Page 35 of The Worst Guy Ever
“I don’t know a thing about it,” he says dismissively.
My heart catches in my throat and my head rears back. I think this is the first time Andrew has ever lied to me. “You don’t knowa thingabout it? Then why are you shown as declined on the invite list?”
“I am?” He scoots closer to his screen and pulls up his calendar. “Oh yeah, I am. Hattie, look, do you know how much bollocks I get invited to? I decline about 90% of my meetings requests, and my diary is still jam-packed. You’re lucky you caught me, I’m due on a call with HR in two mins. I’m sure I would have assumed you were on the invite list too, I don’t know why you aren’t.”
“It’s called a Spirited reset away day? What is there to reset?”
“I have no idea. I’ll ask Lawrence when they get back.”
“Lawrence shouldn’t be resetting anything. He shouldn’t even be talking to the Spirited team without me present, so I don’t know what the hell he’s playing at organising an away day and leaving me out of it.”
“I—”
“I’m not finished! This is so frustrating, Andrew. And utterly embarrassing. It makes me look like a fucking intern or something, not the account director, which I’d like to remind you I have been for two years. Why is my job being pulled out from underneath me and nobody has the decency to even admit it?”
He hangs his head and lets out a heavy sigh. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on over at Spirited, but I will admit that we were asked for a bit of a freshen up, and they seem really happy with Lawrence’s work.”
I would laugh if I didn’t feel like he’s just stabbed me in the chest. A thousand questions rush through my brain all at once. Who said this, and when? Is this why Lawrence was brought on in the first place? How long has Andrew kept this a secret from me? What’s going to happen now? And why can’t anyone just be honest for five seconds?
“You’ve been on that account for bloody ages, anyway,” Andrew continues, his voice unusually high in a chipper attempt to placate me. “You’re ready for something more challenging.” This isn’t the olive branch I’m sure he intends it to be when I feel this cynical and insulted.
“What do you mean‘more challenging’?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got this call with HR shortly. Just be nice. Let me put some feelers out and see what’s in the pipeline.”I’d like to shove my foot up your pipeline, mate.
“What’s your call with HR about?”
He answers with a steely glare, and I know I’ve pushed my luck. “Why are you here, anyway?” he says, changing the subject. “This says you’re on leave today. That’s probably why you weren’t invited.”
“I still should have been made aware. I would have rescheduled my plans.”
“Isn’t it your friend’s wedding tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I answer, sulkily.
“Then get the fuck out of here,” Andrew booms, pointing at the door. “Take the day to switch off, spend time with your friends, and enjoy the weekend. This reset nonsense will just be a load of arse-licking, anyway. You hate that bullshit.”
“I might hate it, but I don’t want to be the only one not getting their arse licked.” Andrew raises his eyebrows and I stifle a laugh. “That came out wrong.”
Chapter 15
Hattie
I’matMoonshinemuchearlier than expected having left Megan, Kara and the mums with the hairdresser, my own needing nothing more than a quick run through with the straighteners. Maybe I should have stayed, but the three of us were together all night, so I asked Kara for her keys and said I’d do a final check to make sure everything was in order.
Truthfully, I needed some air before being around so many people today. It’s not even my wedding day and I’m nervous. The space looks absolutely stunning. String lights hang from the ceiling, bathing the normally dim room in a soft, warm glow. They’ve built a floral wall at the back of the stage, which, for today’s purposes, serves as an altar of sorts. Kara hired tables and chairs that are better suited to a wedding than barstools, and we’ve placed gauze pouches of confetti on each, along with the Order of Service cards Megan designed and printed.
All there is for me to do is pace. I didn’t sleep much last night, too busy replaying my conversation with Andrew and stressing about how to handle things on Monday. I stayed until 6pm, and nobody came back after the meeting, which means they all went to the pub and that pissed me off even more. The pub is where I get to work my true Hattie magic.
Clients love me because I’m a social butterfly. I network like a boss, ask fun and insightful questions, help put people at ease, and nobody’s glass is ever empty. Seriously, I can work a fucking room, and I like to give them a chance to see the side of me that’s not just work. I honestly don’t know why they wouldn’t want me there for the meeting.
I know it’s ridiculous to be this jealous, but I can’t get it out of my head. I pull up Instagram and search for Lawrence, who I do not follow but will absolutely stalk occasionally. Purely out of necessity, for potential ammunition and not any sort of desire to build a better connection with him, of course. I’ve locked my account so he’ll never be able to do the same back, but he’s a show-off, a feed full of photos of him out in bars and restaurants, posing in front of cars and private pools at who knows where.
He’s at the top of my search history.Shit.I must have forgotten to delete his name the last time I checked. When I pull up his profile, there are no new posts, but there are a few stories. I tap them open and sure enough, there’s the classic pints on the table photo. Predictable. So much for fresh new ideas, eh, Andrew?
There’s nothing much to report. It’s a typical Friday piss-up, and I’m about to close the app when something in the background of his last story catches my eye. Not something.Someone.
I press my thumb against the screen and hold it up to my face. I want to zoom in, but I can’t remember if I can take a screenshot without him getting an alert. Things change so often on these bloody apps. I can’t risk it.
