There’s a general laugh and the crowd starts to move toward this end of the room. I’m being pushed straight toward the podium, which is really not where I want to be—but I don’t have much choice.
“So, here we are!” The blond woman spreads her arms. “Welcome to this celebration of the merger of ourselves, Johnson Ellison, and the wonderful Greene Retail. This is a marriage of hearts and minds as much as companies, and we have many, many people to thank. Our managing director, Patrick Gowan, showed the initial vision which led to us standing here now. Patrick, get up here!”
A bearded guy in a pale suit walks onto the podium, smiling modestly and shaking his head, and everyone starts clapping, including me.
“Keith Burnley—what can I say? He’s been an inspiration to us all, the blonde continues.”
The trouble with standing right at the front of the crowd is that you feel really conspicuous. I’m trying to listen attentively and look interested, but none of these names mean anything to me. Maybe I should have done some homework. I surreptitiously get my phone out and wonder if I can discreetly find the email about the merger.
“And I know he’s here somewhere … ” She’s looking around, shading her eyes. “He tried to wriggle out of coming tonight, but we had to have the man himself, Mr. White Globe Consulting, Mr. Sam Roxton!”
My head jerks up in shock. No. That can’t be right, he can’t be—
Fuck.
Fresh applause breaks out as Sam strides onto the podium, wearing a dark suit and a slight frown. I’m so stunned I can’t even move. He was in Germany. He wasn’t coming tonight. What’s he doing here?
From the way his face jolts in surprise as he sees me, I guess he’s wondering the same thing.
I am so busted. Why did I think I could get away with gate-crashing a big posh party like this?
My face is flaming with embarrassment. I quickly try to back away, but the mass of people pressing behind me is too heavy, so I’m stuck, staring mutely up at him.
“When Sam’s in the room, you know things will reach resolution,” the blond woman is saying. “Whether it’s the resolution you want … eh, Charles?” There’s a roar of laughter around the room, and I hastily join in with fake gusto. Clearly this is a massive in-joke, which I would know about if I weren’t a gate-crasher.
The guy next to me turns and exclaims, “She’s a bit near the knuckle there!” and I find myself replying, “I know, I know!” and giving another huge phony laugh.
“Which brings me to another key player … ”
As I lift my eyes, Sam is looking nowhere near me, thank God. This is excruciating enough as it is.
“Let’s hear it for Jessica Garnett!”
As a girl in red steps onto the podium, Sam takes his phone out of his pocket and unobtrusively taps at it. A moment later a text bleeps in my phone.
Why were you laughing?
I feel a stab of mortification. He must know I was just trying to blend in. He’s deliberately winding me up. Well, I’m not going to rise.
It was a good joke.
I watch as Sam checks his phone again. His face twitches only the tiniest bit, but I know he got it. He types again briefly—then a moment later my phone bleeps again.
I didn’t know your name was on my invitation.
I glance up in trepidation, trying to gauge his expression, but again he’s looking in the other direction, his face impassive. I think for a moment, then type:
Just stopped by to collect your goody bag for you. All part of the service. No need to thank me.
And my cocktails, I see.
Now he’s looking right at my cosmo. He raises his eyebrows and I suppress an urge to giggle.
I was going to put them in a hip flask for you. Obviously.
Obviously. Although mine’s a Manhattan.
Ah, well, now I know. I’ll chuck all those tequila shots I had saved up.
As he clocks this last message, Sam looks up from his phone and flashes me that sudden smile. Without meaning to, I find myself beaming back and even catch my breath a little. It really does something to me, that smile of his. It’s disconcerting. It’s …
Anyway. Concentrate on the speech.
“ … and, finally, have a great night tonight! Thanks, everyone!”
As a final round of applause breaks out, I try to find an escape route, but there isn’t one. Within approximately ten seconds, Sam has stepped straight down off the podium and is standing in front of me.
“Oh.” I try to hide my discomfiture. “Er … hi. Fancy seeing you here!”
He doesn’t reply, only looks at me quizzically. There’s no point trying to brazen this out.
