Page 29 of Vivacity
We saw him last week and there was a lot of angry whispering between the boys
Now I know why
Your boss is a dick. Why can’t he leave them alone? Fucking predator
You and I both know that’s not how equity markets work, babes
The only thing that matters is creating shareholder value
You’re assuming I actually know, or want to know, anything about how equity markets work
Did you know before you joined?
No! Of course not! But I got wall-crossed AKA totally blindsided about 3 mins into my 1st day on Monday
Brutal
It’s inevitable I’ll end up in a meeting with your in-laws at some point. Pls tell them I’m not the enemy!!!
Obvs
They wouldn’t think that anyway
Let’s try to stay out of it as much as possible, huh?
Stay out of what? I have no idea what you’re talking about x
That’s my girl xxxx
CHAPTER 15
Sophia
It’s nine on Saturday morning when I show up on Ethan’s very nice doorstep in Notting Hill. He has an enormous pad on Elgin Crescent, just a couple of hundred metres away from the development my pal Lotta’s company built. It’s a shame they don’t know each other, but Notting Hill’s not exactly the kind of place where you knock on someone’s door to borrow a cup of sugar, and I’m sure Ethan would find Lotta’s vivacity levels even more distasteful than he seems to find mine.
Unlike Elgin, Lotta’s modern, environmentally precocious baby, Ethan’s home is a classic, white-stuccoed Georgian villa, all generous proportions and gorgeous features. The security detail on the gate lets me through with a smile and a nod—he’s one of the guys Ethan has on rotation—and I advance down an immaculate sandstone path. It’s flanked by a herringbone border that divides it from the perfect front garden: tiny pure-white pebbles; discreet water feature; imported ancient olive tree for a spot of character. I wonder if Ethan has his housekeeping team polish the pebbles. I wouldn’t put it past him.
He asked me yesterday if I’d be willing to come over and plough through some work today ahead of the meeting that the Montagues have finally agreed to next week.
‘Only deal-related stuff,’ he clarified swiftly. The seraphim have a strict office-hours policy for the sexy stuff. Rock-hard boundaries are critical in this career. Usually, we have a Monday-to-Friday policy full stop to ensure that we get the necessary distance from the rigours of the job, but at crunch times like this I would never play that card. Besides, I’m a former banker. Working all hours on a deal is in my blood and, if I’m honest, I love it. It’s so much more fun than the boring day-to-day stuff.
A woman answers the front door. She’s dressed all in black, her greying hair tied neatly back. The housekeeper, I assume. She smiles but doesn’t make a move to introduce herself, so I do.
‘Sophia.’ I stick my hand out jauntily. ‘I’m Ethan’s new executive assistant.’
An executive assistant in fabulous burgundy-coloured leather leggings and a big black Moncler sweater, because it’s far too cold for my liking, but hey-ho.
‘I’m Susan.’ She shakes my hand. ‘I’ll show you to his study.’
The house is like a very beautiful mausoleum, the hallway a chilling, if flawless, mix of white marble floors inlaid with black borders, white walls, and a couple of seriously inaccessible sculptures—again in white marble. A marble cantilevered staircase that I wouldn’t want to let a toddler near. Total death trap. It’s the polar—appropriate word—opposite of the kind of hallway you’d want to come home to after a walk on a freezing cold day.
Nothing about it surprises me, knowing its owner.
Susan leads me off to the left, down a white marble corridor. She knocks briskly on a white-painted panelled door and opens it without waiting for an answer. ‘Miss Sophia here to see you,’she announces and leaves me with a little nod that looks a lot likerather you than me.
Ethan isn’t at his desk but at the small, circular table to one side of the room, papers and a laptop scattered in front of him. To one side—Hallelujah—is a tray with a French press and a couple of coffee cups.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he says tiredly, gesturing to the chair beside him. ‘Grab a seat.’
