Apologies for the fact its taken like, a million years to update. Work's been taking over my life and I literally haven't had time for creative writing until suddenly last weekend I sat and churned out three whole chapters on the notepad on my iPhone (so much typing - my poor thumbs!) whilst on the train from London to Bournemouth. So, whilst it's taken me more than a month to update, I now have two more complete chapters to upload after this one (I'll still stagger them by a few days) - so plz forgive me!
Super huge thanks to everyone who has already read and reviewed the first chapter! I was a bit worried this wouldn't get received too well, so thank you for the [very slight] ego boost! ;)
Beca
The air is crisp and cold, and a stark contrast to the heat that had built up inside of the coffeeshop (she refuses to admit that she may be a little hot under the collar after speaking to a certain gorgeous redhead).
She raises her coffee cup to her lips, and holy shit, the taste that she's been anticipating all morning is just as incredible as she'd hoped. She takes another mouthful of coffee, her brain in pure bliss as her cravings are finally satisfied, before she moves to stand with a group of pedestrians waiting for the traffic light to turn.
As she waits, she savours a few more mouthfuls of coffee, allowing the bitter liquid to completely flood her senses, and she's almost on the verge of letting a moan of pure bliss escape from her lips but she manages to hold back.
The Associated Newspapers' building is a minute's walk from the junction, and as she gets closer the crowd thins to reveal only journalists. She nods to a couple, offers a polite smile here and there if she recognises someone but really, there's more than 200 journalists at the paper and they're lucky if she even manages to remember half of their names.
Someone automatically holds the door open for her, and she's swept inside before she can even nod a curt 'thanks' to whomever it was. Inside, the lobby is high ceilinged and modern, all crisp whites and stone greys, and there's not a single person who doesn't look as though they're in a hurry to get somewhere.
Security buzz her through one of the gates without her even having to flash her pass at them, and she's quickly swept up into a crowd as they hurry into an elevator that's just pinged it's way to the ground floor.
Beca's last into the enclosed metal box, and instantly all eyes scatter; dropping to the floor, to the ceiling, to the framed copy of the paper hung on the brushed steel wall, each desperate to avoid eye contact with their editor.
She almost wants to laugh, but she fights it back in preference of wanting to appear professional. She turns around so that she's facing the elevator doors, now shut, a smirk growing on her face at how nervous her reporters still get when they're forced into the same room as her. The respect the staff now have for her is quite a new thing, and it's almost laughable how much things have changed since she's taken over as editor. The struggling London paper, with its slowly dwindling circulation figure and reputation, was in dire need of a revamp just eight months ago (or a firm boot up the ass, as Beca preferred to call it).
Beca Mitchell, editor of the bumbling Daily Echo (and the reasonably popular Muse, Beca's very own start-up music magazine, her one pride and joy) was hardly the leader many were expecting when The London Times' editor of eleven years retired early. Little old 5'2" Beca Mitchell with her measly 10 years of experience under her belt was hardly a worthy contender compared to Luke fucking Benson, London Times' award winning sports editor of seven years and 24/7 pain in Beca's ass. Surprisingly she's offered the job over Luke, and god did the journalists protest to an inexperienced woman, of all people, being in charge, but she'd rather quickly seen to that. With her no-nonsense, risk taking attitude and a penchant for delivering the impossible, she's upped circulation figures, UMV's, advertising rates, and female readership numbers, as well as helped to lead the way in the digitalisation of British print media.
She's probably the best thing to happen to this paper, not that she's big headed about it one little bit, and by god does she deserve the respect she gets.
Her office is on the eighth floor, near the bullpen, and as the elevator doors ping open she's greeted by a chirpy, slightly too provocatively dressed, not that Beca's really complaining, Stacie.
She spares a glance at the clock on the wall, which informs her, miserably, that she's twelve minutes late - something that is practically unheard of for the editor. Stacie raises a questioning eyebrow in a playful manner, which Beca responds to with a grumbled "fucking coffee machine packed in this morning".
Stacie nods understandingly, fully knowing that Beca would be completely unable to function without her morning coffee, before whisking her off down the corridor towards the bullpen, rattling off Beca's diary for the day as they went.
Then 'pen is already alive and bustling with journalists rushing to finish columns before morning briefing, with the constant shrill sound of telephones piercing the air. Beca manages a few small nods to the small number of faces she recognises, only half listening to Stacie as she goes through this morning's press scan, when suddenly there's a flash of red hair in front of her. Beca has to do a double take because there's no way that gorgeous redhead from the coffee shop this morning works here without Beca already knowing about it. She blinks and stares again, and she's right, because it's not the same redhead, and Beca mentally scolds herself for calling that woman 'gorgeous' when she was downright rude and irritating. The redheaded woman in question in the The Times' bullpen is neither gorgeous nor the irritating woman from the coffeeshop this morning, and Beca offers a polite smile in her direction by way of apology for being caught gawping before returning her attention to Stacie.
"... phone call with John to discuss next months' features. And budgeting at ten as usual!" The taller woman finishes brightly, before placing a pile of documents into Beca's outstretched hand. Beca knows even before she's properly glanced at the stack of paperwork that she's going to need another coffee to get her through this, and her mouth almost waters at the thought of having another fix.
