‘You did such a great job taking care of the place while I was gone,’ Alex said, stroking my hair as I nuzzled up underneath his chin. My alarm clock was going to buzz at any second but I really, really didn’t want to get out of bed.
‘Thanks, I tried,’ I said into his armpit. He smelled disgusting and wonderful at the same time and I loved it.
‘No, you didn’t,’ he replied. ‘It looks like a shitstorm ran through here. Did you rent the apartment out to a homeless frat while I was gone?’
‘I missed you so much I couldn’t find the energy to clean,’ I said. ‘And the baby likes clutter. It feels more secure when there’s mess everywhere.’
‘Then it’s definitely your kid,’ he smiled.
His too-short hair had grown back and then some. It fell into his eyes, almost hitting his left cheekbone, and as a pale shaft of light sliced through the heavy bedroom drapes, it was almost like looking at him on our first date. I hadn’t realized how much longer his hair had been when we met, he must have been trimming it up millimetre by millimetre every day.
‘The baby wants what the baby wants,’ I said. It was thrilling to say it out loud. So much of the last few weeks had been spent trying not to say the ‘b’ word, now I could shout it from the rooftops. ‘The baby also likes ice cream, long hot baths, online shopping and monogrammed pyjamas from J. Crew.’
‘Why do I feel like I’m going to be hearing that a lot from now on?’ He pushed himself down the bed and rested his head on my stomach. ‘Alex, the baby wanted it. Alex, I did it for the baby.’
‘Funny you should mention that, because the baby saw a pair of Louboutins in Saks the other day and it was really, really keen.’
He rested a hand on the top of my thigh and held his breath. ‘How long until it moves?’ he asked. ‘Have you felt it kick yet?’
‘It most likely won’t kick for another few weeks, maybe even months,’ I told him as I rubbed his prickly beard. ‘For now, it’s just chilling out, making me hungry and emo and fat.’
‘You’re not fat,’ Alex argued. ‘You look amazing. And babe, don’t make me say it.’
He pointed up at my boobs and gave me a double thumbs up.
‘I have so much catching up to do.’ He pulled up my T-shirt and kissed my belly before turning his attention back to my face, via my enormous rack. ‘I can’t believe you let me disappear to Thailand while you were going through all this alone.’
‘Jenny was here,’ I replied, combing his hair back from his face. ‘I wasn’t alone.’
‘I can’t believe you let me disappear in Thailand while you were going through all this with Jenny,’ he corrected himself. ‘You should have told me, I would have been on the first plane.’
‘To help with Jenny or the baby?’ I asked, giving myself a quick sniff. He wasn’t the only one who needed a shower. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference and you wouldn’t have seen all those amazing places. You’re not mad, are you?’
He scooched back up the bed, ran his thumb over my bottom lip, and then curled his hand around the back of my neck.
‘What did I do to deserve you?’ he murmured, weaving his legs through mine.
‘Something terrible,’ I replied, right as my clock began to bleat on the bedside table. ‘I don’t want to alarm you but you may have been Attila the Hun in a past life.’
‘Turn it off,’ he ordered, hands in places hands hadn’t been in such a long time. ‘Call in sick.’
‘I want to,’ I said, reluctantly pushing him away and sliding a pillow between us. Physical barriers were necessary. I felt like a horny sixth former on the back of the bus on the way home from a day trip to Alton Towers. ‘But I’ve got this big presentation this morning. There’s a new boss and, well, I didn’t want to worry you but they sort of might end up closing Gloss.’
‘What?’
Now he was awake.
‘How long has this been a thing?’ he asked, the concern on his face juxtaposed somewhat with the boner in his boxers.
‘I didn’t want to worry you—’
‘Angela Clark, if you say that one more time,’ he warned. ‘How serious is this? What about Delia? Why are you not freaking out?’
