Page 52 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
. . . until later that day, when he came past my desk. Yaz had gone upstairs to talk to the design team and Nervous Jane and Karim were at a meeting with an agent, so it was just me on my own, and I could see Guy register that. He paused and retraced his steps.
‘You’ve put that lipstick on again.’
‘I have.’ I tried not to look too pleased that he’d noticed.
He had a quick look around and then sat on the edge of my desk. Oh my golly. One of my favourite fantasies about Guy starts like that. I could feel my temperature rise in response. He stared at my mouth and then leant towards me and inhaled.
‘And you smell less like a bar,’ he said. ‘But still quite intoxicating.’
My heart rate picked up. I needed to make a move. Now was my chance. I cleared my throat. ‘So, erm, Guy, earlier in the lift, you said you were—’
‘Ah Guy,’ interrupted Cara, ‘there you are!’
Guy leant back and faced Cara, and I tried not to jump away guiltily and instead acted like it was completely normal that Guy Carmichael was sitting on my desk.
Cara glanced briefly at me and then returned her attention to Guy. ‘Charlotte’s looking for you,’ she said meaningfully.
‘I take it she’s still not happy about Glasgow?’ said Guy.
I bent my head and started opening various documents on my laptop in a bid to pretend I wasn’t there. Yaz told me earlier today that Amelia said that Charlotte was getting used to the idea of a week in Scotland until yesterday evening, when she apparently found out she’d be going for one to two months.
‘No,’ said Cara. ‘That’s an understatement. She’d like to talk it through with you.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ said Guy Carmichael, brusquely standing up. ‘You’ll have to manage it, Cara.’
I could sense Cara bristle, even staring down at my keyboard. ‘But Guy,’ said Cara stiffly, ‘Charlotte’s not even on my team—’
Guy cut her off. ‘You’re on themanagementteam, Cara. I’m sure you can handle it. I’ve every confidence in you.’
He strode off manfully, all commander-in-chief vibes. As Cara swung in the opposite direction, I could just hear her muttering under her breath, ‘I am power, beauty and love. I manifest respect.’ It’s quite gratifying to realise that even people as successful, together and professional as Cara still need a little help from the Universe.
Guy was in meetings all afternoon so I still haven’t found out what he was thinking. Will rectify this as a matter of urgency tomorrow.
I am grateful for:
Lucozade, lifts, lipstick
Date: Wednesday 11 JanuaryTime: 3.45pm
My thoughts and reflections:
So today, I was in bright and early and feeling hopeful. I was wearing full make-up before I even got on the tube, in my Zara trousers that are indistinguishable from Tom Ford’s, and smelling of Astrid’s Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume. Of course I didn’t get so much as a glimpse of Guy, but that didn’t bother me, because given what she’s already done for me this week, I had complete faith in the Universe.
Even my worst meeting of the week – Creative Review with the heinous Harry Piles – couldn’t dampen my gratitude. He is probably my least favourite person at Carsons and is even worse than Security Lydia. He’s not deliberately mean like Lydia but he is impervious – he just doesn’t really care about anyone else. I think you could burst into flames in front of him and he’d just use it as an opportunity to warm his slippers. According to Drunk Stephen, Harry only got in because his father was second cousin twice removed to the CEO at the time. He certainly didn’t get in based on aptitude, because he doesn’t have a creative bone in his body. He’s lazy (so am I) but he doesn’t even try to hide it and he doesn’t get anything done (I do get stuff done, and my particular form of laziness means I’m good at making things more efficient).
And all of this would be less bad if it weren’t for the fact that someone promoted him to Deputy MD, which means it directly impacts all the people under him or junior to him, including me. He’s at the same members’ club as Guy Carmichael so good luck complaining about Harry. The worst thing about him is he fundamentally believes he’s better than everyone and that he alone has his finger on the social pulse. So meetings consist of Harry asking people for their opinions and then telling those people why their opinions are wrong. Of course he takes all the credit for other people’s work (I swear he got promoted to Deputy MD on the back of stealing my idea for repackaging the One World series) whilst blaming others for his own awful ideas.
Today’s meeting wasn’t going well. Harry had just told Drunk Stephen that his cover was too retro and that he needed to understand that young people today were a bit cooler than that; I thought Drunk Stephen was going to punch him – he’s not a fan of Harry’s signature cravat and white trainer look. But then the door opened and Guy Carmichael put his head round it.
I sat up straighter (along with everybody else because he’s that authoritative) and took a sip of my raw juice, hoping he’d notice that I’m usually a healthy, dynamic woman, rather than a hungover pill-popper.
‘Harry,’ he said, looking serious. ‘I need a quick word with Editorial. Let’s see… Alice – could you come?’
Yes, I could, Guy. Probably very fast.
‘Alice?’ Harry frowned. ‘Are you sure? Don’t you want Yaz? She’s more senior.’
‘Happy to help,’ said Yaz.
