I can feel a flush creeping over my face. I know I’ve ended up doing more for Lucinda than I intended. But I’m not going to admit that to him.
“I wanted to! It’s fine.”
“And her tone’s pretty bossy, if you ask me.”
“It’s only her manner. I don’t mind….” I’m trying to throw him off this path, but he’s relentless.
“Why don’t you just tell her straight, ‘You’re working for me, cut out the attitude’?”
“It’s not as simple as that, OK?” I feel on the back foot. “She’s not simply a wedding planner. She’s an old friend of the Tavishes.”
“The Tavishes?” He shakes his head as though the name means nothing to him.
“My future in-laws! The Tavishes. Professor Antony Tavish? Professor Wanda Brook-Tavish? Their parents are great friends and Lucinda’s part of that whole world, and she’s one of them and I can’t—” I break off and rub my nose. I’m not sure where I was going with that.
Sam picks up a spoon, leans over, takes a sip of my soup, and winces.
“Freezing. Thought so. Send it back.”
“No, really.” I flash him an automatic smile. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. Send it back.”
“No! Look—it doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry anyway.”
Sam is gazing at me, shaking his head. “You are a big surprise, you know that? This is a big surprise.” He taps the phone.
“What?”
“You’re pretty insecure for someone who’s so feisty on the outside.”
“I’m not!” I retort, rattled.
“Not insecure? Or not feisty?”
“I—” I’m too confused to answer. “I dunno. Stop it. Leave me alone.”
“You talk about the Tavishes as if they’re God.”
“Well, of course I do! They’re in a different league—”
I’m cut off midstream by a man’s voice.
“Sam! My main man!” It’s Justin, clapping Sam on the back. He’s wearing a black suit, black tie, and dark glasses. He looks like one of the Men in Black. “Steak baguette again?”
“You know me too well.” Sam gets to his feet and taps a passing waiter. “Excuse me, could we have a fresh soup for my guest? This one’s cold. Did you meet Poppy the other night? Poppy, Justin Cole.”
“Enchante.” Justin nods at me, and I catch a waft of Fahrenheit aftershave.
“Hi.” I manage to smile politely, but I still feel stirred up inside. I need to tell Sam how wrong he is. About everything.
“How was the meeting with P&G?” Sam’s saying to Justin.
“Good! Very good! Although of course they miss you on the team, Sam.” He makes a reproving gesture with his finger.
“I’m sure they don’t.”
“You know this man is the star of our company?” Justin says to me, gesturing at Sam. “Sir Nicholas’s heir apparent. ‘One day, dear boy, all this will be yours.’ “
“Now, that’s just bullshit,” Sam says pleasantly.
“Of course it is.”
There’s a beat of silence. They’re smiling at each other—but it’s a bit more like animals baring teeth.
“So, I’ll see you around,” says Justin at length. “Going to the conference tonight?”
“Tomorrow, in fact,” Sam replies. “Lot of stuff to catch up on here.”
“Fair enough. Well, we’ll toast you tonight.” Justin raises his hand at me, then walks away.
“Sorry about that,” says Sam to me. “This restaurant is just impossible at lunchtime. But it’s the closest that’s any good.”
I’ve been distracted from my churning thoughts by Justin Cole. He really is a prick.
“You know, I heard Justin talking about you last night,” I say in a low voice, and lean across the table. “He called you a stubborn fuck.”
Sam throws back his head and roars with laughter. “I expect he did.”
A fresh bowl of butternut squash soup arrives in front of me, steaming hot, and suddenly I feel ravenous.
“Thanks for doing that,” I say awkwardly to Sam.
“My pleasure.” He tilts his head. “Bon appetit.”
“So, why did he call you a stubborn fuck?” I take a spoonful of soup.
“Oh, we disagree pretty fundamentally about how to run the company,” he says carelessly. “My camp had a recent victory, so his camp is feeling sore.”
Camps? Victories? Are they all permanently at war?
“What happened?”
God, this soup is good. I’m ladling it down as though I haven’t eaten for weeks.
“You’re really interested?” He appears to be amused.
“Yes! Of course!”
“A member of personnel left the company. For the better, in my opinion. But not in Justin’s.” He takes a bite of baguette and reaches for his water.
That’s it? That’s all he’s going to tell me? A member of personnel left the company?
“You mean John Gregson?” I suddenly remember my Google search.
“What?” He looks taken aback. “How do you know about John Gregson?”
“Daily Mail online, of course.” I roll my eyes. What does he think, that he works in a secret, private bubble?
“Oh. I see.” Sam seems to digest this. “Well … no. That was something different.”
“Who was this one, then? C’mon,” I wheedle as he hesitates. “You can tell me. I’m best friends with Sir Nicholas Murray, you know. We have drinks at the Savoy together. We’re like this.” I cross my fingers, and Sam gives a reluctant snort of laughter.
“OK. I don’t suppose it’s any great secret.” He hesitates and lowers his voice. “It was a guy called Ed Exton. Finance director. The truth is, he was fired. Turned out he’d been defrauding the company for a while. Nick wouldn’t press charges, but that was a big mistake. Now Ed’s suing for wrongful dismissal.”
“Yes!” I nearly squeak. “I knew it! And that’s why he was worse for wear in the Groucho.”
Sam gives a short, incredulous laugh. “You know about that. Of course you do.”
“And … Justin was angry when Ed was fired?” I’m trying to get this clear.
“Justin was gunning for Ed to take over as CEO, with himself as right-hand man,” says Sam wryly. “So, yes, you could say he was fairly angry.”
“CEO?” I say in astonishment. “But … what about Sir Nicholas?”
“Oh, they would have ousted Nick if they’d got enough support,” says Sam matter-of-factly. “There’s a faction in this company that’s more interested in creaming off short-term profits and dressing in Paul Smith than anything else. Nick’s all about playing the long game. Not always the most popular position.”
I finish my soup, digesting all this. Honestly, these office politics are all so complicated. How does anyone get any work done? It’s bad enough when Annalise has one of her hissy fits about whose turn it is to buy the coffee and we all get distracted and forget to write up our reports.