The Little Café in Copenhagen. Julie Caplin
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sat up a little straighter and uncrossed my legs, trying to muster up a humble but deserving expression. This was it.
‘I’d like you all to join me in congratulating Josh Delaney on his promotion to Senior Account Director.’
‘Kate.’ I looked up at the brusque tone of my boss. As usual she looked perfect, her thick auburn hair slightly waved, feminine but not too girly, wearing a tailored dress, figure hugging but not too revealing and standing tall and lean in heels, kick-ass and mean. ‘Can I have a word?’
I nodded, suddenly not trusting my voice. I’d seen the hint of sympathy in her eyes.
I followed her into her office and closed the door at her nod, sitting down gingerly on the retro dark grey sofa which always looked more inviting than it was.
‘I wanted to speak to you before the meeting this morning. You’re usually here by then.’
I shrugged. ‘Tube malfunction.’ There was no way I was admitting to her that I’d missed my stop. That wasn’t the sort of thing I did.
She folded her arms and paced. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear like that. I know you were keen to get that promotion but … on balance the board felt you needed a little bit more experience. A little more gravitas.’
I nodded. Agreeing. Miss keen-to-please, my boss is always right, crap. Gravitas? What the … was that?
‘And,’ her painted mouth turned down in a moue of disgust, ‘you’re still young.’
I was exactly the same age as Josh. I knew what she was getting at.
‘They wanted a man.’
She didn’t respond immediately. I took her silence as acknowledgement.
‘They were very impressed with Josh’s ideas for the skincare brand. I think that was what swung it in his favour. He’s got creativity and that … gravitas.’
I nodded again, feeling like a bloody woodpecker. Creativity my arse. Just bloody good at palming off my ideas as his.
Inside I was still steaming. Lead balloon gutted. During the meeting I’d managed to sip unconcernedly at my ridiculously poncy, expensive drink while regretting buying the bloody thing. Most of all I regretted not practising the Oscar nominated, gracious loser and I’m only the teeniest tiny bit disappointed look. Two things really stuck in my craw, one he’d never so much as mentioned he was going for promotion and two ‘the ingenious ideas for a mobile app for a new skincare campaign,’ which just so happened to be mine.
‘Kate, we do value you very highly and I’m sure in another couple of months we can review things.’
I lifted my chin and nodded but even she could see the slight wobble of my lip. Although she probably had no idea that as I looked back down at the spiky heels of the killer black I’m-about-to-be-promoted court shoes, I was busy imagining them making contact with a certain person’s soft and tender bits.
She sighed and shuffled some papers on her desk. ‘There is something … it’s just come in. I suppose you could have a look at it. We weren’t going to bother but … well you’ve got nothing to lose if you fancied having a go.’
It wasn’t exactly the most encouraging crumb but it was something.
I tilted my head, pretending to look interested while trying to hide the seething disappointment.
‘Lars Wilder’s been in touch.’
‘Really?’ I frowned. Three months ago Danish entrepreneur Lars Wilder had the London agency scene twittering like love-struck groupies desperate to secure his business.
‘Having appointed,’ she named our biggest rivals, ‘he’s fallen out with them and he’s still looking for the right publicity campaign to open his new Danish department store. He didn’t like any of their ideas. He’s looking for a fresh approach. This could be a great opportunity for you to prove yourself.’
‘But?’ I asked sensing her diffidence.
‘He wants a presentation the day after tomorrow.’
‘Two days?’ She was having a laugh. Except she wasn’t, she was deadly serious. Normally we spent weeks preparing for these presentations, which involved all singing and dancing PowerPoint slides, glossy artwork and lots of research about the market.
‘He’s flying to Denmark at lunchtime and wants to come in before his flight. I was about to call him and say we couldn’t do anything but …’
‘I’ll do it.’ I’d bloody show Josh Delaney and the agency bosses.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ I said. OK I was stark staring mad but no one was going to say I didn’t try.
‘No one will expect you to win the business, of course, but it will look good that we didn’t say no to him. You’ll earn major brownie points by having a go. It’s a long shot but we have to be seen to try.’
‘What’s the brief?’ I said putting my shoulders back. Nothing to lose and everything to gain.
She held out a single white sheet of paper. I did a double take. Where was the document we usually received with pages and pages of stats and fancy fonts, headings and sub headings about ethos, values, market background and the MD’s inside leg measurement?
Hjem
Bringing the heart of Hygge
to the UK on Marylebone High Street
‘That’s it?’ I stared disbelieving at the simple typeface tracking across the pure white paper like footprints in snow. This was my great opportunity. She had to be kidding. It was like being given a pair of nail scissors and asked to make the pitch at Wembley match ready for the FA Cup final. My career and the chance to show Josh Delaney that I was back in business came down to this?
‘Connie,’ I called racing into the flat, shedding my bag and shoes as I darted into the kitchen. ‘I need your help. And we might as well have this.’
She jumped up from the table and her spot behind the ever-present pile of exercise books, eyeing up the bottle of Prosecco I had in my hand.
Our flat had been a lucky find, purely on the basis that it was affordable. The open plan lounge had one of those thin industrial textured carpets that you can feel every nail in the floorboards through and a few sparsely dotted items of furniture which stopped the place looking completely barren but it was a close-run thing. The key feature of the room was the flat screen TV hooked up to a DVD player which provided our main source of entertainment as we were permanently broke and spent plenty of nights in with a bottle of wine in front of a rom-com, wrapped up in a duvet to keep warm because it was always freezing.
The heating was dependent on a boiler with a decidedly work-shy temperament. Our landlord didn’t seem terribly worried about getting it fixed, and we’d hit complaint fatigue.
‘Oooh Prosecco. Good vintage too. Co-op six ninety-five I believe.’ Connie’s eyes lit up as they did whenever alcohol was involved.
‘No, Marks and Sparks, Victoria Station. Nine ninety-nine. I bought it yesterday when I thought I was going to get promoted.’
‘Oh shit. You didn’t then? What happened?’
‘Bastard Josh Delaney happened.’
‘What did he do?’ Connie hadn’t actually met Josh, as he preferred me to go to his place.
‘What didn’t he do? Stole my promotion. And do you know what else he did?’ my voice reached a pitch boy choristers would envy, ‘stole my idea and made out it