Getting Even (3 page)

“Rob?” Ivy flashed him a smile and stood up. “I've heard so much about you.”

“You have?” What had Dan been saying?

She squeezed his bicep mischievously. “Dear man, your ability to harden muscles is legendary.”

That was it; he was hooked. Rob might not be attracted to the opposite sex, but when it came to a well-groomed woman with whom he could enjoy witty banter, he was a pushover.

*   *   *

Alone in the department, Orianna was free to concentrate on drawing up the mail pack uninterrupted. If she hurried, she might just have enough time to indulge in a chapter of the romantic novel she was devouring before Ivy returned. Five minutes of that and a huge mozzarella on ciabatta were the reward she deserved after all her hard work …

The markers squeaked on her pad, the familiar scent hypnotizing her as she drew stick figures to illustrate her idea. Soon she was caught up in a world where planning paper folds, type, and photography were all that mattered. There was no doubt she could work swiftly when she set her mind to it. Ten years' experience of art directing meant she knew her stuff.

After she'd been scribbling for half an hour, Dan put his head around the partition that separated her and Ivy from the other creative teams.

“Psst!”

Orianna looked up, pushed aside her dark fringe.

“Having a good day?”

“OK. You?”

He rolled his eyes. “Frantic.” He examined the pile of concepts she'd produced. “And it looks like you'll be keeping me busy this afternoon.”

“Sorry.” She smiled at him persuasively. “I need costs by tomorrow first thing. Can Ivy and I go through these with you when she's back from the gym?”

“Ivy's gone to the
gym
?”

“Yeah. Weird, I agree, but she's on some health kick. She's seeing your Rob fellow.” She lowered her voice. “I hope he won't let slip about us.”

“He doesn't know yet,” said Dan. “I thought we agreed that until we were ready, the fewer people who do, the better. Though I guess he'll find out tonight.”

Orianna nodded, recollecting their pact.

*   *   *

It still made her tingle to remember the night when they'd gotten together. She'd fancied Dan from the moment he'd joined as head of production several months before. He had the dark looks she loved—strong features, with large eyes, a broad grin, and frankly, a big nose. She'd never had much time for snub-nosed types—boyish men left her wondering when they'd eventually grow up. Moreover, although Dan was good-looking—he was over six feet and pretty well-built too—he didn't seem markedly vain or arrogant. Little surprise every other girl at Green seemed to fancy him too; Orianna hadn't believed she stood a chance. Until the Christmas party at the Groucho Club.

It was after dessert and an awful lot of wine. Orianna was sitting at Dan's table along with six other coworkers and, well past tipsy, they were playing an agency party favorite—“Who would you shag, who would you marry, who would you push off a cliff?”—when Dan's turn came.

“I know who I'd shove off a cliff,” he said, draining his glass.

“Who?” asked Orianna. The rule was it had to be a colleague.

He checked to see he wasn't going to be overheard. “Russell.” There was a sharp intake of breath that Dan would dare be so bold. Russell was only feet away and a powerful figure at Green. He was their financial director—a tough call for anyone—but nonetheless ruthlessly tightfisted.

Orianna dropped her voice and nodded. “Good choice.”

“And marry?” urged Esme.

“Not sure there's anyone I'd
marry
. Not right now…”

“He's more interested in shagging!” joshed Earl, the art buyer.

Dan didn't deny it.

“So, who
would
you shag, then?” Esme, opposite, was eager.

“Actually…” Dan paused, tantalizing. “Someone at this table.”

“Who, who?” Esme leaned forward.

“I'm not telling.” He sat back maddeningly.

“You've
got
to tell!” protested Earl.

“Who says? Might ruin my chances.”

“Aw, go on,” wheedled Esme.

Dan shook his head. “Nope.” He folded his arms.

“Spoil sport!” But Dan was her boss, and she wouldn't push him.

He laughed. “It's you, my little munchkin,” and he reached across the table to ruffle Esme's elfin-cropped hair.

