‘A meeting, right now, with Oliver and Maxwell?’ I say slowly.
She nods, confused as to why it’s not clicking. Like she didn’t just drop an atomic bomb on my lap.
Maxwell Abbington and Oliver Tornton built Abbingtorn Accessories from the ground up (depending on how far down you’d consider the ‘ground’ to be when you already have the money, capital and a network of popular influencer friends that will flaunt your products for free). What started as a drunk conversation between two friends quickly transformed into a finely oiled machine, with a hundred and fifty-plus direct employees and factories worldwide. After an exclusive deal with a very famous actress and a gold-medal-winning athlete, they have rapidly scaled up their operations, headquarteringthemselves in a repurposed warehouse building in Clapham and bringing all of their events and marketing in-house.
‘Why do they want to meet with all of us?’ I ask, swallowing the panic rising in me.
‘I’m not sure, didn’t ask,’ she says, waiting at the door.
‘You didn’t ask?’ I try to hide my horror.
‘We’ll find out upstairs, hun. I want to be a couple of minutes early.’
With her flightiness, her story is almost believable. Except for the fact that I have access to her calendar and do the majority, if not all, of her scheduling. I do a quick scan and this meeting isn’t in her diary. Nor is the appraisal that she has supposedly rescheduled. But there’s no time to dwell. There’s no time to do anything but slap on a smile and head for the elevator.
It is then, for the first time today, that I catch my entire outfit in the mirrored door. It is worse than I feared. Far more juvenile and bordering on offensive to the eyes. As I tug at the eight-year-old velvet skater skirt, I pray it might bring some maturity or at least some decency, but it still hangs obscenely, the hem ending two or so inches from my crotch (if I’m being generous). I subtly twist to the left, trying to catch my side view in the reflection without raising eyebrows from Pippa or Gus, but, as I move, the silly, stiff collar rubs at my neck, scratching a tiny mark by my collarbone.
I need to focus. Turn my anxious thoughts to the exact way Anton will pay for his crimes against my wardrobe, and away from whatever Oliver and Maxwell could possibly want with us. Also, more importantly, why Pippa went to such lengths to keep the meeting a secret from me in the process.
‘There’s my favourite team!’ Maxwell gives a cheer as we walk through the door. ‘How’s it going down in Events and Project Management?’
‘Great as always!’ Pippa flashes her most winning smile.
‘Great to hear!’ he says, clasping his hands together. ‘Take a seat, take a seat.’
I shuffle around the table and into a seat as quickly as I can, hiding the belt of a skirt under the boardroom table before anyone else has a chance to clock it, but they barely acknowledge Gus and I as we sit. My stomach churns, pushing against the cheap blouse as the buttons start to close in. I can’t help it– in my four years of working here, we’ve never all met with them at once. Something has got to be up and the sooner we find out, the sooner I can stop feeling so queasy.
Maxwell glances over to Oliver, who takes a painfully slow sip of his coffee, revelling in the quiet as the rest of us wait on his every move.
‘Do you all know who Evie Eesuola is?’ Oliver asks eventually.
‘Everyone knows Evie!’ My exclamation is meant to come off as cool, but it’s more of an involuntary, awkward laugh. I can’t help it, I’m pumped full of adrenaline from the nerves, and the relief that the first topic of discussion isn’t firing us all. Maybe that’s why I’m met with staunch silence. I look from Pippa to Gus, who seem completely thrown by the question, and even more by my spontaneous and bubbly answer. ‘The lifestyle blogger turned business mogul?’ I continue, starting to doubt myself. ‘Ridiculous numbers on socials. . . ? Recently got her own TV show?’
I thought that everyone had heard of Evie Eesuola. It’s impossible not to have at least seen her name. She is a Black woman in a field dominated by white blondes; she sticks out like a sore thumb, but she makes that thumb the best finger. But the way Gus and Pippa are staring back at me, it’s clear they’re encountering a blind spot. A very specific and somewhat telling blind spot, if I say so myself.
‘Oh, yes, of course, that Evie! I totes love her.’ Pippa blags her way through without an ounce of authenticity.
‘Good’ says Oliver. ‘Well, I don’t know if you’ve seen, but she’s created a travel-tailored loungewear line as part of her business—’
‘Evielution!’ I say excitedly. ‘She launched it a couple of years ago. It’s stocked by most high-end retailers.’
Oliver nods. ‘Yes. And now she’s launching a luggage line to go with it. A luggage line that she has signed on to release with us.’
‘No way!’ I gasp.
‘It’s our biggest brand collaboration to date.’ Maxwell beams. ‘Working with Evie could open a new set of doors for us.’
Pippa claps her hands. ‘That’s an awesome get, guys! Where do we come in?’
‘With the Summer Splash, the annual July extravaganza she holds at her place. I’m sure you’ve seen them in the tabloids– big production, flashy décor, real expensive. This year she wants to use it to launch the new range and we’ve convinced her to give our events team a chance before outsourcing,’ Oliver says. ‘If she’s impressed with what we do with her launch, it could lead to future collaborations and events with her and, in time, her large network of rich friends.’
‘We would be honoured to plan it.’ Pippa’s cheeks have reached their limit with just how far they can stretch into a smile.
‘Good to hear it.’ Oliver nods approvingly. ‘We’ve arranged a meeting next Friday to survey her grounds and figure out exactly what she wants from us, and we want you all there so we can show her that we are a friendly and united front. In the meantime, Evie has popped in to say a quick hello. She likes to meet large suppliers in person.’
‘She’s here?’ Pippa straightens herself in her seat.
‘On her way up as we speak. I trust you’ll all give her a proper Abbingtorn welcome.’
