She put down the handset and it looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her tone was light and her smile was bright and far too big for her face.
“Your father will send someone down for you soon,” she said. “Please take a seat.”
I took a seat, and helped myself to a coffee from the swanky machine. I flicked through a load of boring industry magazines that practically sent me back to sleep, and was flicking through the stuck-up, jargon-speak job adverts in the back of one when someone cleared their throat in front of me.
Another little minion, another little grey suit, but this one’s neck scarf was polka dot, trying to be trendy. In fairness, it nearly pulled it off, too.
Minion lady held out a hand, and I shook it.
“Caroline,” she said. “I’m on the intern team. I’ll take you to your interview.”
My interview, what a joke. I checked the clock on the way through reception, wondering what time I’d make it back for Samson, my poor abandoned Samson. Wondering if I’d manage a ride, just a little trot around the school, maybe a slow walk up the lanes. I wondered if Jack had picked his hooves out, and given him his farrier supplement and mixed up his dinner just the way he likes it.
I wondered about Samson all the way upstairs, via the glass-fronted lift, along the corridor with a million thick oak doors leading off, right up until our destination, where Caroline rapped on a door that said meeting room seven in boring etched letters.
She opened the door and gestured me in, and it seemed Caroline on the intern team wasn’t staying for my stupid interview.
There was only one figure in the room, and my stomach churned, fell over itself. I wanted to be cool, wanted to be off-handed and calm and not give a shit, but I was ten years old again, and completely not good enough, stressing out because my pumps had odd-coloured laces and he’d think I was an untidy, mismatched, good for nothing girl.
The sperm donor had aged in the six months since I’d seen him. His hair was considerably more grey and he seemed smaller somehow. He stood from his seat and beckoned to a chair opposite him, and for a moment I thought he was going to try and do something ridiculous like hug me, but he didn’t.
He couldn’t hide his disappointment as he realised what I was wearing. His eyes showed his disapproval, and it made me angry, it made me so fucking angry.
I sat in his stupid chair and folded my arms and then I let him have it.
“You can stick your stupid poxy interview,” I said. “I’m not taking a stupid job. Not here, not ever.”
“Please, Katie,” he said. “Please just hear me out.” He pretended to care, pretended to smile. “How have you been? It’s been months…”
“Good,” I snapped. “I’m really dandy, thanks very much.”
“I was hoping you could have made it to your Aunt Georgina’s birthday party.”
“I was busy,” I said. “Had shit to do. I’m sure Aunt Georgina coped just fine without me.”
He rustled some papers but didn’t stop looking at me. “Aunt Georgina wanted you there, she wanted all of her nieces and nephews there.”
“I’m sure she managed just fine with Verity to keep her company.”
He sighed. “That isn’t the point.”
I leaned forward. “So, what is the point? Why am I here? Why are you blackmailing me with Harrison Gables, knowing full well it’s likely my only shot? That’s a power-crazed douche move, you know? Even for you.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
“Please,” he said. “I was hoping we could have a productive discussion. About your future.”
“What about my future?” I sneered. “What business is it of yours?”
He sighed again and slid across a glossy brochure. Favcom Internship programme, investing in your future.
“I don’t need your investment,” I said. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“Six months,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking. You’ll be paid well, and treated fairly, and will come out of it with a lot more experience than you went in with.”
“I don’t need experience.”
“Everyone needs experience, Katie. You can’t spend the rest of your life looking after Samson.”
I hated the way he said his name. He had no right to speak his name.
“So, you planned to blackmail me with Harrison Gables?”
“I planned on incentivising you with Harrison Gables.”
“In-centi-what? Is that even a word?”
“Motivate,” he said, “Think of it as a reward, in the spirit it is intended.”
“A reward for what?”
“For