“Pah!” Esme shrugged him off, sure it wasn't.

But then, when no one else was watching, Dan caught Orianna's eye.

At first Orianna wasn't sure if she'd understood him. Yet as he held her gaze for just that bit too long, she realized she had. She felt herself turn scarlet, her heart begin to race, her palms go clammy. She took a large gulp of wine and looked away, pretending to focus on the adjacent table, where another group of eight were pulling party poppers and exchanging cracker jokes. Presently she felt Dan take his eyes off her. It was only then the realization fully sank in.

Dan fancies
me
! Could it really be true?

She glanced up at him and smiled shyly. He smiled back, that wonderful lopsided grin, and her heart flipped.

Later, she'd found herself allocated to share his taxi home.

“Good job it was down to production to organize the transportation,” he said once they were alone in the minicab speeding up Tottenham Court Road.

His place was in Camden, so arguably he lived en route to her place, but by now she was intoxicated enough to be more bold. “You arranged this?”

“Perhaps…” Then he chuckled and turned to her. “Arranged the seating plan too.” And when he leaned over and kissed her tentatively, softly, she melted.

Since then, their love affair had taken off fast. And although Dan was known as something of an agency heartthrob, there had been little of the does-he-like-me? angst that had caused Orianna many sleepless nights over boyfriends before. As their post-party passion swiftly evolved into sleepless nights of a different order, there simply hadn't been a moment to worry. It wasn't until they'd got together a few times that she'd stopped to consider the longer-term implications.

They were getting dressed in Dan's apartment one morning when a photo on the wall had caught her eye. “What's going on here?”

“My bar mitzvah.”

The little black yarmulke led her to wonder. “Do you think it would bother your parents, you seeing a Catholic girl?”

Dan stopped rummaging in a drawer and turned to her. “Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I do. It's silly, they're not especially religious and hardly ever go to the synagogue. My mum knows I've gone out with girls that aren't Jewish before—and I don't think that
particularly
bothers her. But my brother's wife is Jewish and I guess if I was to get really serious with someone that wasn't, she wouldn't be happy. I don't think she'd try and stop me exactly, but I'd get these kind of pursed lips and a frown.” He imitated her expression. “‘Ach, sweetheart, she's a very nice girl and all, still, I'm not so sure…'” He raised his eyebrows. “How about you?”

“Similar. Though in the long run I reckon they'd be OK—they'd probably decide my own happiness is more important.” She laughed. “Anyway, they've had to cope with it before. Seems I've got a thing for Jewish men—my first boyfriend was too.”

“That's because we're so irresistibly sexy.”

“Of course. Once you've had one they say you can never go back.” She watched him pulling on his underpants, admiring his nicely rounded buttocks.

“I'm delighted to hear you picked me for such highbrow reasons.”

“You didn't think I liked your mind?”

Dan chuckled. “I don't kid myself.”

“But seriously. Do you think it's a problem?”

“Not for me it isn't.” Dan unhooked a black shirt from a hanger. “Though when you meet my mum, you'll probably get the vibe of silent disapproval.”

However uncomfortable the notion of meeting his parents might be, Orianna was delighted. This intimated he thought they could have a future. She didn't want to push it, so suggested, “Perhaps we'd better not mention it to them yet.”

“I probably wouldn't tell them anyway—I tend to keep things like that to myself.”

Typical man, though Orianna, but saw his point. Perhaps it would be wise not to inform her parents until they were on a more secure footing either.

She pulled on her knickers and scooped her breasts into the C cups of her bra. As she reached for her lacy top, she was suddenly conscious of the fact she was putting on the same clothes as the day before. I wonder if people at work will notice? she thought. It brought home another worry; that she and Dan were mixing the private and professional. “Ooh. Actually, do you have something I could borrow?”

Dan looked surprised. “What kind of thing?”

“A T-shirt. So no one can tell I've not changed since yesterday.”

“Would that bother you?”

“I'm not sure I want everyone at work to know. We're lucky no one suspected after the party.”