‘Because I’ve already freaked out,’ I explained as I clambered out of bed, hunting for the knickers I’d tossed out of bed while declaring I would never ever need them again as long as I lived. A declaration that lasted all of six hours. ‘Honestly, the whole thing is a bit creepy. The new guy keeps telling me how much they rate me and how I’m a superstar. It’s like he’s grooming me or something. I keep waiting for him to load the entire Gloss team into a van to see some puppies then drive us off into the Hudson River.’
‘You really think they could?’ he asked, wrapping his hand around my wrist.
‘No, not really,’ I said, yanking on my pants. ‘I think he might sack us all, but I can’t imagine drowning is actually a possibility.’
‘You know what I meant,’ Alex said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. ‘I hate that this has been happening without me here to help.’
‘Apart from worrying about losing my job, the constant urge to puke and cry, my dodgy blood pressure, not being able to drink, Jenny’s engagement followed by Jenny’s break-up, the complete and utter exhaustion, things haven’t been so bad,’ I assured him.
‘Same old, same old,’ he agreed, shaking his head and pulling me into his chest. ‘You know you’re going to kill it at this presentation today?’
‘Yes,’ I said, forcing conviction into my voice. ‘I am.’
‘And you know you’re going to be the best mom ever.’
‘Mum,’ I corrected. ‘Not mom.’
‘See?’ he said, kissing my forehead. ‘You’re already such a stickler for the details.’
I rested my hands on his shoulders and rubbed my face against his beard. I didn’t know how Jenny put up with this twenty-four seven from Mason, my skin was already itchy and red.
‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ I told him, pressing my lips against his in a loving-but-entirely-chaste-because-I-really-did-have-to-get-into-the-shower-or-I-was-going-to-be-late kiss.
‘Whatever happens today, it’s going to work out OK,’ he said. ‘We will figure it out.’
It was all I needed to hear.
Joe had asked me to give my presentation in Delia’s office, meaning, I assumed, that Delia would be there as well. At least it would be one friendly face to go with the irritatingly handsome and annoying one.
I sat in the waiting room, smiling politely at her assistant, bouncing my laptop on my knees while the clock ticked down towards nine. I hadn’t been up here since Delia got promoted. Her old office was nice, lots of pictures, big window overlooking Times Square, and a comfy leather settee in case you needed an emergency lie-down. Which I did. My morning sickness seemed to be worse when I was anxious and, as unlikely as it seemed, the idea of having to stand up in front of a man I didn’t like and explain why me and seventeen other people should keep their jobs made me feel antsy. I’d already puked twice and now there was nothing left.
‘Thanks so much, Caroline.’
Double doors opened and Joe emerged, shaking hands with Caroline Galvani, editor of The Look. I’d been so worried about losing my own job, my own magazine, my own staff, I’d barely allowed myself to think about the reality of Caroline losing hers.
‘Angela.’
She gave me a nod as she swept past, laptop under her arm, Manolos on her feet. We weren’t friends, but I’d always liked Caroline. She made a difficult job look easy and no one had a bad word to say about her. Maybe I wasn’t done puking just yet.
‘Hi.’
I looked back to see Joe waving.
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, gathering my bag, my laptop and my wits as the lift pinged to take Caroline back down to her floor. ‘I’m ready.’
She glanced over her shoulder as she stepped inside, her face drawn and grey, and showed me a tight, tearful grimace. This was horrible.
‘Then let’s do this,’ Joe said, holding the door open wide and inviting me inside. Caroline disappeared into the lift and I followed Joe into Delia’s office without looking back.
‘Wow.’
Joe tossed a pencil across the polished glass table and began to clap. Beside him, Delia smiled.
‘Just, wow.’
‘Just wow?’ I asked, flipping down the screen on my laptop. ‘That’s it? Great, I’ll go back down to my desk then.’
‘She’s so funny,’ Joe said to Delia, who nodded along happily. ‘It’s a British thing, right? They’re always funny.’
Delia had been almost entirely silent since the moment I walked into her ridiculously massive office. The new view stretched all the way up to Central Park and it was nice, but I really missed the little leather settee. This was not an office that lent itself to naps.
