Love to Hate You (6 page)

I study him, trying to work out if he really believes what he's saying. His deep blue eyes tell me that this time he is serious.

“In that case, I don't understand what he's paying us for. If he can do everything by himself—” I say quietly, articulating the words calmly.

As usual, Ian loses his calm immediately. “Don't be silly, you know perfectly how these things work. The secret lies in suggesting things for him to then propose back to us, as if they were his ideas. We just have to put a flea in his ear.”

“You're kidding, right? I have no intention of pandering to some ridiculous old snob's delusions of grandeur!” I exclaim with annoyance.

Ian snorts accusingly. “Always the same old story with you, isn't it? It's all about class, as far as you're concerned!”

I violently flick away a rebellious curl which keeps falling onto my face.

“It's nothing to do with class, it's to do with logic: if you pay an expert, it's because you want their opinion. If you can solve the problem yourself, you don't go looking for help!” I explain vehemently.

“Ok, here's what we'll do. I propose observing him for a while before taking any decisions. We'll carefully evaluate Beverly and his way of thinking for a certain period of time, after which we'll discuss this fundamental issue again. Because no solution we come up with will have any value if we can't present it to him in the most attractive way possible.”

“I hope you're not suggesting that I don't know how to do my job!” I warn him.

“I'm not suggesting anything, but the fact is that you're about as sensitive as a bloody rhino!”

“Me? And what about you? The personification of sensitivity and perspicacity!” I reply as I lean towards him threateningly.

“Well I'm nowhere near as bad as you! It's as though you weren't born, you were carved out of granite!”

“Envious of my character, Ian? You could have just admitted it—”

And we'd have gone on happily insulting each other forever, if Colin hadn't entered the meeting room. Just in time.

“For the record, I did knock before coming in. But then, how could you have heard me if you were shouting like that?”

Colin is livid – you can tell by the way his nostrils are trembling. There's electricity in the air, and it's not just coming from Ian and me.

“You've got two minutes to calm down and come to my office. I want to see you both looking happy and smiling. And by ‘smiling' I mean I want to be able to see your bloody wisdom teeth as you walk down the corridor,” he says in a menacing voice.

That said he walks out and slams the door behind him.

“Oops—” This time we're in trouble.

“Yes—” nods Ian. We gather our stuff quickly and follow him as fast as we can.

Everybody is hanging about the corridor waiting for us. They've obviously been eavesdropping and have heard everything. We try and smile as we walk quickly towards Colin's office. Ian opens the door and gestures for me to enter first, and for once I obey without arguing. He follows me in.

Silently, we sit down on two chairs in front of Colin, who, still fuming, is writing something on his computer. After a minute of deadly silence, he finally decides to look up at us.

“I thought I was working with grown ups, but apparently we're in a kindergarten, so I will have to treat you like children. From now on, you will meet
after
work. You will go out at six and will have an after work drink somewhere, a long, long way from this office. A
very
long way, got it? Where nobody can see you! I suggest choosing somewhere with a bad reputation, and I suggest going there incognito. I
would
suggest meeting at one of your homes, but leaving you two alone without witnesses might end with a 999 call, so we'll forget anything like that for the moment.”

I am about to reply, when Colin motions me to stop with his hand.

“I've run out of patience with you two. After that ridiculous year, I thought you'd have been able to behave like adults and find a way round your problems, but I realise I was kidding myself. You're a couple of idiots, and believe me when I say that I'm being nice. Anyway, you're free to ruin your own careers, but you're not going to ruin mine as well. Is that clear?”

I've never heard Colin say anything like this. I'm hugely, enormously ashamed.

“Yes, very clear,” I answer with a red face. “Perfectly clear,” confirms Ian in a gloomy voice. “Right, so decide where the hell you're going to meet tomorrow evening and hammer away at each other as much as you like –
outside this office
. And when you're done, I'd like you to start talking about work. In a serious, productive way. Because on Saturday morning, Beverly will be waiting for you and you will be spending a fabulous weekend at his Scottish property, since you're his favourite tax consultants. And frankly I wouldn't want to be in his shoes.”

That said, he goes back to his keyboard and begins writing again.

It only took a minute, but it was a painful lesson. Once we get out of Colin's office, our expressions are not relieved at all. It's no surprise that we both go back to our own offices without saying another word.

*

The following day, Laura and Vera seem almost scared when they hear me opening the front door. With good reason – it's only 6 p.m. and I haven't been back from work this early since the day I was taken on.

“Everything ok?” asks Laura worriedly, as I greet her.

“Relax, girls, I'm absolutely fine, but I have a work meeting in half an hour and I need to change into something casual,” I say, as I walk past them and enter my room to find something suitable to wear. God, what
should
you wear for something like this?

Ian e-mailed me in the afternoon to tell me the time and place. A place I've never been to but which I've heard mentioned. When I say its name to Laura, who has followed me into my room, she opens her eyes wide.

“And who exactly are you meeting somewhere that posh?” she asks suspiciously.

“It's just for work—” I say vaguely as I grab a pair of jeans and a black top.

“That's a pretty low-necked top,” points out Vera, as she walks in to join us. “Don't try and avoid the question: who are you meeting?”

I stop for a moment before answering. “If you promise you won't jump to any weird conclusions—”

Faces quizzical, they both nod.

“Ok then – I have to meet Ian. But it's only work. We argue too much in the office, so our boss suggested that we… no, actually he
ordered
us to find a neutral zone.”

“So after almost killing each other at the office, you've decided to finish the job somewhere else? Haven't I taught you anything, Jenny? No witnesses!” Vera teases me.

“It's just work!” I say in exasperation.

“Yeah, of course it is, 'it's just work'—” mimics Laura “That's why you're so nervous, because it's 'just work'—”

“I'm not nervous!” I snap.