“Oh. Why? Ashamed of me now?” But his tone was confident.

“No, not at all.” Far from it, but Orianna was wary. Although her natural inclination was to tell all, she had been stung by gossip about an office affair in the past. “You know what they say about shagging the payroll.”

“Fucking fun?” Dan gave her bottom a playful smack.

“Perhaps we should keep quiet at work for a bit too. After all, given our roles, we could be accused of giving each other preferential treatment.”

“Perhaps we shouldn't tell
anyone
at Green.”

Orianna hadn't thought it through. “Not even Ivy?” Truth be told, if Ivy hadn't gone away skiing just before the Christmas party
,
Orianna would have already confided in her.

“Once you tell one person, they tell someone else—it's how things get out.”

“But I always tell Ivy everything!”

“I can imagine.”

“And we can trust Ivy. I've known her almost half my life—if I asked her, she wouldn't breathe a word.”

“Up to you. You wanted to keep it hush-hush.”

“Mm.” Orianna was torn. She appreciated his point—she enjoyed gossip as much as the next person, but it did amaze her how fast word spread around the agency. Yet in her experience Ivy was exceptionally discreet. It had taken Orianna years of self-revelation to get Ivy to disclose the merest snippets about herself in return, and this was a rare achievement—to most people the intimate details of Ivy's personal life were off-limits.

As Dan reached under the bed for his shoes he continued, voice muffled by the duvet, “I'm only saying, keeping it between the two of us is the best way to be a hundred percent certain.”

“I suppose…”

“So, business as usual at work.” Dan emerged. “No telling
anyone
.”

In the end it was the strength of her feelings for him that persuaded her. If things went wrong with Dan, Orianna didn't want the whole agency knowing about her broken heart again. “OK. We'll keep this strictly outside office hours.”

Dan grinned. “So you wouldn't be up for a quickie in the stationery cupboard later then?”

 

3. Tush, never tell me!

Rob peered at the pulse monitor on the cross-country ski machine. “You're very fit for someone who says they don't exercise. If I didn't know better, I'd have guessed you'd been at this for years.” He glanced at his new client. Ivy was barely sweating.

“I've a naturally low heart rate. Or so my GP once told me. It has its disadvantages, but my husband always says I wouldn't survive in my industry otherwise.”

Rob wasn't sure why, but he was surprised Ivy was married—she didn't seem the kind. “Oh?”

“Advertising, marketing, being creative—it pays not to get easily stressed, you can imagine.”

“You're an art director?”

“Copywriter.”

“Who's your art director? Would I know him?”

“Her. Doubt it; she's not into exercise. Her name's Orianna.”

“Unusual name.”

“It's Italian—aristocratic, so she insists. Her family is from Venice and she was named after a Renaissance noblewoman or something. Though they've lived here for years.” Ivy paused for a moment to focus. Rob noted she was pushing herself, determined to achieve a perfect rhythm.

“You been working together long?” He was keen to learn more about Ivy—he found it helped gain an understanding of a client's physical requirements if there was a strong mental connection. This seemed a safe place to start.

“Yes, years. We met on a Design and Art Direction course over a decade ago. The tutors team you up and they put us together.” She frowned, recollecting. “I think the guy running it thought I'd knock a few spots off her.”

Rob nodded. He could already tell Ivy wouldn't suffer fools.

“Orianna was straight out of high school whereas I'd been to college and studied copywriting so was more clued in about the industry.”

Rob said nothing. His tactics appeared to be working; if he kept quiet she might divulge more—most new clients had a tendency to gab to fill awkward silences. Not Ivy, however; she was silent then deflected: “Anyway, enough about me and Orianna. Tell me about you. Have you been doing this a long time?”

“Around five years. I used to teach aerobics classes, but got sick of it.”

“I bet this pays more.”

She's quick, thought Rob, so countered, “Not as much as you chaps get, I'm sure.”

“Ah yes, though we have to prostitute our souls.”

Rob raised an eyebrow. “I hadn't seen advertising like that.”