LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘That’s a coffee stain,’ I said, watching as his eyes lingered on the other empty seat. ‘We’re going to get it cleaned. Someone spilled coffee yesterday.’

      Someone quite clearly meaning me.

      ‘I’m not interrupting anything?’ Joe asked, pulling an iPad out of a handsome leather briefcase and ignoring my explanation entirely. ‘I’m still getting to grips with the scheduling system here. My assistant has had some trouble synching my calendar with everyone else’s.’

      ‘The calendar system is a bit rubbish,’ I fibbed as I checked my schedule, which I had never, ever once had a problem with. ‘Sometimes things don’t copy over, but you’re not interrupting at all.’

      There it was, clear as day in the schedule: 4.30 p.m. – meeting with Director of Women’s Brands, [email protected]. Nowhere did it mention that JHerman was a Joseph and not a Josephine. That would have been good information to have.

      ‘Sorry, we’re always a little bit hectic around here. Or I am at least, everyone else is great. I’ve been a bit scatty this week, actually. The other morning I couldn’t remember if I’d left my straighteners on and had to go back home to check, and of course I hadn’t, but you know how it is.’

      I gestured towards his perfectly straight, swept back blond hair. There was no way it was behaving that well without help; the humidity gods of New York simply wouldn’t allow it.

      ‘I don’t straighten my hair,’ he said quietly.

      ‘Of course not, sorry,’ I replied. What a liar. ‘Not that there would be anything wrong with it if you did.’

      ‘But I don’t,’ he repeated.

      ‘Noted,’ I nodded. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘Please stop apologizing.’

      ‘Sorry, I mean, of course. Yes.’ I sucked in my bottom lip and took a deep breath in. ‘Sorry.’

      He dispensed with his starter smile and opted for a more professional semi-grimace.

      ‘Angela.’

      ‘Joe.’ I clicked my fingers and pointed at him with the double guns. If it was good enough for Bob Spencer, it was good enough for Angela Clark. ‘Shoot.’

      ‘So, Gloss.’ He crossed his legs, his perfectly tailored, charcoal grey trousers straining against some impressively chunky muscles. Not that I was looking. Well, yes, I was looking, but only in the sense that I had eyes and because he was sat in front of me, not because my husband had nicked off on a two-month, long-distance vacay and sometimes you’re only human, goddamnit, and really, they were very big legs and—

      ‘Angela?’

      I looked up to see him staring at me across the table. My beloved, if poorly ageing Alexander Skarsgård poster rolled its eyes at me from its spot on the wall behind him.

      ‘Sorry, I thought there was going to be more to the question,’ I said, snapping to attention. ‘Gloss, that’s us. We’re really excited about the new strategy.’

      If there was one thing I’d learned about corporate life in the last few weeks, it was ‘when in doubt, bullshit’. I’d originally been introduced to the concept as ‘fake it ’til you make it’ but I soon realized it wasn’t so much faking it as talking whatever absolute shite the other person wanted to hear until they went away and left you alone.

      ‘But you don’t know what the new strategy is yet,’ Joe replied.

      Well, he had me there.

      ‘We’re still very excited.’ I looked longingly at the door, wondering how upset Delia would be if I just kicked off my Choos and legged it. ‘About the whole new strategy brand extravaganza.’

      My new boss continued to stare at me across the desk while tumbleweeds blew through my empty brain. Of all the times for the voice in my head to decide she had nothing to say.

      ‘You’re English.’ Joe uncrossed his legs and something that could have almost passed for a real smile appeared right above his chiselled jaw. I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, so I just smiled back and gave half a nod. I didn’t want to scare him off if he’d decided to play nice.

      ‘My girlfriend is English,’ he continued. ‘But she lives here now, obviously.’

      ‘I wonder if we know each other,’ I replied while giving myself a mental telling off for assuming this insanely well put together man with incredible hair and no wedding ring, who was in charge of the women’s brands at Spencer Media, must be gay. There had to be at least one perfect-looking straight man, if only to make all the others feel terrible. ‘It feels as though every British person in New York is connected in some way or another, even if it’s just from devouring fish and chips with your bare hands at A Salt and Battery twice a year.’

      We looked across the desk at each other for a long moment and I imagined what kind of a woman would snag a man like this.

      ‘Probably not?’ I said, shaking my head and sitting back in my chair.

      ‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘But back to Gloss.’

      This is all going to be fine, I reassured myself as he flicked around at the screen of his iPad. The magazine is in good shape, you’re doing a good job. They actually said that, at your last appraisal: you’re doing a good job. No one knows how much stationery you steal, or about that time you followed Chris Hemsworth for fifteen blocks after Mason tipped you off that he was coming into Ghost for an interview. No one knows.

      ‘I hear you’re doing a good job,’ Joe said, still flicking through his notes.

      SEE, my brain shouted, IT’S ALL OK.

      ‘But Gloss is a small part of a big machine,’ he went on. ‘I’m sure you’re already expecting to hear this, but there are going to be changes in the next couple of months.’

      ‘Changes?’ I replied. ‘What kind of changes?’

      ‘The kind of changes that take us from the third most profitable media company to the first,’ he stated. Dear god, Joe Herman was a confident man. ‘And those kind of changes aren’t always popular.’

      ‘No,’ I agreed, my knee bobbing up and down underneath my desk, my black tights catching every time. ‘I suppose they aren’t.’

      ‘But this isn’t high school, we’re all adults,’ Joe said. ‘No one is here to be popular.’

      I was, I wanted to say. I was there to be popular. Being popular was great, as I was certain he already knew. There was a distinct air of Captain of the Football Team about this man.

      ‘My job will be to look at how our brands can work more closely together to maximize our workforce.’ He held his hands out in front of him and then clasped them together to reinforce his point. ‘We have three separate women’s brands with three entirely separate editorial, sales and marketing teams, talking broadly to the same audience, Belle, Gloss and The Look. That doesn’t make sense.’

      ‘It makes sense to me,’ I replied. ‘People don’t only read one magazine.’

      ‘People barely read magazines at all,’ he argued. ‘You’re aware of how quickly Gloss’s online readership is growing versus your print numbers?’

      I swallowed and shuffled myself upright in my seat. Why hadn’t I prepared for this meeting? Apart from forgetting I had it altogether, why didn’t I have all the latest numbers in front of me? One minute I was signing off receipts for manicure dates with Beyoncé, and the next I was fighting for the future of my magazine. This was not how I’d planned to spend my Tuesday afternoon.

      ‘Next week we’ll be announcing a consolidation of the marketing teams,’ he announced. ‘Instead of having one team per mag, we’ll have one

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