Page 13 of The Worst Guy Ever
I’ve never run for a man in my life, and I’m not about to start now, but I get up from my desk, brush oat crumbs off my lap and make my way along the bank of busy colleagues towards Andrew’s door.
He’s left it ajar, but I knock anyway and lean my head through the gap. “You wanted to see me?”
“Ah, come in, take a seat,” Andrew says, gesturing to the unoccupied chair next to the one which is very much occupied by a guy I’ve never seen before. I perch on the edge, glancing back and forth between the two men, trying to get a sense of what’s going on here.
Andrew’s mouth pinches into a straight line, and the other man smiles widely, leaning back into his seat and spreading his thighs. He’s young and fresh-faced, with floppy fair hair pushed back behind a thin elastic headband. He’s kind of cute. I hope he’s not a client, then maybe I can take him for a ride. Though dressed in dark jeans, clean trainers, and a red and white striped sweatshirt, I have an overwhelming urge to point and shout, “There’s Wally!” The tension in the air tells me this isn’t the time.
“Harriet, this is Lawrence Desmond.”Two first names. Idiot. Just like Rob Morgan.“Lawrence, this is Harriet Buchanan, who you’ll be working alongside.” Shit. Not a client, a colleague. That’s worse. I don’t mess around with people I work with, and definitely not ones fresh out of uni.
“Call me, Loz,” the graduate says, sticking one open palm out in my direction.
“Hattie,” I reply, shaking his hand a little more firmly before shoving it back in his direction. Addressing Andrew, I lean forward and cock my head. “I didn’t realise we were taking on new interns?”
“We’re not. Lawrence is joining us here at the DFR Group. He’s going to be providing support on the Spirited account.”What the hell?I manage that account, I have done for years.
“Why?” I ask. The teenager laughs through his nose and makes an enemy of me.
“What do you mean why?” says Andrew.
“This is the first I’m hearing that the Spirited account,myaccount, requires any support. Is there something I need to know?” My fingertips grip tight to the edge of my chair. This is not normal business practice. Have I messed up somewhere and not realised?
“It was felt that the size of the account warranted an additional person to support the needs of the client.”Ah, what a heaping spoonful of bullshit.I’ve been in this business long enough to know corporate spin when I hear it.
“So my role is a job-share now?”
“No Harriet, you’re the account director, Lawrence is here to offer support.”
“But I don’t need any support?” This doesn’t make any sense. “So I don’t need him.” I refuse to look at the child. I’m not having any of this.
“This isn’t up for negotiation,” Andrew says sternly. “Lawrence is on your account from today. I need you to bring him up to speed and identify the areas where he can add the most value for the client.”
Andrew has been my boss for most of the time I’ve been at DFR, the company I joined fresh out of university. Although we’ve both worked our way up, he’s always kept me under his line of management. We have a great working relationship, so I know something is afoot when he’s talking to me as my superior and not as my friend. The fact that he’s calling me Harriet is even worse. I’m in trouble and I’ve no idea why.
“Where were you before?” I ask, turning to face the infant beside me.
“Arden Murthly,” he says, proudly.
“I’ve never heard of them,” I say, then wince. They’re one of the biggest advertising agencies in the country and a key competitor. “I’m kidding. Of course I’ve heard of them. What did you do there?”
“Account director, same as I’ll be doing here.”
“You seem a bit young to be—”
“Hattie,” Andrew warns. We’ve all been through enough diversity and inclusion training to know that age shouldn’t be a factor in the workplace. That always makes me laugh when I look up the chain of command in our company and see, yep, you’ve guessed it, a sea of old, white, male faces in every senior leadership role.
“I’m twenty-four,” he smirks. “I was the youngest account director on staff there, but I graduated early. Starred first from Cambridge.”Ugh, prick.Let’s not discuss the fact that I didn’t get into Cambridge back when I went to university a lifetime ago.
“What experience do you have with food and beverage accounts?” I zone out when he rattles off a list of some of the biggest brands in the UK. If I was recruiting for my team, I’d hire him off that list alone.
“This isn’t an interview, Harriet,” Andrew interrupts. He stands, and the baby and I follow suit. “Take Lawrence and set him up at the empty station next to yours. Lawrence, here are your login details and welcome pack from HR.” Andrew hands him a manilla folder, opens his laptop and gets back to his own work.
I glare down at Andrew, but he refuses to meet my eye.
“Follow me,” I grunt in Lawrence’s general direction, fling open the door and strut back to my desk.
“This is my desk,” I waft my hand over my stuff, both annoyed and embarrassed at the state I’ve left it in. A half-eaten protein bar, two empty coffee cups, and a well-thumbed copy of the latest pick for Sunshine Book Club lay amongst print-outs of the latest focus group feedback I was about to review before this idiot appeared to ruin my week. It’s just my luck that this month’s book has a topless model on the cover, and I scramble to hide it. Must thank Kara for that one.
The desk next to me has been free for months and I’ve gotten used to having the extra space to spread out. I sweep my paperwork back over the line where our two desks meet and nudge his chair out with my foot. “And this is yours. Get yourself logged in and I’ll be right back.”