‘Must be something in the water,’ I replied, desperate to get out of there and back behind my own desk.
Even as I had delivered mine and Cici’s presentation, talking them through each slide, explaining why Gloss was the voice of the future at Spencer, why we had the most potential, the best connections, the greatest opportunities, all I could think about was the defeated look on Caroline’s face. By keeping my magazine open, I was talking someone else out of a job. Dozens of someone elses. The tiny crystal Christmas tree on the edge of Delia’s desk didn’t help. We were post-Thanksgiving and it was officially the most wonderful time of the year. Unless you were about to be made redundant.
‘You really spoke to the essence of the Gloss brand,’ Joe said, positively beaming. ‘I had you all wrong, Angela. This is fantastic work.’
‘All wrong?’ I asked. ‘How so?’
‘Anyone can write listicles and five hundred word features on what to wear next season,’ he said, tapping his blank notebook. He hadn’t written down a single thing. ‘You’re more than that, you have vision.’
Joe Herman, the king of the backhanded compliment.
‘What Joe is trying to say is you understand how to put together a good magazine and how to grow a brand,’ Delia clarified quickly. The look on my face must have been a picture. ‘It can be complicated, moving from editorial into corporate. You’ve delivered precisely what we wanted to see. That’s very difficult for some people, Angela. Most people, in fact.’
And it had been difficult for me. Impossible, actually. I hadn’t a clue what they wanted. But Cici knew.
‘Well, this is what you asked me to do,’ I said, looking down at my laptop. ‘You know how strongly I believe in Gloss.’
‘It was just fantastic work,’ Joe said, so enthused I was worried he might have an accident. ‘We have some things to discuss but I think we’ll be able to get back to you on this pretty soon, right boss?’
Eurgh, he called Delia boss?
‘I would say so,’ she agreed. ‘Joe, if you want to go, I’m going to chat to Angela for a bit.’
A second of surprise crossed his face but he pushed it away quickly, like a pro. He clearly wasn’t used to being dismissed.
‘No worries,’ he replied, grabbing his omnipresent iPad before he left. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
We both waited until he had left the room and closed the door firmly behind him.
‘Really?’ I sat myself in Joe’s seat and rolled his pencil right off the desk and onto the plush, cream carpet. ‘Anyone can write a listicle?’
‘I know, I know,’ Delia laughed, holding her head in her hands. ‘I’m sorry, he didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Yes, he did,’ I said, dropping my own face onto the glass table and admiring my Saint Laurent booties. My skirt was tight; this was the last time I’d be wearing it for a while. ‘He doesn’t have a lot of time for writers, does he?’
‘He just doesn’t understand but you know I do.’
She kicked off her stilettos and skipped over to a mirrored cabinet underneath her enormous flatscreen TV. It was like Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory made miniature, there wasn’t a single kind of snack I couldn’t see. She held up a packet of Twizzlers for consideration and I held out my hands.
‘Gimme,’ I said, clapping my approval.
‘Joe never worked on the editorial side of things. He studied business, went into marketing and ended up in publishing, not because he loves it but because it pays him the most,’ Delia explained, as she tore into the packet of sweets. ‘That’s not to say he isn’t incredibly good at his job, because he is. I wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.’
I took a Twizzler from the packet and munched away.
‘He’s right, though, your presentation was impressive,’ she said. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he wrote it himself.’
‘I had some help,’ I replied. ‘To put it mildly. And I’m really good at writing listicles. I miss writing listicles, I was the queen of listicles.’
‘You just like saying listicles,’ she said as I tried my best to swallow the strawberry-flavoured sweet and keep it down. ‘Taking over the company from my grandfather is a huge honour, but between you and me, we’re not in the best shape. I don’t want to close magazines, I want to grow. Do you think it was my ambition to come in and fire people?’
‘No,’ I admitted.
