Page 3 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

As I say this, I feel my anticipation rising. A sense of excitement stirs within me. Even my disappointment about last night cannot quell my expectations.

‘Anything exciting?’ Anya asks.

‘Not really.’ Being slightly, and probably unjustifiably, miffed that Anya didn’t at least text me the opportunity to join them, I decide I’m keeping this one close to my chest. ‘Talk to you later.’

As I head for the ground-floor meeting rooms, my phone pings in my handbag. Pulling it out to switch it to silent, I see it’s a text from Dylan, my childhood friend, who rather annoyingly assumed the self-awarded status of being my ‘surrogate big brother’ at just seven years old. Still irritated that he was a key factor in my missing the events of the evening before, I almost don’t bother reading his message. But seeing I’m several minutes early for my meeting, curiosity takes over. I open the message and read it.

Good luck today, Squirt. You’ll smash it!

Despite being peeved at him, I smile at the words in front of me and quickly tap out and send a response.

Thanks. I shouldn’t need luck. This is hopefully just to formalise it. I’ve already done all the hard work.

As I read back my response to him, I feel a swell of excitement. Getting my promotion will be real recognition of the progress and effort I’ve made in the last year. I’ve worked my backside off to deliver hard-hitting projects, completed the leadership development programme – supposedly a guaranteed ticket to the top – and my manager, Derek, agreed at my last appraisal that I’m ready for that next step. Perhaps a senior management role in internal or external communications? And my own team of consultants reporting to me. Amazing.

As I get lost in my ideas, my phone lights up in my hand with another message from Dylan.

Confident bugger. Still think it’s a load of corporate nonsense, but hope you get whatever poncey role you’re after.

Rolling my eyes at Dylan’s indelicate (but unsurprising) observation, I stuff my phone in my bag and stride along the corridor to my meeting, my mind now firmly focused.

‘Liv, come on in and take a seat.’ Derek ushers me inside the moment I reach the meeting room, and quickly closes the door.

‘How are you?’ I consider asking how he enjoyed the previous evening’s events but think better of it; I don’t want to seem bitter that I missed out.

‘The usual, really.’ Derek, brisk as ever, gives nothing away, though his under-eyes look slightly dark and puffy, suggesting too much booze and not enough sleep.

He doesn’t ask me how I am in return, but this is nothing unusual.

I sit quietly for a moment, expecting Derek to start the conversation, but he’s scrolling through his emails on his phone. I study him surreptitiously, wondering where this elusive party animal emerged from the previous night. He strikes me as more of a hot-cocoa-on-the-couch-with-a-copy-of-Reader’s-Digest-kind-of-guy.

As he’s still not showing any urgency to kick things off, I decide to seize the opportunity to score some additional points before we get down to the important stuff.

‘That was a great response we got on the merger survey. Some really useful insights we can use.’

‘Sure.’ Derek nods absent-mindedly, barely looking up from his phone.

‘I’ve had some ideas about the follow-up work,’ I continue, undeterred. ‘It would also be a great external PR piece to show the work we’re doing. You know: a business at the forefront, putting people at the heart of our success. I can write it and let you see the first draft—’

The meeting room door suddenly bursts open, interrupting me.

‘Sharon.’ Derek almost leaps out of his seat, as his own larger-than-life manager enters the room.

‘Sorry, I’m late,’ Sharon blusters. ‘Those damn lawyers of ours, can’t make a decision on their own. Makes me wonder what I’m paying them for.’

I look from Derek to Sharon, confused. ‘I’m meeting both of you?’

‘Liv, apologies. Did Derek not mention it?’ Sharon throws him a sideways look.

‘No,he didn’t.’ My tone is deliberate; but lost in his phone once again, Derek misses this prompt. ‘That’s fine, though.’

What’s going on here? Is this a good sign: my promotion is in the bag, and the Director of Communications has turned out in person to offer it to me? Doesn’t really sound like something she would do.

‘Right, shall we get down to business?’ Sharon directs this at Derek, who has to almost surgically remove himself from his emails.

‘Eh, yes, sure thing, Sharon.’

‘So, Liv.’ Sharon leans over the table, giving me an unwanted eyeful of her huge, tanned and dimply cleavage. ‘You probably know all mergers come with a need to review the company structure.’

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