Who's That Girl (7 page)

'Well, you certainly brought the good weather with you,' I say, launching into my well-rehearsed patter for visiting overseas clients. 'So tell me, is this just a business trip, or do you have any fun things planned while you're here?'

'Oh, I'm hoping I'm going to have some time for pleasure.' He smiles, resting his elbows on the table and leaning towards me.

For a split second I feel a little prickle of something, but I'm too busy focusing on making relaxed small talk to give it much thought.

'Well, there's a Frida Kahlo exhibition on at the Tate Modern that's amazing,' I continue. 'You should check it out.' I only-know this because Beatrice went last weekend and told me about it.

'Oh, really? That sounds fascinating. I love Frida Kahlo. Tell me, what's your favourite painting of hers?'

Bollocks. All I know about Frida Kahlo is that she had a monobrow and Salma Hayek played her in the movie.

'All of them.' I smile brightly. 'They're all amazing.'

'Spoken like a true PR person.' He laughs smoothly and fixes me with his gaze. For the first time I notice how blue his eyes are. They almost don't look real. In fact, everything about Larry Goldstein is so perfect it seems fake. 'Which is why I'm really excited about this lunch,' he continues. 'I've heard great things about you and your company.'

'Why, thank you.' I smile, relieved to be off the topic of Frida and on to something I know a lot more about:
work
. Taking this as my cue, I pull out my portfolio from my briefcase and open it up on the table. 'As you can see from this portfolio of media coverage I've achieved for my other clients, this is the sort of thing you could expect from Merry-weather PR…' I turn it round so he can see it and start leafing through the pages.

'Mmm, yes, very impressive.' He nods, looking at a full-colour spread from
The Times
. I feel a beat of pride. 'Obviously it's impossible to guarantee anything,' I continue, 'but with such a strong brand as yours combined with my journalistic experience and intimate knowledge of how the business works, I think ours would be an incredibly successful and mutually beneficial partnership.'

'Mutually beneficial?' he says, glancing up from my portfolio and raising his eyebrows, which, now I'm up close, I notice are plucked into two perfect arches.

'Yes: With the right media coverage in the right places, we could raise your profile here in the UK. Let the public know who you are. What Star Smile stands for. And Merryweather PR has the expertise to do this and would be delighted to do so.' I'm in my stride now, and I have to say, I'm feeling pretty confident.

But then I should be. I've spent weeks working towards this meeting, researching information, putting together ideas, making sure I've thought of everything. I'm one hundred per cent prepared for this.

'And you say you have an
intimate
knowledge of how the business works?'

He's looking at me intently and for some reason I get this brief niggle of disquiet. The same feeling I had when he shook my hand earlier.

'Um… yes,' I reply, quickly brushing it aside and swinging back into full professional mode.

'That's something we pride ourselves on at Merryweather PR.'

'How intimate?' Still holding my gaze, he leans his body further across the table. Not a lot. Maybe only an inch, if that, but it's enough to make that niggle that I just brushed away come racing back again. And this time it's twice as big.

'Would you care to hear the specials?' The waitress is back and interrupts our conversation.

'Oh, yes, please,' I reply, glad of the distraction.

'Well, for appetisers, we have an heirloom tomato salad…'

Focusing my attention on the waitress, I listen to her going through the list, until after a few moments it feels safe to sneak a peek across at Larry Goldstein. Only his gaze is no longer on me, but on the pretty young waitress. And now he's throwing her that great big shiny smile of his.

And I'm totally overreacting, I realise, feeling both relieved and a bit silly. It's no biggie. He's obviously a bit of a flirt, that's all. Just humour him. And looking back at the waitress, I concentrate on what I'm going to have for lunch.

Chapter Six

Underneath the perfect tan, I discover Larry Goldstein is actually a very smart businessman. He asks lots of pertinent questions and seems genuinely impressed by both myself and the company.

'So tell me, how did you get started in the business?' As our entrees arrive, he looks at me, eyebrows raised with interest.

'Well, my background is actually in journalism. I studied English literature at university. Originally I wanted to be a writer.'

