instructor. I swallowed hard and chewed my thumbnail. Please, please let this happen…
‘OK, Emily, you’ve got yourself a deal! Send me over the contracts and I’ll sign them.’
‘Excellent!’ I had to stop myself from dropping the phone and doing a happy dance. ‘Welcome to Walter Marshall Hotels, Mr Woodward.’
We said our goodbyes and I hung up. A feeling of elation hit me like a thunderbolt and I threw my hands up in the air in celebration. I hadn’t just closed another deal, you see; I’d closed the deal. This was the one that would change everything, or so I hoped.
‘Someone looks happy!’ My best friend, Frankie, perched herself on my desk. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘Just clinched the Mulberry House deal!’ I reached up and high-fived her. ‘Three months it’s taken me to persuade the owner to join and he’s just agreed! I’m sending him over the contracts now.’
‘Nice one!’ Frankie grinned and reached into her bag. ‘This calls for a celebration. How about we go to breakfast at that little café down the road? I could do with a fry-up!’
I shook my head and got out of my seat. My best friend was one of those impossibly skinny people who ate what she liked and never exercised. I’d found myself picking away at a Caesar salad while she wolfed down a cheeseburger and chips, wondering how the hell she managed it, on many occasions.
‘Nah, no thanks; I don’t really like breakfast. We can go for lunch later if you like?’
She shook her head and plonked herself down in my now vacant chair. ‘How can you not like breakfast? It’s the best meal of the day!’
‘Breakfast is just a load of stodgy food that slows you down of a morning. Give me a green smoothie any day.’
The thought of a plate piled high with greasy fried food popped into my mind and I wanted to gag. It was the food equivalent of my worst nightmare. I’d rather do the eating trial from I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here than force down a fry-up.
‘You absolute freak. Remind me again why we’re best friends?’ Frankie stuck her tongue out at me.
‘Because I have way too many incriminating photos of you after one cocktail too many,’ I shot back. ‘Anyway, I’ve barely got time to think this week, let alone have breakfast. I’ve got clients to wine and dine, after all. I’m taking one to that Jack Vettriano exhibition at Kelvingrove Art Gallery and going to one of those open-air concerts on Glasgow Green with another.’
‘You’re such a bloody culture vulture, aren’t you? Give me a night in The Garage and a greasy kebab any day of the week. Cities were made for people like you,’ Frankie replied with a smile.
‘What can I say, I’m a city slicker! Anyway, I’d better go and tell Paul that Mulberry House is in the bag. Hopefully now the promotion will be too.’
Frankie gave me a thumbs-up. ‘Good luck!’
As I strode towards my boss’s office, I couldn’t help but feel excited. This was the start of something amazing. The next phase of my life was about to begin and I couldn’t wait.
*
Or not.
As I shared my amazing news, Paul sat back in his chair and winced like he was in a lot of pain. There was a lot of sucking in through his teeth, head tilts and grimaces.
‘The thing is, Emily…’ He paused and stared around the room, trying to decide what the next words out of his mouth would be. ‘Tara’s kind of beaten you to the punch.’
My blood instantly began to boil and I wondered if steam was about to come out of my ears like in a cartoon. This was supposed to be the best moment of my life and my biggest rival had gone and pulled the rug from underneath me. Tara bloody Murray.
‘She’s what? But you said if I could get Mulberry House in the bag, the promotion was mine! What happened?’ I was all too aware how shrill my voice had gone, but I didn’t care. I was too busy trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill out at any moment.
Paul shrugged and I was seriously tempted to punch him in the face. ‘She came in about five minutes before you did, and told me she’d landed the Ashbury Hotel. It’s a massive coup for us and I’ve decided to give her the promotion.’
No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening. I wracked my brains, searching for a way to keep my dream of being Emily Reed, Executive of Business Development, alive and kicking. There had to be a way, there just had to be…
‘Come on, Paul,’ I pleaded, ‘you know how hard I’ve worked for this! I’ve closed way more deals than Tara; just look at my figures! I just got Mr bloody Woodward, our most difficult owner yet, to become part of our chain. That’s got to mean something, hasn’t it?’
I looked into my boss’s deep-brown eyes and could tell he was wavering. He pursed his lips and rested his chin on steepled fingers.
‘I like you, Emily, you know I do. You’d be a great business development executive; there’s no doubt about it. And you’re right: Tara’s numbers aren’t nearly as impressive as yours…’
He trailed off, leaving me in suspense for a very long minute. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my brow as I waited for his verdict. My heartbeat thundered in my ears and I dug my nails into my palms. My whole life was hanging on the next few seconds and I could barely handle the suspense.
‘Leave it with me,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll have a think about it and call you both into the office later.’
I let out the breath I’d been holding in and struggled not to let a stream of expletives follow it. Instead, I plastered a fake smile on my face, thanked Paul for his time and left. Although it may not have turned out exactly as I wanted, it wasn’t over yet. The dream was still alive.
*
My plans for lunch with Frankie were ruined by a text from my mother. She wanted to meet for what she called ‘an inspirational pep talk’ and wouldn’t take no for answer. Apparently she also had something important to tell me. There was nothing inspirational or peppy about these meetings. In reality, it was an hour of her telling me all the ways I was going wrong in life while we ate expensive food.
Today’s venue of choice was Café Rose, a lovely little place just off Sauchiehall Street. I loved living in Glasgow; it was so pretty and vibrant and the people were bloody amazing. I’d been lucky enough to call it home for the past twenty-five years and I didn’t plan on budging any time soon.
I walked in and my mother was instantly recognisable. She was as glamorous as always, clad in a fitted navy Mac and black skinny jeans. Round her neck was a gorgeous printed scarf with little owls on it and her hair was effortlessly styled into a shiny bob. As soon as she saw me, she got up and greeted me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Whatever she had to tell me wouldn’t be good, I suspected.
‘Lovely to see you, hen!’ She enveloped me in a hug and squeezed me so tightly I could hardly breathe.
‘You too,’ I replied when she let me go. ‘Have you ordered yet?’
She