But the truth is that I am nervous –
extremely
nervous! All this fighting with Ian is exhausting me, mentally and physically.

A few seconds later, I'm ready. I don't want to let my hair down or fix my make-up. Today I've gone back to my ponytail, hoping it might restore some normality. I really don't want to risk Ian getting any funny ideas.

Flat shoes, as flat as possible. I'm not out to impress anyone.

I say goodbye to the girls and soon I'm in the tube. Yes, Ian certainly chose somewhere quiet, I think sarcastically. But I'd imagine that the poor boy probably doesn't know anywhere that hasn't been in the Tatler, because everything about him is just so posh, right from his long, flowing, perfectly styled hair to those ridiculously expensive tailored suits.

It's pretty easy to find the place, and it's packed with cool people. Just the kind of snobs I hate. A waitress notices my confused expression and tries to help me.

“Are you looking for someone?” she asks, as I'm casting an eye over the clientele.

“Erm, yeah. I'm looking for a tall guy, black hair, blue eyes—” I try to describe him vaguely.

“Oh, right!” she chirps immediately, “you must be Jennifer!”

I look at her in astonishment. “Follow me. There's a quieter room at the back.” I have no choice but to do as she says and trail behind her while she makes her way between the tables. She leads me to a room which is indeed much more intimate, and much less crowded. Ian is sitting at a table in a dimly lit corner, presumably reading one of the hundreds of e-mails our BlackBerries are always receiving. He still hasn't noticed me.

“Is that him?” the girl asks.

“It is, unfortunately” I confirm, and she seems to smile, as though she knows what I'm talking about.

I thank her and walk over to the table. Ian is wearing the same clothes he had on at work: he's taken off his jacket and tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, but nothing else has changed. He puts down his phone and looks at me with a surprised expression.

“You're looking very casual, I see.”

“Laid-back and incognito,” I explain.

“No little black dress?” he says, sounding almost astonished.

“Me? Little black dress? Have you started on the drink already, Ian?” I ask worriedly, while I take a seat.

“Haven't had a drop,” he answers promptly. “Slows down the reflexes, and I can't really risk that with you around.”

“Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment,” I mumble, and silence falls for a while as we sit scowling at each other.

“We really need to move forward,” he says suddenly, unexpectedly and unenthusiastically.

“I know,” I answer in the same flat tone, as though I were talking to my dentist.

“Yesterday things took a turn for the worse. Again.”

“I know,” I nod. I was there too.

“This could seriously mess up our careers—”

“Ian, can we skip the platitudes? If we're here, it's because we obviously both want a change. I get it, really I do.”

“And are you ready to commit to it?” he asks, lifting his eyes and looking at me. I stare into them.

“Only if you are.”

“I am, honestly.” His deeply blue eyes sparkle dangerously.

“In that case, I am too.”

“Good, because Beverly's secretary just sent me a memo about next weekend, and if we don't learn to get along we are
not
going to survive it.”

“I can imagine,” I say. I mean, it was obvious things needed to change.

“Great. Well I'd say that this clearing things up business has gone better than expected,” he says, sounding relieved.

I look at him in annoyance. “Listen, I'm an extremely reasonable person, when I'm dealing with reasonable people.”

“You're not reasonable at all,” says Ian, flagging down a waiter. “What are you having, Jenny?” he asks, sounding almost gallant. Almost as if he hadn't just offended me.

“I'll have a cappuccino,” I mumble resentfully.

“Ok, so a cappuccino for the lady and a glass of Pinot Grigio for me,” he says.

“We're supposed to be working. Wine?” I tease him.

“I'd like to relax now. The worst, hopefully, is past.”

“Keep hoping,” I say, taking a very heavy folder out of my bag. It contains everything there is to know about Beverly, his companies and his family. “You'd probably be happier not knowing what you're going up against.”

*

Two hours later we're still working our way through the folder. I'm even more jittery than before, thanks to all the caffeine in my system, and Ian is more relaxed, since he's had quite a few glasses of white wine. He seems to be more at ease, and sometimes almost smiles and tries to be funny, but the only result is that he gets on my nerves.

I can tell that he's making an effort, and it un-nerves me, because I can't really forget everything that's happened so easily. I'd like to, but I just can't. Being around him is dangerous, I know his tactics: he tries to make you feel safe and then he strikes when you least expect it. He did it so often in the past, when I barely knew him and thought he was an intelligent and brilliant young man, and before I found out how aggressive and vindictive he actually is.

I'd better not forget that or lower my guard.

But all this tension is killing me, so in the end I just give up.

“I think we'd better carry on with this tomorrow. My head's about to burst,” I say, raising my eyes from a securitisation plan for corporate debt.

Ian looks at me carefully. “You're actually not looking too great. Too much stress.”

And he suddenly leans over, puts his thumbs on my temples and starts giving me a massage.

I remain frozen in astonishment for a few moments, then pull back. “What exactly are you doing?” I ask abruptly, probably sounding ruder than I meant to.

“Trying to get rid of your stress,” he answers, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

I push his hands away, as if they were burning. “For God's sake! Don't get so close, don't come close to me and most of all don't touch me! You're one of the main reasons why I'm so stressed in the first place, so stay out of my personal space,” I growl threateningly.

Ian laughs at my words. He probably thinks I'm crazy, but I don't care.

“Ok, let's go, then,” he says while he gets to his feet and signals to the waitress that he wants to pay.

“What are you doing?” I ask, as he pulls out his platinum credit card.

“I'm paying?” he answers sarcastically.

“No thanks –
I'm
paying!” I answer aggressively.

“I don't think so,” says Ian in a determined tone.

“I am paying, since Beverly is
my
client,” I point out.

“Beverly is
our
client, not just yours,” he answers, handing over his card to the waitress.