Trouble

2. Audrey

Two

Audrey

“You’re late,” Eileen said the second I stormed into our office like a panicked goat, arms full of the still-sopping report. “What were you thinking, being late the one day you have a morning meeting scheduled with Perkinson, of all people? He’s already been waiting ten minutes, and you know how he gets.”

“I know, I know!” I threw my handbag on my desk and pulled my emergency supply of Kleenex out of a drawer. “I had an accident. Now just help me dab!”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Perkinson. I had a bit of a disastrous morning,” I hurled out the second I stepped into the meeting room, a stiff smile plastered across my lips. “I trust Nadine’s been keeping you with coffee?”

“Tell me, Miss Waits, is it normal procedure for Caslik Consulting to assume their clients have nothing better to do than wait all morning for a young woman to waltz into work long after business hours have commenced?”

I gritted my teeth, somehow managing not to lose the fake smile despite my sudden urge to throw the damp-despite-my-best-efforts report in his face. I’d only been assigned to Perkinson the previous Thursday, but he’d already become my least favorite client of all time. “I can only apologize and assure you it won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” he rumbled, irritation clear on his pudgy face as he swiveled around in his cushioned seat to face the table. “I don’t want to have to remind your boss how much money I’m prepared to walk away with if he can’t get me a halfway competent consultant.”

I did my best ignore the dig, despite my temper flaring up like a hot burst of acid in my gut. I’d worked hard for my position at Caslik, and before that, I’d busted my arse at university so I could prove to my parents I was good enough, smart enough. My career was everything to me, and to have this arrogant pig insult and threaten it gave me rage-induced acid reflux. But I swallowed my anger and, despite the urge to slap the haughty bastard, smiled until my cheeks hurt. If he actually followed through on his threat and went to my boss with a complaint about me, I’d be having a rather unpleasant chat with HR before I could blink.

Perkinson brought in the kind of money that had everyone rolling over like over-excited puppies. He was my first major client, and up until last Thursday, I’d been absolutely thrilled. His company was my first major account, and I knew that if I did well with him, I was that much closer to the senior position my manager had been dangling in front of me like a carrot for the past three years.

“Have you had an opportunity to consider the branding options for your new vodka we went over on Thursday?” I said as I sat down in front of him, doing my best to ignore the throbbing vein in my temple. I wasn’t about to let a man like Perkinson snatch away what I’d been working so hard for for so long. Mel, my older sister, was made managing director of the snazzy little design company she’d been working for for the past ten years just last Christmas, and I’d not heard the end of it from Mum and Dad. Perfect Mel, with her perfect life, and her perfect promotion. No, I was getting this client wrangled, whatever it took. I could live with my anger for a few weeks.

“Yes, we’ll be going with the upscale Playboy demographic. I want every man to get hard when he sees a bottle of our booze. He needs to think that buying Perk Vodka turns him into literal James-f*****g-Bond. You got it, sweet cheeks?”

Okay, so apparently I’d also be swallowing my pride too.

“Sure.” If I smiled any harder, my face would be in danger of cracking. “Sounds good. I’ve put together a launch strategy—if you care to have a look?” I slid the still-damp report across the table to my client. “I apologize for the state of it. I had a bit of a fall while on my way to work.”

Perkinson took the offered papers with a look of mild contempt, making sure only to turn the pages with the very tips of his fingers. He made small grunts along the way, and I took the lack of berating to mean he didn’t find any flaws with my work. Finally, at the end of the 30-something pages, he placed his index finger against the slightly smudged text. “This. The launch party. I want that to take center stage. I want you to blow my socks off—invite everyone who’s anyone, a casino night, strippers, you know, the classy kind. Girls serving my vodka with their titties. You get my drift?”

“I believe I do. I’ll get that coordinated with the event planner. We just need to decide on a dat—”

“No!” I jumped in my seat when Perkinson slapped his hairy knuckles against the table. “You’re my account manager, right? I want you in charge of this event. I pay your company an awful lot of money, so I expect you to do the heavy lifting, got it? I want you to have your hands in every aspect of that launch party—and no excuses about your monthly or whatever else you pampered business girls come up with to get out of hard work.”

I tried to contain the grimace on my face at the prospect of planning an event where I’d have to hire girls to serve vodka with their ‘titties’. “I understand where you’re coming from, Mr. Perkinson, but I believe you’d be much better served with someone whose entire focus is on event planning. I will oversee everything, of course, but as the account manager, I have to keep track of everything with this launch, not just the part—”

“Girl, do I need to go to your boss and tell him you can’t do the job I’m asking? And paying for, I might add.” Perkinson’s cool blue eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his seat, and I knew with uncompromising clarity that I hated that man. I hated him, because I knew I was going to bend over backwards to please him, even though he was the biggest prick I’d ever met. And I’d met my fair share in London’s business world.

“No, of course not, Mr. Perkinson,” I managed through my teeth. “I’ll do your party myself. And it’ll be spectacular, I promise.”