"The executive meeting rooms are in that direction, and you'll be expected to take refreshments down there to our clients-"
Evie lengthens her stride, trying to keep up with the brisk clip set by her guide. Wearing smart black heels seemed like a good choice this morning, but after thirty minutes on the Tube and fifteen minutes of this rapid-fire tour, she's starting to regret it.
"- and you may be occasionally called upon to take some notes. We have designated people for that, but you will act as a back-up. I trust that you have a passable shorthand."
The woman- Anne, did she say? Anna?- doesn't glance back as she says this. Evie eyes the tightly swept up back of Anne-maybe-Anna's head and gets the impression that she isn't meant to answer.
They turn a corner and, God, more hallways. There were clearly more offices than it appeared from the front desk, though not all of them seem to be occupied. They march past rows of opaque and identical glass walled rooms, thick carpets swallowing up almost all noise.
Anne-maybe-Anna is still ploughing ahead. "-don't misunderstand, the upper management obviously has their own personal secretarial staff, but you may be called upon to cover their duties should there be any holidays or sickness. I expect that won't be a problem." She rounds another corner and snaps to a stop so abruptly that Evie nearly walks into her, wobbling dangerously as she pivots backwards.
She's resisting the urge to lean down and check her ankle when she realizes that Anne-maybe-Anna is looking at her, eyebrows raised. Oh shit, she was expected to answer this time. "No, I – that is, no problem at all."
They're back where they started, tour obviously over. Anne-maybe-Anna gives her a tight-lipped smile and gestures towards the front desk. "You can go ahead and get started, then."
Evie sits obediently and waits until the foyer is empty to put her head down on the desk and groan.
Starrick finance. Insider trading.
To anyone else, he would have looked like yet another much-too-old man trying his luck with a much-too-young woman at the bar. But she paid for the drinks, Topping was a friend, and his sweet nothings were anything but romantic.
She'd first met him in the men's loos at the O2 conference centre, where he caught her in the middle of shuffling through the bin. She was slowly withdrawing her hands from the garbage, trying to get out the door before she died from humiliation, when he said "press badge, I see. Looking for evidence of heroin?"
She had a pretty good poker face. It was the natural by-product of Jacob's endless needling. But it was a spot-on guess, and she felt her mouth drop open.
He used his thumb to point over his shoulder. "He usually stashes the evidence behind the toilet. I think you'll find it there."
It had been her first front-page big scoop, back when she was usually relegated to sporadic event coverage. Porta-Party for Local Bigwig. Granted, it had been a slow news day. And yes, it was a terrible title, but it was a trashy paper. She survived it by assuring herself that everyone needed to start somewhere.
Ever since then, Topping would occasionally pop back into her life without warning. An unidentified number would send her a text with the name of a bar, usually somewhere out near Camden, and a time, usually late. All she had to do was show up. If she did, sure enough, he would melt out of nowhere and give her the sort of insider gossip that made editors salivate.
She didn't know where he got his info. She didn't know why he liked her. She had initially worried that he would ask for something unsavoury in return, but he never did.
Starrick finance. Insider trading.
The very next day, she marched into Henry's office and demanded the resources to begin investigating. Being a much better editor than she had ever enjoyed when working for the tabloids, he rubber-stamped his approval almost immediately. He even argued on her behalf to the higher ups when it became clear that she would need to take time away to properly pursue it.
Which is how she found herself, two weeks later, applying to work as temporary front-desk cover for Starrick Financial Industries, Incorporated.
Her feet are almost numb by the time she gets back to the flat. Screw feminine appeal; the office could deal with brogues tomorrow.
She can hear the familiar sounds of comic violence and rapid clicking as soon as she gets through the door, but her attention is grabbed by a delicious smell. It seems to be wafting from the three counters that the letting agency generously called "a fully equipped kitchen".
"Jacob, did you bake something?" she calls out.
The dramatic music pauses. "What?"
"That smell," she says, drifting towards it. "I didn't think you could manage anything harder than a ready-meal."
He's unruffled by her accusation, mostly because it's true. "Agnes brought it over earlier. Apparently Bertha's noticed that we don't do much of a weekly shop and she's worried that we're starving over here."
What nonsense, Evie thinks fondly, cutting herself a thick slice. If you had to have nosy neighbours, surely a couple of Scottish lesbians were the best possible kind.
Being a generous sort of person, she cuts a piece for Jacob as well.
When she flops onto the sofa, he's resumed button-mashing on the controller. They eat and she watches as someone in a dark hood jumps off the side of a building and lands with a thump in a pile of hay. None of the other characters in the game appear to notice or question a person suddenly falling out of the sky.
She feels the need to point out the obvious. "Hay or not, that jump would still probably kill you, you know."
He talks through a mouthful of currants and rum-rich sponge. "It's a game, killjoy."
