He turned to me and pointed a stubby finger. “Would you be more likely to buy a dress that lookedgoodon the model in the advert or not?”
I tilted my head to the side. “Is that a trick question?”
“George,” Jack said through gritted teeth. “The dresses willstilllook good on models Liz has chosen. The onesyou’vesuggested look like they’re suffering from some sort of wasting disease.”
Mr Annoying Client, aka George, laughed and slapped Jack on the back again. “You’re never going to convince me that squeezing some token fatties into our outfits will benefit the brand.”
“I’d probably prefer to see a dress on someone healthy than . . . um . . . emaciated. If that’s the question?” I put in, my blood boiling at how much of a dick this guys was.
George rolled his eyes. “Women buy dresses they think will make them lookthin. They’ll never buy something after they see it on a bird that looks like the back end of a bus.”
“Women aren’t stupid you know,” I said, my temper rising. “We do realize that it’s the models who are thin and not the clothes creating an optical illusion.”
He waved me off dismissively and snorted his derision. “Doesn’t matter what she thinks anyway,” he said, turning back to Jack. “She’s too young and our target’snotworking class, its upper middle.”
I blinked and took a quick step back, my fists bunching at my sides. Luckily I was called by another customer and moved away from George the misogynistic prick. Disappointed that Jack was happy to take on clients like him.
*****
Jack
I watched her move down the bar and my hand tightened so hard on my beer that my knuckles turned white. “George you piece of sh –”
“Hey,” Stella semi-shouted, drawing out the word and inserting herself between me and our current biggest client at the firm. The one we were supposed to be schmoozing and the one I had been about to shake until his teeth rattled.
“Everything good here guys?” Stella smiled at both of us but her eyes flashed me a warning. “Thanks for the beer, Jack. George let me take you to our table. You’ll be more comfortable over there.”
I sighed and clenched my eyes shut for a moment. George’s slurred voice calling Urvi “exotic” and “working class” ran through my mind and I started to feel a little ill. For weeks now I’d been obsessed with this girl. The first time I saw her she’d been in one of the gold dresses the waitresses wore as they moved amongst the tables. I hadn’t been able to speak for a full five minutes. Stella thought I’d had a stroke. Urvi was so beautiful it was almost unreal. And her long, dark hair, which shone under the lights as it fell in sheets down her back stood out amongst the bleached blondes and orange-tinged fake tans of the other girls.
She’d seemed a little shorter than the others and I soon realized that it was because she didn’t wear the sky-high heels they seemed to favour. I had wondered about this until I saw her trip twice on table legs and spill two sets of drinks. Then it was confirmed when she nearly brained me with that cocktail shaker the other night - she was seriously clumsy. They’d probably banned her wearing heels in case they lost too much revenue in spilt alcohol and dry cleaning bills. I assumed that was why she was only ever behind the bar: fewer tables to negotiate. At least now she was in a Dragon’s Den t-shirt and not one of those gold dresses: that had helped me regain the power of speech around her - just about. The only time I’d managed an actual conversation with her I’d probably come across as a self-involved arsehole. Drowning your sorrows after losing a client was pathetic. As was hanging around the Dragon’s Den so I could watch Urvi like a creepy stalker.
Once the crowd at the bar had thinned out that night I had had my chance to be charming. I’m a charming guy, damn it! My whole career is built around my charm. So why, when I really wanted to pull some stellar chat out of the bag, did I have to get too shitfaced to even make much sense? It had beenhermakingmelaugh, not the other way around. I’d told the woman of my dreams all about how I’d failed to secure a contract for an ad campaign so huge it would have launched the company into the stratosphere. I didn’t tell her it wasmycompany. Even in my drunken state I knew that would be a mistake.
She’d listened, her eyes filled with sympathy I didn’t deserve – in the cutthroat world of advertising I was as much of a shark as the next man. If I was honest I knew I’d deserved to have that client stolen from under my nose. By the end of the night, as the bar emptied out, I realized I’d spent an hour talking to Urvi and the only things I’d learned about her was that she had a wicked sense of humour (“who wants to promote Viagra anyway? You want to be known as the guy giving the nation hard ons?”), swore like a sailor, was an amazing listener and had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. Other than that I knew nothing about her. Not one personal thing. She was an expert at deflecting attention away from herself - the complete opposite of most of the other women in my life. And now I probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to get to know her ever again. Not after some dick I’d brought to the club had insulted her, twice.
I was looking down at my shoes and rubbing the back of my neck when her soft voice drew my attention.
“Hey, Mad Man, you okay?” she asked. I looked up to see her staring at me across the bar with her head tilted to the side as she shook a cocktail in front of her. I gave her a weak smile.
“Uh, yeah, but I . . .” I cleared my throat. What was it about this girl that had me tongue-tied when sober? I was never lost for words. “I’m sorry if George made you feel . . . well . . .” I shrugged. “I guess I’m just sorry he exists.”
She laughed and it lit up her whole face. “I think apologizing for his existence is taking it a bit far,” she teased as she poured two martini glasses with strawberry daiquiri. “Don’t sweat it, City Boy. I’ve dealt with worse than him working behind here.”
My hand tightened on my beer and I felt my jaw clench. I did not like to think about her enduring all sorts of prick remarks from any inebriated idiot that chose to throw them her way.
“Hey! Princess Jasmine!” a man shouted from the far end of the bar and her head swiveled round to him. “Wanna hurry it up a bit? We’re gasping here.”
“’K!” she shouted back, snatching up the glasses then giving me a wink and muttering, “Case in point,” before whisking them off down the other end of the bar.
Chapter 2
This is Awkward
Urvi
“Well, oil me, trus me up, smack my arse and call me Shirley,” Kira rubbed her eyes then opened them wide, feigning shock at my presence in the flat.
“Is this . . . could this be my flat mate? I thought she’d been eaten by badgers long ago.” She grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me into her body, before swinging me from side to side. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she choked out, wiping fake tears from under her eyes.
