Page 13 of Pride and Privilege

“Suck off, you mean?”

“When you’reyou, and you can get whatever it is you want, without even having to ask. Handed to you on a plate.”

He stiffened even further at that. Managed to look even angrier. Which was quite a feat.

“Right yeah,” he said with scathing sarcasm. “I got my job because of my dad. Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“It’s hardly a secret.”

“Yup, just a nepo-baby. Economics degree and MBA completely meaningless.”

She snorted, scrabbling for righteous indignation because it was like a life-raft in this storm of humiliation. “Sorry. I’mforgetting. You’re just a lowly intern made good. We both know hard work’s always rewarded, right? Even for people who didn’t row for Cambridge. Or grow up in a stately home, playing golf with the Ptomoly-Smythes—”

“You probably mean polo. Why not go all in with the fucking stereotypes?”

“Oh, sorry,” she scoffed, “I’m sure you just filled in your application form like everyone else and got chosen purely on merit?”

He flinched at the word, face dark. “No, Poppy. I fucking slept my way into it.”

“What I’m saying is thatyoudon’t have to. You never will have to.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Jesus. Do you really think it works like that for anyone? Do you think we’re going to let anyone near funds if they’re not competent and qualified? My ownbrothercan’t get a job at BlacktonGold. And no matter who my dad is, I wouldn’t last five minutes if I was handing out jobs to my fuckbuddies. You try explaining to your billionaire client that your latest hire just lost their pension fund but it’s OK because she’s really good at sucking your dick. For fuck’s sake! I’ve basically killed myself for years working to prove I deserve to be where I am. I’m not going to blow my reputation now for a fuckingfuck!”

Poppy jumped. He was shouting, and he was loud. But he was, she had to admit, making a fairly valid point. She could acknowledge that much, even through the nauseating embarrassment.

“No, Poppy, I don’t give out jobs in return for sex, whatever the rumours say.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “That’s what tonight was about, was it? You want a pay rise? A promotion? What?”

“I just… Everyone said…”

“Spit it out. What is it I’m supposed to be giving you in return for you fucking me?”

“I just wanted a chance. A start. Junior Analyst.”

“Oh, right. Not much, then? I’m guessing you rate your skills in the sack. Come on then. Get naked. Let’s see what you’re made of! No…? Does that sound fucking grim and disgusting to you? Because it does to me.”

She might actually be sick. The smooth wooden floor was blurring. All the surfaces were bright and glassy, windows all around, Roscoe’s voice bouncing off the walls.

“Don’t… Please don’t get me fired.”

Her voice was so small, it seemed to take him a moment to process what she’d said. He let out a breath even more disgusted than the last. “What kind of scumbag do you think I am? Actually. Don’t answer that. You’ve made it pretty clear.”

He picked up her coat and handed it to her. She followed him numbly down the hall and stepped straight through the door that he held open for her.

“Maybe try getting a job the normal way. Get some self-respect.”

The door closed behind her, and the soft click of the catch shattered the last fragment of her dignity. It was done. She was done. It could not be undone.

When she made her way down from the heights of the penthouse suite to the glittering foyer with its plants and marble and water feature, the building’s concierge stepped forwards to halt her trembling steps.

“Mr Blackton sent a car for you. To take you home. All paid for, he said to tell you. All part of the service.”

SIX

Maybe this would bethe new pattern of Poppy’s life. Every weekend spent regretting the Friday night before, dreading the Monday after.

“What’s cooking, Poptart?”

And every day spent regretting every life choice that had led her to live in this flat with Lecherous Dave.

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