‘You’re my friend, Angela, a really, really good one at that. But the business is my family.’ Delia nibbled the very end of a Twizzler and gazed out of the window. ‘And now I’m in charge, it’s basically my baby. I truly thought I knew how hard this was going to be, but I had no idea. There have been so many times I’ve picked up the phone to call you for impromptu cocktails but when I look at the clock, it’s already midnight. I know this job is what I always wanted, I know making it work is going to mean sacrifice.’
‘Imagine that,’ I said, hiding a smile. ‘I do understand, you don’t need to explain it to me.’
Cici and Delia might have had matching nose jobs when they turned sweet sixteen, but Cici had been far more dedicated when it came to her Botox regimen. Right in that moment, Delia looked much older than her sister now, but she also looked proud.
‘You haven’t sacrificed me,’ I told her, loosening the zip on my pencil skirt just a touch. ‘I’m still your friend, Delia. Regardless.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ she said, looking relieved.
‘Is Gloss going to be OK?’ I asked, even though I didn’t really want to.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘It’s up to Joe. It has to be.’
I chewed thoughtfully on my Twizzler.
‘I’m glad to hear we’re still friends,’ Delia said, changing the subject with aplomb. ‘I thought maybe you’d replaced me with Cici.’
‘Not replaced …’ I was still wrapping my head around the part where she might close my magazine. ‘But we are getting along a lot better these days. It turns out she’s not all bad after all.’
‘I don’t know how to feel about that,’ Delia said with a forced laugh. ‘I’m glad she isn’t trying to blow up your luggage again but, well, you’re my friend.’
She handed me a second Twizzler and rolled her eyes at herself.
‘It’s a twin thing,’ she explained when I didn’t reply. ‘I’m just jealous. Cici always got first pick at everything growing up. Clothes, bedrooms, boys. This is the first thing I’ve had that’s mine.’
‘Me and a global media empire,’ I said with a whistle. ‘You’ve got basically everything a girl could want.’
‘Ha ha,’ Delia replied. ‘Very funny.’
‘I do try,’ I replied. ‘I really do try.’
I wasn’t the first person to arrive at lunch. Right after my presentation, I’d legged it to a doctor’s appointment where Dr Laura had confirmed to Alex that there was definitely a baby and not just an excessive amount of pizza in my belly. Leaving him in the waiting room to stare at the updated twelve-week sonogram, I ran down the street to Fig & Olive.
‘You’re late,’ Cici said, already halfway down a glass of red wine. ‘I was about to leave.’
‘It’s four minutes past twelve,’ I replied, checking my watch. ‘And you’re drinking wine.’
She stared at me over the rim of the glass as she drank. I really should have made more effort to convince Delia she had nothing to worry about when it came to me and Cici being besties.
‘How did it go?’ she asked, signalling to the waitress for another glass of red.
‘So great!’ I threw my coat over the back of the chair and gulped down half a glass of water. ‘It totally looks like a baby now, there’s a head and a brain, a bladder, two arms, two legs, all the other bits that should be there.’
‘I meant how did the meeting go,’ she said, pushing her menu away. ‘But thanks for the biology lesson. I guess I wasn’t hungry anyway.’
As soon as she said it, I remembered. It was almost scary how quickly I’d forgotten about the presentation. Wow.
‘The presentation was brilliant,’ I told her as bread magically appeared at the table. There was a reason I’d chosen this restaurant. ‘They loved everything, all your suggestions, all the parts about talking to new readers and engaging with the audience. Joe ate it up.’
‘I bet he did,’ she said, a tiny smile playing on her lips. ‘So, how come we’re out for lunch? We’ve never gone out for lunch before. Are you firing me?’
‘No!’ I exclaimed, my mouth already full of freshly baked bread. ‘Why would I fire you? This is a celebratory lunch. It’s a thank you.’
‘Oh.’ Cici looked as uncomfortable as I felt. ‘Right. OK. Do I have to eat?’
