Page 58 of A Lot to Unpack
‘I’ve tried, Paige, really I have. But he’s not giving me anything,’ I reply. ‘He doesn’t even need an assistant, so I’m not even being given work to do. There’s just no way to get close.’
‘Well, that’s classic him,’ she replies. ‘Not valuing women, for one. And not being reasonable – this is why we’re having to sneak around, to get the job done, because he won’t be helped.’
‘I know that I don’t know him as well as you do, but I was wondering if maybe, I don’t know… if I just… talked to him? Like, if I explained the situation?—’
‘No! Absolutely not,’ she insists. ‘Liberty, I’ve told you, if he knew what I was doing, he would bury me – and the whole company too.’
Except it’s not her doing it, it’s me. I’m the one who is having to lie to him.
‘And you’re part of this company, Liberty – your job and your bonus rely on you getting it done,’ she adds. ‘Listen to me, okay, I think you need the right motivation. You get this done for me, I’ll pay you your bonus the moment you’re back in London – five thousand pounds. Just think of the Christmas you could have with that.’
My jaw drops. A five-thousand-pound bonus? Is she serious? I quickly scramble to my feet.
‘Really?’ I blurt.
‘Really,’ she replies. ‘The heartache you would be saving people – it’s worth it.’
Five grand would go a long, long way to helping me get my own place. It’s a deposit and a chunk towards rent. A buffer, now that I’m earning again… well, so long as I keep earning, which means keeping this job, which means doing exactly as Paige says.
I flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
‘Okay, so what do I do?’ I ask. ‘I’m running out of ideas, nothing I’m trying is working. Do you have suggestions, hints, tips…?’
‘There’s only one sure-fire way,’ she says with a sigh. ‘You need to woo him.’
I sit bolt upright, like a woman possessed.
‘Woo him?’ I repeat back to her.
‘Yes, woo him, date him – feed his ego, he can’t resist that,’ she explains. ‘Seduce him. Whatever it takes. Get invited back to his room, distract him, swap the contract, and then make your excuses and leave. Don’t actually have sex with him, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ I repeat sarcastically, but she either doesn’t detect my tone or doesn’t care.
‘I’m not exactly a Bond girl,’ I point out. ‘Sexpionage isn’t really something I’m equipped for.’
And that’s putting it mildly. I’m not a naturally sexy person – not that I’m saying anything is wrong with me, or selling myself short, but it’s just a fact. I’m the kind of girl who gets trapped in revolving doors, and lifts, who makes scenes at weddings, and trips men on the ice. Any allure I have doesn’t manifest as objective sexiness, it comes in the form of a man I just met in Australia asking if I wanted to give a long-distance relationship a go.
‘Just pretend,’ she says.
Ha! So no reassurances, no pep talks. She agrees with me, but she wants me to fake it. A little white lie might have given my self-esteem a bit of a boost, y’know.
‘Fluff his ego,’ she says.
‘Fluff?’ I repeat back to her.
‘Yes, you know, like in porn…’
‘No?’ I blurt with a laugh.
‘Bat your eyes, give him lots of attention, compliments, keep eye contact, make sexually suggestive comments – this is easy, Liberty, really it is,’ she insists.
Stare at him, but blink at him. Pester him, tell him I want to… what?
‘Insider intel,’ she offers up. ‘Talk about biting him. Men love being bitten.’
Oh my God, do they? I know it’s been months since I had sex, but we’re not all biting each other now, are we? And, ugh, something about getting advice from a scorned woman about how to seduce her ex-husband is so, so gross. My ick alarm is going berserk.
‘You don’t have to do it,’ she reminds me, reading the silence. ‘Just make him think you will, get into his room, make the swap,get out again. Tell him your stomach is bad, you need the toilet, you have to go.’