'A bit of a wordsmith, huh?' He smiles, pausing from eating to study me with interest.

'Well, I try,' I reply lightly, flicking back my hair under his gaze. 'In fact, my first job was for British Worldwide Press, a big London publishing company, as the editor of one of their magazines.'

'Wow.' Larry Goldstein widens his eyes and looks suitably impressed. 'That's amazing.'

I feel myself blush slightly. 'Well, yes,' I admit, trying to appear nonchalant at this compliment, while the little voice in my head whispers, '
Keep it up, Charlotte, keep it up
.' 'It was a wonderful experience and brilliant hands-on training, but after a few years I decided I wanted a new challenge and turned freelance.'

'Brave girl.' He nods approvingly.

'Fortunately my risk paid off and I wrote for all the big-name glossy magazines and newspapers, which of course is invaluable in terms of contacts now,' I say, waggling my fork emphatically.

'Absolutely,' he agrees just as emphatically, and I feel a slight thrill. I don't like to get my hopes up, but things are looking very good. Very good indeed.

'But after a couple of years I just wasn't feeling stimulated or challenged enough, so when I was presented with an opportunity to move into the exciting world of PR, I jumped at the chance.'

'And you don't regret giving up your writing career?'

'I've never looked back,' I say with conviction.

'That's awesome,' nods Larry Goldstein.

I smile modestly. Though I say it myself, it does all sound pretty awesome, doesn't it?

Except the thing is, it didn't happen
exactly
like that. Not word for word. The
real
truth is this: I left university with big dreams of being a writer and applied for every job in the 'Media' section of the
Guardian
I could find. Nearly a hundred rejection letters later, I finally got an interview with British Worldwide Press. That bit's true. So is the fact it was to be an editor of one of their magazines.

The bit I leave out is that the job was for an editor for their crossword magazine. So, all right, it wasn't exactly
Vanity Fair
, but it was a start. And everyone has to start somewhere, right?

Except there was just one problem:
I'm totally crap at crosswords
. But I was desperate. And broke. And living at home with my parents. Thankfully, I got the job and moved to London, and for the next three years I made up crossword clues by day and partied in the bars and clubs of West London by night. And in my lunch hours? I updated my CV and sent it out to every magazine and newspaper I could think of. Until one day it landed on the right desk at the right time. A new lifestyle magazine was looking for a features writer. It was a dream come true. Unfortunately the dream only lasted six months before the magazine folded and I found myself unemployed, on the dole and looking for another job. Only I couldn't find one, so I turned freelance.

Freelance
. It sounds so exciting and glamorous, doesn't it? Images of me rushing around with a laptop under my arm, writing in coffeeshops, staying up till 3 a.m. smoking cigarettes in order to meet that deadline. How fabulous! I was going to be Carrie in
Sex and the City
. But life isn't a TV show, and this Carrie wasn't wearing designer heels and being paid a fortune to write a witty sex column. Nope, this Carrie was pitching feature ideas to belligerent editors who never returned her calls. She was watching daytime TV in her pyjamas and worrying how she was going to pay the rent. Trust me, there is nothing sexy about
Richard and Judy
24/7. And there wasn't even a
sniff
of a cosmopolitan.

This went on for months until a friend of a friend took pity on me and told me about a vacancy at a PR agency. The job involved writing press releases. So you'd still be writing, she reasoned. Well, if you can call a thousand words on shampoo writing. But it paid the bills. And it was only temporary. Just until I finished that novel of mine that I'd been working on in my spare time and had sold it to a publisher in a furious bidding war…

I wish.

Because I never did finish it. I got sidetracked. Became too busy. Gave up. I'm not exactly sure why I didn't go back to it, but the truth is that bit by bit my dream of being a writer receded and the reality set in. I got promoted, became more successful, earned more money and then set up my company. And it's true, I never have looked back.

Well, maybe sometimes. When I walk into a bookshop and pick up some author's first novel. Or read a fascinating article in a magazine and think maybe, just maybe, that could have been me. If I'd stuck it out longer. Tried harder. Been a better writer. And for the briefest second the longing is almost palpable.

