Page 2 of Fix Them Up
I winced. ‘I’m sorry.’
Willa sighed. ‘I know.’
Willa deserved better than this. Before Dad died, I hadn’t been a perfect employee, but I got the job done. I thought once the grief had subsided, things would go back to normal. But it had been eight months since his funeral, and nothing had changed. Autumn, my favourite season, came and went. So did the red and gold lights of Christmas and New Year. I walked through them, numb and disinterested.
It was February and I was still going through the motions each day. Every night, I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
Willa should have someone focused on client work, someone present, someone who coaxed clients back, not gave them the ick. After all, Willa had her own problems. Clients were fleeing Horizon Creative by the day and Willa was more and more desperate by the day. She even asked me to write client pitches, which wasnotmy forte. My spelling was atrocious.
Willa ran a hand down her face, paused and then turned to Kieran. ‘Kier. You’re on the QRS account.’
Kieran flinched but nodded – the ever-loyal robot lapdog.
‘Kat, let’s talk,’ Willa angled her head towards her office.
I walked past Clara and Kieran, looking down at their laptops like nothing had happened.
Freaks.
I followed Willa to her office; my eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her round bum. I was no better than a man.
‘Your arse looks insane in that dress, Wills.’ This was not appropriate for work, but given we were old uni friends, I figured we were well past the usual employee-employer relationship.
‘No sweet talking,’ Willa added over her shoulder, ‘but thank you.’
Willa was in her ‘slay your enemies’ look today, which had been getting more action than usual recently. I wondered if it had something to do with Aidan, the sales director ofDunamis. Willa insisted there was nothing but hatred between her and Aidan, the son of her dad’s best friend, but I wasn’t convinced. There was always a weird energy about them. Sometimes, I spotted them marching out of the lifts, bickering, only to part in a huff to their separate offices.
Then, I would see Aidan staring at Willa as the two of us trotted through the foyer for after-work drinks, not a hint of hatred on his bespectacled face – instead, a sad sort of longing. I asked Willa about their strange energy because I liked my head on my shoulders.
‘Right,’ Willa announced, settling into her pink velvet office chair.
Was she going to fire me? Oh my god. Was I about to be fired by my best friend? Because that would be a new low.
I blew a curly strand of hair from my face. ‘Willa. Please. I swear I’ll put together some extra client pitches. I’ll do sales pitches for you in person if you want. Iwillpull myself together.’
‘Relax, Kat. It’s nothing bad. Sit down a sec.’
I lowered myself into one of the two chairs opposite her huge desk, which was organised with pastel highlighters and Post-its – the complete opposite of mine, which was littered with wrappers and bits of paper with gum squished in. Willa’s office was painted a muted plaster pink. It was subtly girly – the kind of pink that wouldn’t put off her dad, who might question if she would be taken seriously with Barbie-pink office walls.
Willa flicked her wrist. ‘Okay. Explain.’
‘Explain?’
‘The house listing. Every time I look at you, you’re staring at it. In the office. When we go get lunch. Even when we’re at Elias’s, and I know you usually like to stare at Elias.’
‘I think you mean you like looking at Elias.’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
Elias’s was the Italian bar and restaurant opposite the office. Willa and I went every Friday for after-work drinks, sat at the bar and ordered Campari sodas. It helped that Elias, the owner, looked like a tanned Greek god. Unfortunately, he was very gay but declared that he adored us anyway. And the feeling was mutual.
I took a deep breath. ‘My dad left me this house. It’s his childhood home. It meant a lot to him. At least, I think it did. You know we weren’t… close. For years.’
‘Right.’
‘Well, he has left it to me. It took a while for probate to gothrough, but the solicitor called me last week and confirmed it. It’s mine. And I had no idea he’d even bought it. I think it was going to be his next project. I was going to sell it and try to buy a flat here. But I could only afford somewhere between here and Reading nearer Mum and Graham.’
‘Womp womp.’
