I can’t imagine he’d get away with it otherwise. The thought makes me feel uneasy. ‘Err, on second thoughts, probably best not to,’ he says, awkwardly, as though he suddenly realises he’s said something he shouldn’t have.

The lift arrives on the canteen floor, and after Tom leaves, I carry on mulling things over until I reach the top floor.

I finally make it to Maxine’s office and dump the folders down on her desk.

‘Thought you said you were fit.’ She shoos me away with an imperious hand, not even bothering to say thank you. I walk away, wanting to smack her beautiful face.

‘Oh Gina, something’s cropped up so we’ll have to have our meeting at ten thirty instead.’ For a second, I don’t respond, I’m too busy feeling cheated at having hauled myself out of bed at six o’clock this morning for what now appears to be no apparent reason. ‘Did you hear me? I said—’

‘Yes, I heard you. See you at ten thirty,’ I reply, wondering what would happen if I killed her. Throttled the life out of her Restylane-riddled body, right here in her office. In a sudden melodramatic moment, I toy with the mental image of myself in an orange jumpsuit, shuffling around like an American prisoner on death row, but then quickly shove the thought from my mind. Orange really isn’t a flattering colour – it’s so difficult to pull off, and she’s
soo
not worth it.

Eradicating the thoughts of a prison stretch, I manage to restrain myself, and make my way back to the lift. As I’m walking, I mentally write out a really scathing resignation letter in my head, to console myself with instead.

I’m waiting for the lift when my mobile buzzes in my pocket. It’s Sam.

‘Can you talk?’ she says, clandestinely, sounding like a phoney secret agent.

‘Yes,’ I reply, glancing around. Her manner makes me feel paranoid all of a sudden.

‘Next Thursday at six p.m. Are you free?’

‘Why are you whispering?’ I ask. I can barely hear her.

‘You said to be discreet.’ I ponder on her bizarre logic before realising what she’s talking about. ‘Sorry it’s taken so long.’ Silence follows. ‘Oh hang on a sec.’ I hear the oven timer ping. ‘Sorry about that, just had to rescue a batch of chocolate muffins. I’ve got you an interview.’

It takes a few seconds to sink in. I lean against the wall, clutching the phone to my ear. The feeling of relief, that I might actually escape Maxine’s clutches after all, is overwhelming.

‘
T
ell me again what happened.’ Maxine’s voice sounds amused, but her body language contradicts her. She’s draped over the corner of her desk and I’m in the low chair again, forced to look up at her.

‘I dropped them in the lift. Like I said, that’s why the papers might be in the wrong folders,’ I say, hesitantly. The way she’s looking at me, she might as well be holding up a placard with the word ‘liar’ emblazoned across it and be done with it. I fidget and feel guilty, even though I haven’t done anything wrong.

‘Well, ten out of ten for imagination.’ She throws her head back and shakes her mane around for a bit.

‘Look, I was trying to do you a favour by bringing them up,’ I say, feeling tired and irritated now, but remembering that she holds the cards to my future. ‘If you don’t believe me then ask Tom, he was in the lift as well.’ I notice a flicker of something, almost like pleasure, dart across her face at the mention of his name. She licks her lips.

‘Hang on a minute. I let you take the folders to see if you could be trusted. My job is to revitalise the store, after all, and part of that is making sure we have a team that can be trusted going forward, so I was actually doing
you
the favour,’ she says, in a breezy voice. Incredible. For a moment I wonder if we’re actually having the same conversation.

‘I’m not sure what you mean …’ I resist the urge to be ruder – my fate is in her hands, after all – but I’m intrigued to hear her explanation.

‘By giving you the opportunity to show you can be trusted, of course.’ I feel my face creasing with confusion.

‘So you’re telling me you gave me the folders on purpose to see if I would look through them?’ I say the words slowly, her logic still not really sinking in.

‘Of course.’ For a moment I’m speechless.

‘But you told me not to take the lift,’ I say, thinking ha! I’ve definitely caught her out now.

‘Oh, yes. Sorry about that, it was rather mean of me.’ She lets out a little chuckle and then holds my stare until I have to back down and look away. ‘And as predicted you couldn’t resist looking, could you? And who can blame you? If it’s any consolation I would have done exactly the same thing in your shoes.’ She glances down at my New Look heels before wrinkling her nose. I try to work out whether this means I’ve passed her stupid test or not and I’m under no illusion that this could be the first of many.

‘So
Gina
,’ she says, and I flinch. ‘Did you stumble across anything interesting in the files?’ Her eyes glint, it’s almost as though she’s fired up by trying to create a drama.

‘What difference would it make if I had?’

‘What do you mean, Gina?’

‘Would you mind not calling me that? My name is Georgie,’ I say abruptly, and the look on her face immediately makes me wish I hadn’t, but I’m not going to let her trample all over me.

‘As you wish.’ She studies me for a few seconds, tilting her head slightly to one side. I squirm under her scrutiny. ‘And good for you for making a stand.’ She points at me with her pen. ‘My kind of girl,’ she says, quite unexpectedly. I sit back in my chair, feeling slightly more relaxed. So the name thing was another one of her little games then.