But then I put it out of mind. I totally made the right decision. I mean, if I'd followed that route, I wouldn't be where I am today: having lunch in a chi-chi private members' club in Netting Hill, on the brink of winning an important account that will take the company to a whole new international level, I think, glancing at Larry Goldstein, who's looking at me thoughtfully.

'You know, I see a lot of myself in you.'

'You do?' I reply, not quite sure whether or not to take that as a compliment.

'Very much so.' He nods. 'And after meeting you and hearing all about your company, I feel very strongly that Merryweather PR might be just what I'm looking for.'

Sitting across the table from him, I smile modestly, the picture of professional poise, but on the inside I want to punch the air with delight. I hardly dare think it, but it's looking very possible that all my hard work and evenings spent suffering through his US TV show,
Celebrity Smile
Clinic
, might just pay off.

'Well, as I said before, we'd be more than delighted to represent you here in the UK, Dr Goldstein.' Gosh, I don't know how I'm keeping my voice so calm.

He holds up his hand in modesty.

'I mean Larry,' I say, smiling.

'In fact, the more I think about it, I really don't think there's any point in seeing the other PR

companies,' he continues evenly, raising an eyebrow. 'Do you?'

The contract is mine
! flashes through my mind as if in neon.

'No… I don't think there is,' I reply, just as evenly. I feel a burst of giddy excitement and do my utmost to contain it. Like I said, poised and professional.

'Excellent. So we're agreed.' He smiles, reaching underneath the table to smooth down his napkin.

Oh, my God, I can't wait to call Beatrice and tell her how well the meeting went. I feel someone's fingers sweep across my inner thigh.

What the… ?

I jump and look sharply across at Larry Goldstein, but he's innocently winding spaghetti on to his fork. I stare at him with a mixture of doubt and disbelief. Did I just imagine that? Did that not just happen? My heart thudding, I fidget self-consciously in my chair, pulling, down my skirt and crossing my legs.

'Is everything OK?' Larry Goldstein looks over at me, his brow creased with concern.

'Um… yes, fine,' I reply politely, taking a gulp of water.

Well, what else am I supposed to say? Did you just stick your hand up my skirt?

Although, that's what I
would
have said when I was younger. I never stopped to think before I opened my mouth in those days - I would say exactly what was on my mind. But now things are different.
I'm
different. I'm not some impulsive, headstrong twentysomething with nothing to lose. I'm a thirtysomething professional woman with everything to lose. Like my reputation, and a really important contract, I remind myself. I can't just start hurling accusations and causing a scene. Just think of all the possible repercussions. Sitting bolt upright, I take a couple of slow breaths and concentrate on composing myself. Plus I could have easily made a mistake. Things aren't always what they seem, I tell myself, my mind flicking back to that incident at the lights. It was probably just the tablecloth brushing against my leg or something. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I'm positive that's what happened.

'Wow, the food is delicious, isn't it?'

I snap back to see Larry Goldstein smiling amiably at me.

'Oh… um… yes, delicious,' I reply.

Disconcerted, I turn back to my main course and continue eating. Only my appetite has disappeared and I'm relieved when a few minutes later the waitress comes to take our plates away.

'Coffee? Dessert?' she asks.

'No, I'm fine, thanks,' I reply, shaking my head. My earlier shiny delight at having won the account seems to have lost its sheen somehow. I know I should be over the moon, but I can't get that bugging feeling out of my head about what just happened. Or what I
thought
just happened, I correct myself quickly.

'Not for me either.' He beams, leaning back in his chair and fixing me with a satisfied smile.

'Coffee is the number-one cause of tooth discolouration.'

'Really?' I say faintly.

'So, now that's sorted, we need to get down to business.' Laying his manicured hands on the tablecloth, he looks at me intently. 'Figure out a game plan.'

'Definitely.' I perk up, relieved to be focusing back on business. I start running through the many lists in my head. 'When were you wanting to make an announcement to the press? Obviously the sooner we get the word out there, the more time we will have to start generating press, building momentum…'