Page 102 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“If you want me to go freelance, I want a higher day rate.” I feel sick saying it, when all this is about the magazine not having enough money, but he just said they need me and I’ve been underpaid for years.
“A raise?” says Crispin, as though I’ve asked for the crown jewels. “Anna, do you understand what’s happening here?”
“Yes,” I say, keeping my cool. “I’ve been here a long time. I know the magazine inside out. You asked me to step up with thiscolumn, to deliver something different; I have done that. I’m writing the most-read page in the online publication. With Jonathan stepping down and Will leaving, you’re going to need continuity, my connections and standing within the local community. You’re offering less security and you’re slashing your overhead; it stands to reason my day rate should increase.”I can’t believe I’m saying this.
“Fine, we can discuss a small raise,” Crispin says with a frown. “Just—”
“I think ten,” I say, cutting him off, about to suggest a 10 percent raise, but now Will is shaking his head and subtly raising two fingers. “A two percent—” He shakes his head again and mouths “twenty.” “A twenty-five percent raise,” I blurt out.What made me say twenty-five? That’s a ludicrous amount. He’s never going to pay me that.
“Twenty-five percent?” Crispin asks, balking. “Somewhere closer to four or five might be attainable.”
“Twenty percent would take her up to what I’m on,” Will says. “Anna has more experience than me. She’ll be invaluable for a smooth transition.”
“Fifteen,” says Crispin, his jaw tensing. He tugs at his collar, then pulls his shirtsleeves down beneath his jacket.
“Twenty. If that’s what Jonathan was paying Will, that’s what I’m worth.” I hold firm, my hands clasped in my lap, my gaze unwavering.
“That’s a little ambitious, Anna,” Crispin says, looking ruffled.
“And when was ambition ever a bad thing?” I say, and now I see Will smile from the corner of my eye.
“Fine,” Crispin says. He shakes his head, but there is admiration in his eye. “Welcome to Arch Media, Ms. Appleby.”
I leave his office feeling exhilarated. Did that really happen? Today has been a pinball of emotions.
“Thank you,” I say, turning to Will, then hold out my arms tosee if he will let me hug him. He does, though his body feels tense.
“I didn’t do anything. That was all you,” he says, his voice soft.
“You’re really moving to Paris then?” I ask, my eyes drawn to his lips.
“I am.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes.
“You aren’t wearing your glasses.”
“Someone told me I didn’t need to hide behind them.” He gives me a wry smile. “That I didn’t need them to look smart.”
“Will, I’m so sorry—” I start to say.
“I’msorry,” he says, cutting me off. “For reading things so wrong, for turning up in that state on Friday. I was way out of line.”
I want to scream that he wasn’t, that he didn’t. “Will you stay in touch? Let me know how you get on?” I ask hopefully.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can,” he says, and I know I deserve that. “They’re not going to make me work my notice. Any loose ends with the column or submitting theTimesarticle, you can ping me via e-mail.” He pauses. “And I think we’ve been over everything else.” The cold finality in his voice makes me want to cry. He is hurting. I hurt him, despite my best intentions. “I’m having a few leaving drinks on Saturday, inviting everyone from work. I’d appreciate it if…”
“If I didn’t come.” I finish his sentence, and he nods. “I understand. Well, good-bye then. You’ll be brilliant, I know you will.”
“Good-bye.” He gives me one final nod, then turns to go. My shoes feel like lead weights, and I blink back tears. I don’t want to follow him into the office while I’m feeling emotional, so I turn and walk the other way, toward the living room, where I find Jonathan still sitting alone.
“How’s the end of days?” he asks mournfully when he sees me come in.
“Not too bad,” I reassure him.
“My grandfather would be turning in his grave. I have let everyone down,” he says, closing his eyes, leaning back in his leather armchair.
“No, you haven’t,” I say, crossing the room to put an arm around him. “Times change, tastes change. It’s happening to a lot of print magazines; you can’t blame yourself.”
“You’re to be kept on? I told Crispin he needs you and Will to stay.”