‘It is traditional,’ I replied, pushing the menu towards her. ‘They have nice salads here.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ she said, draping her napkin in her lap now she realized she was staying. ‘But I’m on a daytime fast, right now. All I can eat is cruciferous vegetables and bone broth.’
‘And red wine?’ I asked.
She shrugged and drained the dregs.
‘I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate all your help with the presentation,’ I explained after ordering. ‘And with the Generation Gloss party. Last year we paid an agency an absolute fortune and they didn’t do half as good a job as you did. I almost can’t believe you pulled it all together on your own.’
‘Really?’ she asked, her microbladed eyebrows strained against her Botox in surprise. ‘It was kinda easy, if I’m honest. Like I said, all you have to do is tell people what to do and make sure they do it on time and in budget. If they don’t, they get their ass delivered to them. How hard could that be?’
‘For me, very hard,’ I said, dipping another piece of bread in a tiny pool of olive oil.
Cici made a sour face, whether at my wussiness or at me consuming actual oil, I wasn’t sure.
‘Have you ever thought about moving into a more corporate position?’
She dropped her head backwards until the ends of her hair almost touched the floor and let out a loud, guttural groan. Across the table, I watched a middle-aged man reflexively press his hand over his crotch.
‘You can’t even have what she’s having because she’s not eating,’ I joked to the horrified-looking old lady at the next table.
‘So, that’s a no on management, is it?’ I asked, shoving more bread into my gob.
‘I don’t want to be my sister,’ Cici said, visibly frustrated as well as audibly. ‘It’s bad enough that I have to work at that place, creeping around in her shadow, while she runs the world. I want to do my own thing – I thought you would understand that.’
‘I would?’ Obviously, I didn’t.
‘Yeah,’ she replied as her second glass of wine appeared. ‘You wanted something so you worked hard and you got it. I know everything is about to go to shit in the restructure, but you’re pregnant now, so who cares, right?’
‘There is so much to deal with in that sentence, I’m not sure where to start,’ I said, holding my hands out to slow myself down. ‘Why is everything going to go to shit?’
‘Because everyone will hate you,’ she replied as though I should already know. ‘If Gloss closes and our team is fired, they’ll know you knew about it and they’ll blame you for not saving them. If The Look closes and everyone there gets fired, people will say it’s because you’re friends with Dee Dee and she stepped in to save your job.’
‘But she isn’t!’ I argued. ‘That’s why Joe is in charge of the restructure, so she doesn’t have to be involved.’
‘Sure,’ Cici replied. ‘And would you believe that if it was the other way around and Caroline Galvani was BFFs with the president of the company?’
‘Can I pleased have a very tiny sip of your wine?’ I asked.
She obediently handed over the glass. I stared into the rich red liquid and sighed before handing it back untouched.
‘It’s not fair to say I don’t care about my job because I’m pregnant,’ I said. ‘I care. I’m not going to leave when I have the baby. I love my job.’
Plus, I added in my own head, I really needed the money.
‘You don’t even know what your job is going to be,’ Cici said, pulling the merest scrap from the edge of a piece of bread and guiltily popping it into her mouth. It wasn’t even a crumb but I was so proud. ‘And have you checked in with your old pal Dee Dee about the maternity benefits at Spencer? That could change your mind.’
‘They’re not good?’
‘They’re archaic,’ Cici replied. ‘Literally the legal bare minimum. Twelve weeks’ unpaid leave, no guarantees after that.’
‘I didn’t want anyone to know until I was twelve weeks so I haven’t asked yet,’ I murmured. ‘Which did your grandfather hate more, women or children?’
‘He hated them both equally,’ she replied. ‘It’s fairly well documented.’
It hadn’t even occurred to me to check the maternity benefits at work. How could women in the UK get a whole year off work to bond with their baby while I only got twelve weeks of unpaid leave? How was I supposed to bond with my baby in twelve weeks? It was definitely going to grow up to be an axe murderer who went around chopping up women who looked like me. This explained Norman Bates perfectly.