‘Tell me what you meant about making a difference,’ Maxine says. Then she peers at me again and I hesitate before answering.

‘You already know James, and Tom seems to be quite confident about things –’ I scrutinise her face to see if I’ve overstepped the mark – ‘and well, I feel as though you don’t like me. It’s as if I’ve already done something wrong, when in fact I’m very good at my job.’

‘Like you? What’s that got to do with it?’ She doesn’t deny it. ‘And if you think James has some kind of an advantage just because we used to –’ she pauses, picking her words carefully as she plucks a long red hair from her sleeve – ‘know each other, well then you’re right off the mark. No, James had his chance with me and he blew it. I can’t overlook that.’ Her face is set like concrete – does this mean James doesn’t even stand a chance of keeping his job then? The silence hangs in the air for a moment and I’m not sure what to say. Maxine breaks it. ‘And as for Tom, well,’ she looks away, ‘he’s an unknown entity. Anyway, there’s so much to be done, so make this easy for me.’

I ponder on this revelation. From what she’s saying, if I keep her sweet, then my job is safe. She has issues with both James and Tom, but my gut instinct is niggling away. Can I trust her word? For all I know she could be secretly backing Tom, expecting me to do all the hard work to make her look good in front of The Heff and the board when Women’s Accessories sales figures rocket. And then she says something else.

‘Oh, and by the way. Your interview at Palmers on Thursday … I’ve cancelled it.’ She stares at me, without blinking. I feel the life force drain from my body as I try and think of a response.

‘But you can’t do that.’ I cringe at the wobbliness in my voice.

‘Well I have. So deal with it. You’re a good sales assistant, so I’m not letting you go … yet.’

My jaw drops open. And what does she mean by ‘yet’?

‘But, how come you know about that?’ I manage to mumble, feeling hot and uncomfortable at having been caught out.

‘Oh, didn’t you know?’ she starts, with false concern. ‘My old PA now works for the HR director at Palmers.’ Bloody typical, she would do, wouldn’t she? ‘So you see, Georgie, how powerful loyalty can be, and the people that work for me are always very loyal. Question is, are you?’ I open my mouth to reply, but the words won’t come out. Maxine may well think that her old PA is loyal, but I’d love to know what hold she has over her to make her so.

There’s a tap on the door and, after throwing a questioning look at me as I still haven’t replied, Maxine yells, ‘Come,’ and I’m saved for the time being from having to answer, by Tina, of all people. She flings open the door and practically canters over to us, her ponytail swinging like a pendulum on speed.

‘Oh Maxine, you wanted to see me,’ she pants. I glance at Maxine and see a look of irritation creep across her face. She’s obviously got Tina’s number then.

‘Stop bobbing around. It annoys me.’ Maxine slaps the desk to emphasise the fact.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, shall I sit down then?’ Tina treats me to one of her stares as she pulls up the Chesterfield armchair from the corner and, positioning it adjacent to Maxine, she perches on the edge.

‘Have you got the latest sales figures for Women’s Accessories?’

‘Yes, right here. I guessed you might need them. I’ve put them in a nice folder for you,’ Tina schmoozes, handing Maxine a girly pink plastic wallet
.

‘Thank you.’ Maxine stares at Tina, who doesn’t get the hint. ‘You can go now.’

‘Oh, right. See you later then Maxine,’ Tina says, as if she’s her new best friend forever. Maxine waits for the door to close before turning to me.

‘This is a bit more like it. These figures are very healthy indeed,’ she says, letting out a low whistle. ‘So how are you getting on with your Valentine’s promotions?’

I lean forward, feeling pleased with myself. Since The Heff’s announcement, sales have really stepped up. It’s a complete free-for-all now, with all the sales assistants mindful of the new scaled-down numbers that might emerge following Maxine’s review. We’re all grabbing whatever customers we can get our hands on. Some of the others have even taken to asking every customer, ‘Can I help you?’ within a second of them glancing at the merch. Something we used to avoid like the plague after things got out of hand with customers getting arsy and complaining about being harassed. Janine from the bingo hall on Cheriton Way almost walloped Darren in Pens when he badgered her a little too hard. Luckily, Mrs Grace stepped in and gave Janine a voucher for a free coffee in the café by way of an apology.

‘Well the high-end bag sales are really benefiting from the complimentary his-and-her massage voucher with every purchase over two hundred and seventy-five pounds.’ She nods her head. ‘And I’ve even thought ahead, because some people get engaged on Valentine’s Day,’ I say wistfully, wondering if I’ll ever be one of them. ‘So, continuing the romance theme through to summer, weddings, and so on, and bearing in mind that old adage of “customers who try … buy”, I’ve set up a mirror next to my counter so customers can see how a handbag will look on their shoulder, or nestling in the crook of an elbow, in proper Kardashiantastic style.’ Silence follows. ‘Kim Kardashian?’ I explain, but Maxine just stares at me blankly. I plough on. ‘And I’m seeing plenty of single women who want to treat themselves too – who needs a man to buy us a Valentine’s present anyway?’