glass, looking out into the main office area of Pearce Grey.
‘In this context, it was a personal question,’ she said.
‘I asked the bloke in the newsagent the same thing this morning.’
Yes, but you didn’t leave the bloke in the newsagent for another woman. ‘I’m fine, Gary, thank you. How are you?’
‘I’m concerned that you’re not well. You look tired.’
‘Isn’t it odd, Gary, that when we were together you never noticed when I was tired and not well?’
He had the good sense to look uncomfortable at that question. ‘Well, we weren’t working so closely before your promotion.’
Which also reminded her that he had seniority. How considerate of him.
‘We need you on top form,’ he continued. ‘The Giovanni Franco cologne campaign is vital to the agency—’
‘And Giovanni Franco himself is edgy and difficult, and has sacked their last three agencies, and wants everything done yesterday,’ she finished for him. ‘I know. I’m on top of it.’
But then she thought about Hasan’s half-smile, and how he and Stephen had hustled it out of the boardroom. Maybe she wasn’t hiding her feelings as well as she’d thought.
Gary rested his arms on the desk in front of him. He was handsome enough, with light brown hair and regular features and a body that saw a gym regularly. Once upon a time he’d been a great catch for her.
‘I’m wondering if it’s time we let people know about our—you know.’ A flicker of guilt passed across Gary’s face.
She crossed her arms. ‘You said it would be up to me when we told the rest of Pearce Grey we’d split up.’
‘Yes, but … I think it might be easier for you if we made it public sooner rather than later. We wouldn’t have to worry about how it appeared to other people.’
Jane glanced through the boardroom window at the busy office outside. It wasn’t as if she and Gary had ever been demonstrative at work. But their engagement was common knowledge, and people did, she supposed, expect them to have a certain familiarity and intimacy in the way they behaved with each other.
‘You mean it would be easier for you,’ she said. ‘You could talk about your new relationship all you liked.’
While she would be regarded with pity as the scorned fiancée. The woman who’d landed a promotion and promptly been dumped on her backside.
‘It’s not time yet,’ she said. ‘Excuse me, I have work to do.’
She left the boardroom and headed for her office, avoiding the glances of the other people who worked for the agency. She really could have used those five minutes before she had to go to her lunch meeting. Even three minutes would have been enough, a breath of time where she could look in her email inbox, see the message that Jonny had probably sent her this morning from up in the Lake District. A message from Jonny would make her smile for real.
But the design team were already gathering outside her office door. Which meant she’d be lucky to have thirty seconds to herself before she had to leave for her lunch meeting.
Jane put on a bright expression. Her email, and a real smile, would have to wait. ‘Is everyone ready?’ she asked.
‘Jonny. Yo, Jonny.’
Jonny pushed his glasses up his nose and narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate on the HTML code on the laptop screen in front of him. Thom’s voice wasn’t easy to ignore. It was loud, vibrant, and unabashedly Californian. Jonny typed in a line of code anyway.
‘Jonathan Richard Cole Junior!’ Thom leaned across the first-class railway carriage table and waved his hand in Jonny’s face.
Jonny gave up and looked at his friend. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I was ignoring you. I gave you one condition for this trip when you kidnapped me, remember?’
‘I didn’t kidnap you, dude!’ Thom put on his fake-innocent grin. ‘I let you go get your computer and a toothbrush before I dragged you to the Penrith train station. And I only came up to get you in person because I know what you’re like when you’re writing a book.’
Jonny smiled, because it was impossible to stay annoyed with Thom Erikson. The man was incredibly rich, incredibly generous, and he talked as if he had a surfboard permanently attached to his person. And he’d stayed close to Jonny, even when Jonny had left California to go back to England.
In a world full of transitions and disillusion, Jonny had learned to appreciate loyalty, even when the loyalty was also accompanied by unrelenting persistence.
‘You also agreed not to call me by my real name,’ Jonny reminded him. ‘When I’m working with you I’m not Jonny Cole, I’m Jay Richard.’
‘Oh, yeah. I forgot because you had your Clark Kent glasses on. Sorry.’
Clark Kent. Jonny took off his glasses and rubbed his nose, thinking that comparison wasn’t so far-fetched. He didn’t become a Superman when he took his glasses off, but his life certainly got different.
He’d prefer leaping tall buildings to posing in front of cameras, though.
‘I wish you’d change your mind about the pseudonym,’ Thom continued. ‘Your double life would make great publicity: computer how-to guru moonlights as one of Britain’s most up-and-coming male models. From geek to gorgeous. Dweeb to dude. Nerd to—’
‘Enough.’ Jonny laughed, holding up his hands. ‘I’m not going to use my real job to get myself publicity, because as soon as I make enough money I’m quitting modelling. I told you that when I started.’
‘You are so deluded, my man. You’re a natural and the camera loves you. You could have a very, very good career in modelling. And this new job is a real triumph. The face of Giovanni Franco’s new cologne.’ Thom whistled.
Jonny did have to concede that Thom should know what he was talking about. The man ran one of the most successful modelling agencies on the west coast of the USA, so successful he’d started to branch into Europe.
And Jonny also had to admit that, much as he disliked the idea of being a model, it was a godsend right now.
‘I didn’t have an easy time of it as a teenager,’ he told Thom. ‘I really was a computer geek then. I only started working out so I could fight back against the guys who used to beat me up on a regular basis.’
‘And success is the best revenge, right?’
Jonny shook his head. ‘The situation hasn’t changed. I’m still being judged by my appearance. Ultimately, it’s not honest. I’m not a body, I’m a … bloke. I’m a writer. I’m me. That’s why I want to keep my modelling life and my real life separate. And then when I’ve made enough money, it’s back to the writing.’
‘Dude.’ Thom leaned forward again. ‘If you need money, I’ll write you a cheque. You don’t need to face a single camera. You know that.’
‘No,’
