Page 51 of Her Devil

Liselle thanks her whilst we wait, completely confused. Nobody says a word as we look at each other and attempt to absorb the surroundings. Nobody bothers to ask Liselle who it is or why we’re here, or any of the other million and one questions that are no doubt tumbling around everyone else’s minds as well as mine. No point.

“Sorry about that, sometimes it just won’t wait,” a woman says, closing the door behind her as she comes in, heading straight for Liselle and offering her a hug and air kisses.

“Don’t worry, this was totally a last-minute thought. Thank you so much for making time to see us.”

“Oh, of course.” They smile, turning to look at the six of us as we look from Liselle’s red hair and black mask to the slightly older woman’s silky grey locks. They’re dyed, not aged, and the balayage is done perfectly. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” she asks, her amusement clear.

“Sorry, I’m afraid not,” Charlotte replies with a shrug, clearly the bravest of us all.

“Well, I guess that’s to be expected. She pours a glass of water for herself, taking a sip before joining us at the table. “I’m the editor-in-chief for WOMAN magazine, I’m also part of the board of directors for one of the largest publishing houses in the world.”

“Wait, what?” Penelope asks. “You’re Lauren DeMarco?”

“The one and only.”

“The woman behind DeMarco bags?” Stephanie asks, holding her purse up as an example.

“Indeed.”

“So, you’re a designer, an editor, and you coordinate a huge publishing house?” Aimee confirms. “Talk about girl power!”

“Well, I don’t do all of those things alone, but yes,” she agrees. “And one day some of you will be able to do these kinds of things too.”

“Sure,” Aimee replies with an awe-struck yet dismissive wave of her hand. “We can absolutely all do this.”

“Well, no, because Lauren here does all that,” Liselle intervenes. “But the point is, that this opportunity opens doors for you. You can be more than just the woman behind the powerful husband, if you want to be. Each couple dynamic is different.”

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

We can be more than just trophy wives for high-powered men with too much money that are only interested in sticking their dicks into the newest office assistant. This ‘step-up’ into the world of the elite can be ours too.

For the first time since we moved into the house, a sense of excitement creeps over me. This doesn’t have to be a waste of a year, or two, biding my time until I can follow my dreams.

It doesn’t have to be a stop-gap. Instead, it could be the start of something. A way to get that practice of my own quicker, to build contacts with people that need my help but don’t have the ability to pop into an office for a regular catch-up.

This could be a way to fulfil my dreams, bigger and better than I ever imagined they could be, to go further than I ever dreamed. There’s only one catch, I’ve got to be on the arm of one of the Devils of Pendleton Prep, and more than one of them has already set me in their sights.

“Okay, quickly, Lauren has five minutes for us,” Liselle says. “Any questions.”

“Why purses?” Stephanie asks, just as Penelope asks, “How did you become editor-in-chief?”

“Purses because I love them, and I started as a writer when I was at Pendleton Prep. Time, perseverance, and some friends in high places got me the rest.”

“Now, that’s not to say you didn’t work for it,” Liselle intervenes. “I remember those late nights and early mornings you used to do.”

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve got to be willing and able to put in the time and effort,” Lauren continues. “But you’ll see… well, some of you will.”

She smiles broadly at each of us, clearly excited about the prospects that wait for us at the other end of whatever the hell this is… but not everyone will be afforded these luxuries.

It’s a strange place to find yourself, sitting in front of someone worth millions and contemplating if one day that could be you, if only you could get on board with the right guy. So much of this hangs on what happens with the Devils that it makes me uneasy.

It’s all well and good dangling a shiny carrot in front of us, but at the end of the day, we’ve got to back the right man. And with no idea of the criteria required, how can you be sure to pick the right one?

“Sorry to interrupt,” the clipboard lady says from the doorway. “Your next appointment is expecting you shortly.” She nods quickly before closing the door again.

“Well, I guess that’s time up,” Liselle adds with a clap. “Thank you so much for making the time whilst you’re here. We’ll have to catch up next time you’re in Milan.”

Who the hell is this woman, and what on earth is she doing in Milan? Another designer perhaps… someone we might recognise, otherwise why wear the mask all the time? It’s infuriating.

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