‘That’s why we have approximately four mothers in the entire company,’ Cici said. ‘None of the women on Gloss have kids, do they?’
‘No.’ I ran through every woman on my magazine, every single childless one of them. ‘No kids. But they’re all so young.’
‘Not that young,’ Cici replied simply. ‘It can’t be done, Angela. You can’t run a magazine and have a baby.’
‘Anna Wintour does it,’ I said, clutching at the fanciest straw I could think of.
‘Please. She’s not human and we all know it.’
‘OK,’ I said. Time to turn the tables. ‘If you hate working at Spencer so much, why do you stay here? I’m sure you could get a job somewhere else.’
‘Really?’ she asked with an arched brow. ‘You think? Who is going to hire me, exactly? My résumé isn’t exactly overflowing with accomplishments. I know everyone loves working at Gloss but your name doesn’t exactly open every door in town.’
It was harsh but fair. My name didn’t even open the door to this restaurant: we’d only been able to get a reservation when Cici made it.
‘I want to do something for myself,’ she said, a fierce look on her face. ‘I want my grandpa to look at me and tell me I’m just as good as she is, just for once. That’s why I wanted to go into editorial. Dee Dee can’t write, she can’t edit. I really thought if I could excel at that, he’d be so proud. She was always the smart twin, the hardworking twin. But I’m smart too, Angela. I’m good at stuff. Just because I didn’t want to leave college and immediately lock myself away in an office building like Rupert Murdoch meets Rapunzel doesn’t mean I’m useless.’
Cici was jealous of Delia and Delia was jealous of Cici. It was all so Sweet Valley High.
‘Of course it doesn’t,’ I said. ‘I get it. I turned up here without any idea what I was doing. I didn’t even know I could write for a magazine until someone gave me a chance. Everyone needs someone to point them in the right direction.
‘So, what’s my direction?’ she asked in a soft, questioning voice, wrapping a long strand of hair around her index finger. ‘Who’s going to help me?’
I leaned across the table and she automatically leaned away.
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘Helping,’ I hissed back. ‘Or at least trying to.’
‘Really?’ She didn’t look convinced. ‘OK.’
‘You have a talent for managing people,’ I told her, pushing on with my attempt to be the bigger person. ‘The things you find easy, telling people what to do, knowing what people want before they do, that’s a skill. I think you could be really successful if you could just work out where you want to be.’
‘You do?’ Cici let the piece of hair spiral away from her, a slight kink appearing where it had been wrapped around her finger.
‘Really successful,’ I said again. ‘I think kicking ass might be in your genes.’
‘Well, obvs,’ she breathed out slowly, staring down at the floor. ‘But if I took that route, if I did it here, I’d always be under Dee Dee, wouldn’t I? She’s the total HBIC.’
‘Probably,’ I admitted. ‘You really couldn’t cope with that?’
She pushed her fingertips into her temples and shook her head.
‘Then sod it,’ I said, flinging my arm up into the air for effect, forgetting I was still holding a piece of bread. I watched as it sailed across the room and landed in an unsuspecting businessman’s salad.
‘Start your own company,’ I suggested, turning quickly away as he inspected the carb missile. ‘You’re young, you’re loaded. Work out what you want to do, be amazing at it and burn Spencer Media to the ground if you want.’
She made a pleased noise in the back of her throat as she considered the proposition.
‘Only, don’t actually burn it to the ground,’ I added quickly. ‘That was just a figure of speech. Arson has no place in this plan and I am not recommending it.’
‘You really think I could run my own company?’ she asked.
‘I really think you could do anything,’ I confirmed. ‘As terrifying as that sounds.’
‘Hmm.’ She grabbed an actual, honest-to-goodness piece of bread and took a bite. ‘Watch out world, here comes Cici Spencer.’
‘Here she comes indeed,’ I said, raising my glass of water to clink it against her wine. ‘And may god help us all.’