His Saving Grace

Chapter 1

GRACE

Beads of nerves roll around in my stomach as I walk into Davidson House Publishing, the tallest building in the centre of Manchester. The first day in any new job is always daunting, but stepping into my first role in a publishing house pushes a further stab of pressure in me.

I’m met with a curious glance by a young, impeccably dressed, woman behind the long reception desk as I pass through the revolving glass doors. I walk over, holding up the I.D. card that dangles from my lanyard.

Her eyes hone in on it, squinting as she reads. “Good morning, Ms. Honda. Marketing is on the thirteenth floor.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, although I know where I’m going after my induction last week.

I fiddle with my ID as I ride the lift, eyeing myself up in the mirror on the back wall. My last job, managing a mobile phone shop, didn’t require me to wear a skirt and I can’t help feeling uncomfortable when I saw my reflection in the mirror. Gosh, I looked like I'm not belong.

The lift pings and the doors peel apart. I step out onto the office floor, surveying my surroundings. A small lump forms in my throat as I wonder who to approach first, although you wouldn’t know by looking at me. I am a swan as I make my way to the middle of the floor; kicking and struggling beneath the surface, poised and confident above.

A hand lands on my shoulder, startling me. “You’re the new girl, right?”

I force a smile but inside I want to punch the fucker for calling me a girl. I’m twenty-seven years old; too old, in some people’s opinion, to be taking a job as an office junior. But working in this industry has been my goal since I was ten years old.

Unfortunately for me, life got in the way, until now. I was kicked out of college for showing up drunk on more than one occasion and ended up working tedious jobs until I got bored and found something else. Perhaps things would’ve turned out differently if I’d chosen my own path, but I applied to study biology at college with the aim of becoming a doctor, because that’s what my brother did, my father, and my grandfather before him. It was kind of expected of me, but I just didn’t care enough about the subject to bother putting the effort in.

I saw the opening here by accident while surfing the Job Centre website and dismissed it at first, but it stayed in my head until I eventually convinced myself I’m not too old to go after a career rather than just a job.

I’m not just a reader, or a writer; I inhale written words like they’re my oxygen. It’s not a hobby. It’s a passion. People intrigue me. Life intrigues me. I see a story behind every set of eyes I meet, history in every voice. I’ll see someone wearing a smile and wonder what put it there. Words allow me to immerse myself in a whole other world. I get to become a different person.

So, that’s the reason I took this job. I want to see behind the scenes, learn the process of bringing someone’s imagination, someone’s dreams to life. I don’t expect to make a name for myself with my own writing. I do it for no other reason than I love it. I do it to stop my mind exploding. I do it because while I have a pen in my hand, I can be anyone I want to be.

This job is a more realistic version of my dream. I will complete the menial tasks. I will fetch coffee, stuff envelopes. I will learn.. I will work my way up, and I will achieve a successful career helping others to accomplish their dreams.

“I’m Mike. Section manager,” the owner of the hand on my shoulder says.

I proffer my hand for him to shake and he accepts. “Grace,” I say, nodding.

“Let me show you to your station.”

Again, I nod, and trail behind Mike as he leads the way.

“This is your desk. My colleague, Stacey…” He pauses to point at a smartly dressed woman, with a brown bob and thick-rimmed glasses, at the other side of the room. “…Will come and talk you through a few things shortly. But first, let’s see what you’re made of.” My eyes widen and my ears prick up, eager to get stuck in. “Coffee machine’s down the hall. White. One sugar.”

I fight the urge to scowl and nod instead. Mike claps my back and walks away, disappearing into one of the large, private offices. I don’t like him already.

I spend the rest of the day making coffee, filing documents, and being taken on a tour of the gigantic building by Stacey, who I’ve decided I like a lot more than Mike the Bastard.

The rest of the week plays out pretty much the same, only now, on Friday, I recognise some faces and am no longer sitting alone in the cafeteria. Ripping open a sachet of plastic utensils, I took a fork and use it in my lasagna while I listen to the conversation around the table, not knowing enough about the topic to join in.

They’re discussing the mysterious James Davidson, CEO of Davidson House, one of the biggest publishing houses on this side of the world. He’s someone I’ve yet to even see, let alone be introduced to.

“I heard he’s called a meeting for next Tuesday,” a cute girl called Bella says. I like Bell. She’s a junior, like me, although she’s four years younger and has been here for six months. I don’t know her well, but she has the potential to become a good friend.

“He creeps me out,” Katie, a supervisor from the design floor, replies. “I swear, I was discussing a client with him once, before he made CEO, and he looked straight through me like…well like he’s not all there if you know what I mean. He’s weird.”

“He was probably just uninterested,” Bell counters with an expression I can’t quite decipher. “He pays other people to do the work for him.”

Katie must notice the strange look on hee face too because she jerks her neck back. “You’ve slept with him haven’t you?” Her voice is high, almost a squeal.

What the… I keep listening, shovelling lasagna into my mouth like popcorn.

“Shh,” Bell snaps, scanning her immediate surroundings. “Keep it down.” She looks flustered as she drops her half eaten sandwich back on her plate. “I have not slept with him.”

“You so have. It’s common knowledge the guy f***s his way through the juniors during their first year. Didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to be one of them, though,” she says, her tone almost disgusted.

“That’s not true,” Bella says, but her pursed eyebrows tell me she’s not convinced.

She actually looks a little hurt, so I cut in, feeling uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “Anyone fancy grabbing a few drinks after work?”

“Can’t,” Katie says. “I have a date.”

“Count me in,” Bell pipes up at the exact same time as Stacey. Stacey has been in charge of showing me the ropes. She’s a manager, but doesn’t appear to be on the same power trip as the others. I like her.

“I’m going home to change first,” I say. “Probably pick up my friend and head out to Canal Street. Meet at eight in Velvet?”

“I’ve never been to Canal Street,” Stacey answers, and my jaw drops open a little.

People travel from all over the country, maybe even the world, to visit Manchester’s famous drinking village. “You live in Manchester and you’ve never been to the drinking village?”

She shrugs. “I’m not alcoholic.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “You don’t need to pay by drinking from the furry cup. They accept cash like everywhere else.”

“Funny,” she mutters, only she isn’t laughing. “I’ll be there. Haven’t had a night out in ages.”

I rub my hands together and smile. My night is planned. Dancing, alcohol, and lots of laughter with friends, new and old.

It will be a perfect Friday night.

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