"Chew with your mouth closed, please."
He ignores her. "Someone's looking a bit ladylike today. You never wear skirts to the office, Greenie must've been thrilled."
"I didn't go to the office," she says, feeling the tips of her ears turn pink. It had been a massive mistake to take Jacob to last year's annual Christmas party. He took one look at her awkwardly hovering editor and hadn't let up about it since. "Or at least, I didn't go to that office."
He takes his eyes off the screen for long enough to frown at her.
She spears another big chunk of cake. Bertha was generous with the rum in this one, bless her. "I've taken a front desk job at a place called Starrick Financial. It's in the City."
At this, he pauses the game and his frown becomes deeper. "You've taken a second job? Are you…" He breaks off awkwardly and runs a hand through his hair. "I can cover the flat for a while if we need to, you know that, right?"
The flat is, to put it generously, a dump. It's a leftover relic from the 70's and it looks every year of it. It has one bedroom and Jacob sleeps on the sofa; he took the spot by pointing out that he would much prefer her accidentally seeing him naked to him accidentally seeing her. She wasn't going to argue.
Even so, it's in Zone 3 and it's near the Piccadilly line. There's a Tesco a block away and a decent pub on the corner. Ergo, it costs a small fortune.
She waves her fork at him. "Such big-heartedness from Jacob Frye? To his sister? Alert the presses, can it be true?" He rolls his eyes and restarts the game while she snickers. "Don't worry, it's for a story. They're doing something dodgy and I'm there to snoop around- the paper has given me an advance."
He nods, vaguely interested. Everyone likes a good scandal.
She sinks back into the sofa with a groan. Her feet still hurt, her shoulders are stiff, and the day was a fast learning curve of intercom systems and scheduling software. "I don't want to cook. Feel like ordering in some takeaway?"
"Always. Curry?"
"Deal," she says, fumbling with her mobile. The number is saved in her favourites. Mother would be so appalled.
It's not until they're scooping up the remaining curry sauce with their poppadoms that she remembers to ask about his day.
"Fine," he says with a shrug. "Overnight shift, got in around 5. Big fancy party with lots of toffs and some oil barons. They wanted full security but nothing ever happens. My team was bored stiff by 10." He stands to collect the scattered remains of their meal. "I had to break up a fight at one point, but even that was more like corralling toddlers. Drunken toddlers."
"Any word from Uncle George?"
Uncle George wasn't actually their uncle, but he might as well have been. Similarly, Eden Security wasn't actually his baby, but it was a near thing. Which is why it was a shock to everyone when he suddenly cited work stress and up and moved to Majorca.
Jacob snorts. "I'd rather that he didn't get in touch, thanks. I appreciate that he left me in charge of the team, but the less I hear about 'Sunny Spain', the better it is for everyone."
Evie looks out the window, where rain is beginning to spatter against the panes. "Fair."
"At least security is better than CCTV duty." He perks up. "Tomorrow should be fun. We've been authorized to use some new tasers for the big software expo next week, and we've got to learn how to use them. I've rented a training area in the north and everything."
"You boys and your toys," Evie says absently, flicking quickly through channels on the television. News, home DIY, crime drama, more home DIY, quiz, another quiz… "Business is good, though?"
"You know how it is." He sinks back down on the sofa and snatches the remote from her hands. "Bad news for the world, good news for business. Some wanker shoots up a concert in Paris and everyone wants more security than the police can handle." He settles on Eight Out of Ten Cats and she decides she'll allow it.
They watch Jimmy Carr make a face at the camera. She pokes him. "You'll be careful, though, right?"
It's her worst nightmare: a day where Jacob isn't bored at work. It was just like him to take a job that required him to actually run towards disaster as everyone else runs away from it.
"Of course," he says, ruffling her hair. "And you won't let Starrick and his goons catch you rifling through their paperwork?"
"They'll never even know I was there."
"That would make you a terrible secretary."
She kicks him lightly while he laughs at his own joke.
Her next morning is less stressful, but more boring. She's about to go over the schedule one more time, just for something to do, when her phone lights up with the words STUPID BROTHER. She frowns. He's not usually a big one for texting.
wats the name of ur new work again
It's Starrick Financial UK.
Why?
they r HUGE sponsors 4 expo im at next week
I didn't think they did tech, that's weird.
can ask around if u like
Sure, that'd be great. Thanks.
but u have to take over dishes this week
You're an ass.
And no one types like that any more, moron.
ur just jealous
"Jesus," she mutters, rubbing her forehead. For a week's worth of Jacob's dishes, he had better learn something good. Her phone pings again.
jealous of my l33t skillz.
And just like that, she's already starting to regret giving him the go-ahead to help.
Oh well, she thinks, pushing her phone away. What's the worst that could happen?