"... and here's tomorrow's dummy." Stacie adds as she drops the newspaper mock-up in Beca's hands.
Stacie adds another document to the pile in Beca's arms, topping the stack off with a copy of today's publication, littered with post-it notes. "Anything else I can get you?" She adds as a polite afterthought.
Coffee!, Beca's already caffeine-saturated body practically screams.
"Coffee please, black-"
"Black as your soul, got it!" Stacie half salutes her as she finishes off Beca's sentence for her, an in-joke they'd shared soon after Beca first started at the paper and her coffee consumption habits were made aware to her new PA.
Stacie vanishes in pursuit of coffee leaving Beca at her office door, and Beca can't help but smile at how chirpy the taller woman always seems to be first thing in the morning.
As she turns to let herself into her office she promises herself that she'll give Stacie a rise before the month is out.
Chloe
Chloe makes an effort to be categorically early for everything, and this morning is no different.
The finishes her coffee in record time, and whilst her mind strays briefly back to the awkward brunette who vanished before Chloe could even ask for her name, she doesn't let herself get distracted. Not this morning, anyway.
It only takes five minutes to walk to the office (Chloe knows this because she did a trial run of the route yesterday afternoon - twice, just to be sure), but she still leaves the coffee shop with plenty of time to spare, wanting to be early for her first day.
The air outside of the coffeeshop is bloody freezing, and Chloe tugs her jacket tighter around her body in an attempt to savour some of the warmth from inside Caffe Concerto. She sets off at a brisk walk (holy crap why did no one tell her how cold England was during the fall?) down the one street that she recognises to the office. She's still amazed at how different London is to any other city, how vibrant and bustling it is at all hours of the day. And she's fully aware that she's walking slowly and getting in everyone's way, but this city is way too interesting to be able to storm about without sparing a glance at any of the surroundings like so many Londoners appear to do. And wow, a red London bus just trundled past, something that Chloe's only ever seen on postcards and the occasional news segment covering British politics on American television, and she just has to stop and watch it. If she'd had a camera on her she wouldn't have hesitated about snapping a picture of it.
She picks up her pace once again as she turns off into another street, and, oh my god, she can already see the office. Chloe can feel her heart rate increasing as she approaches, and even though she's slowed down to a mere dawdle she feels as though she's just run an entire marathon to get here. She stops to catch her breath, mentally preparing herself for the day, because this is the job she's been dreaming of for the past three years and she can't afford to look nervous on her very first day.
She takes a deep breath and a sip of her coffee, allowing the silly smooth sweetness of the milky drink soothe her nerves, before she affixes a determined expression on her face and marches up the front steps to the door.
The blonde that answers the door and who shows her around is extremely uptight, and everything about her, from her spotless, crisp blazer to her perfect hair set up on top of her head in an immaculate bun, just reeks professionalism.
The blonde takes her on a quick whistle-stop tour of the offices, rattling off client names and awards and the extensive network the agency has built up, so quick that Chloe can barely keep up.
"This is my father's company, but he's rarely about in the office so I've just taken over as managing director..." the blonde states briskly as she shows Chloe where the kitchenette is and motions for her to hang her jacket up on a rack on the wall.
"You'll eventually be taking over my role in one of the teams so that I can focus on management. Obviously because you're new we'll start you off with some junior projects, but you'll work your way up quickly. That's just how it works here."
The blonde's pride at her new management position is clearly evident, though Chloe can't help but bite at her lip, an old nervous habit, and the prospect of being expected to 'work her way up' and take on more senior projects quicker than she'd expected to.
"How about a coffee, then I can introduce you to the rest of the team?" The blonde suggests. Chloe nods, this morning's latte already slipping her mind at the thought of another one. And she's never really been the type to chain coffees, but this is London and that's what everyone here does, or so it seems, so she graciously accepts the steaming mug of liquid from the blonde before she's whisked back around the offices to meet everyone.
The team is small, but Chloe still finds herself chewing at her lip again as she's introduced over and over to the rest of the team. It's all a little overwhelming, really, and although Chloe already loves the company she can't be sure that the company will love her. And as she catches a glimpse of another award sat proudly on a desk she can't help but think she's maybe a little under-qualified, a little too inexperienced for this.
She can feel the blonde watching her, pursing her lips as Chloe greets each member of the team and takes in her surroundings. Once everyone is met, and Chloe's explored the office some more, the blonde takes Chloe's elbow and steers her towards the kitchen where they won't be interrupted.
"Do you know how many people I interviewed for this position?" She questions, perhaps a little harsher than she'd originally intended to.
Chloe recoils slightly, the blonde's aggravated tone surprising her.
"I don't know" she replies, trying to sound as confident as possible, mentally preparing herself for another bitter reply.
"Twenty." The blonde's tone is a little softer now. "And I chose you out of all of those people because I believe you're the best choice for my company. Don't make me regret that choice."
It's not much, but Chloe can tell the other woman isn't usually one for niceties, and they barely even know each other yet, but the pep-talk is just what Chloe needs, and she nods, confidently.
"I won't let you down, Aubrey."
Apologies that this may be moving a little slow, but I'm a sucker for wanting to properly set the scene before diving right into the fun stuff. Reviews appreciated, as always! :)