“What about you?”
“I’m just round the corner.” Or his other flat was. He had two nearby. The closest was just an investment property, not his true home, but he used it occasionally.
“Short commute.” She smiled. “Handy.”
“How about you?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Basildon.”
“But that’s…”
“Basically Essex. Yeah, I know.”
She gave a little shrug, already starting to turn away from him. Her coat didn’t look at all warm and her shoes were wet through despite the umbrella. How long would it take to get to Basildon on public transport from here? Probably well over an hour, perhaps two.
“Seriously. I’ll call you a car.”
“I do this every day. It’s my normal commute.”
“Yes… But… It’s raining.”
“It often does.”
But…Roscoe’s mind protested again.But…
“Let me help you,” he said in a rush, unable to stand the thought of her shivering and wet, a forlorn figure on a darkened train. “It’s all about who you know, right? And now you know me—the guy with priority car service and a warm flat around the corner where you can wait for it to arrive. Take advantage, Poppy,” he said with a smile. “The game of life is rigged, but you might as well play it when you can.”
FOUR
OK. Yeah. Thanks.
As words to seal one’s doom, they didn’t seem particularly dramatic, but Poppy followed Roscoe with a sense of having taken a very precarious step. Not that he was acting anything other than unexpectedly nice—she’d clenched with dread when he stepped out of the door and spotted her hiding from the rain. But though there had sometimes been a teasing note in his voice, he didn’t seem like he was laughing at her. Besides, the humiliation of realising her career dreams were absurdly out of reach made last Friday’s misstep seem like nothing. She was jittery, though, furiously hot, sweating now rather than shivering as she walked at his side, her thoughts flashing overbright like traffic lights dazzling in the rain.
What was this? Why had he asked her—? Though she knew why, of course—the same reason he’d approached her the other week. The reason men always approached women in bars. It explained why he was being nice. That much was simple. But as for her“OK, yeah, thanks…”She could have blamed Adjoa—or Adjoa’s theory that the easiest way to get a leg up at BlacktonGold was to get a leg over its Golden Boy. But mostly she suspected it was the whole evening. Her whole life leading up to that conversation with Aubrey, especially the last two years of it at BlacktonGold surrounded by other people’s unearned wealth.
Merit wasn’t rewarded. Life was unfair and made no sense and there were no rules—none that she could play by anyway. All the ones she had been taught about hard work and doing right were wrong. It didn’t matterwhatshe knew. It didn’t matter that she had spent two years teaching herself. That she had innumerable spreadsheets on her ancient, barely working laptop tracking investments for imaginary funds, and that her projected returns were often almost as good as those of the man she now followed. None of that mattered, because she was small, flotsam on an uncaring tide, and the current that turned the world was too strong to swim against; a grey whirlpool carrying her relentlessly down towards the plughole, her options limiting one-by-one until there was nothing left but this.
Take advantage. Play the game.
Was there any game older than this?
Roscoe’s flat really was just round the corner. A modern glass-walled tower by the riverside. Yellow light filtered up through topiaried box-hedges, and an aluminium and wooden walkway led back from the pavement, through security gates, over a narrow, manicured lawn, to wide glass doors. A uniformed security guard was visible in the bright foyer.
“Here we are,” said Roscoe with a smile.
Poppy just nodded and followed him inside, unzipping her coat because her skin was burning, her heart banging like a broken car.
The foyer was all marble and lights. Orchids and palms. Plush fabrics and a water feature. She barely noticed, watched Roscoenod to the concierge and put the dripping umbrella in an aluminium stand with a growing sense of hysteria. They walked to the lift, Roscoe too big, too tall at her side. Because this was really happening, she really was this desperate, stepping into a sleek little lift with Roscoe Blackton, his heavy woollen black coat brushing her shoulder as he turned to press the button.
He looked at her. Smiled. “Alright?”
What was going through his head right now? He looked a little tense, a guarded caution to his movements. She doubted it was due to her but rather whatever mood had made him leave his own party early. He’d scoffed, giving an ironic nod towards that upper floor and the thousands of pounds spent on him, carelessly shrugging off the luxury as boring. She wanted to shake him by the lapels.Don’t you realise how much you have?The thought was so loud she was surprised he couldn’t hear it.Everything is so easy for you.And now she was here, doing this…and it wasn’t easy. It was insane.
But he gave her a small smile as though they were old friends, and she took a subtle, steadying breath.
How did it even work…? Did he only give out jobs to the women who weregoodat stuff? She bit her lip, even though none of this was remotely funny. But it was ridiculous the things she was thinking, the thought she suddenly had of them tangled and sweaty in luxurious sheets, Roscoe reaching for his phone, pulling up an organisational chart and asking her to pick. She couldn’t do this… Shehadto do this. Now. Before she lost her nerve.
They faced each other across the small space, the lift going up and up. Her heart beat everywhere, her thoughts clattering together, a box of wild birds. They were standing so close that she barely needed to move in order to— Was she really going to…? Yes— She reached out and lay a hand on his chest, in the gap of his open coat, making herself smile that smile, the onethat said,Yes, me and you. that’s what you want, isn’t it? What you expect.
