#RomanceWednesday Revenge is best ...
How would you feel if your best friend at work betrayed you?
Was secretly having an affair with an influential
colleague?Β Won a coveted promotion, then teamed you up
with a mere junior, leaving you feeling completely demoted?
What would you do? For Ivy there's no choice. The only
person she has ever trusted, Orianna, has blown it big time.
So there's only one way forward: revenge.
Ivy's campaign is brilliant, if horribly destructive, and
she's determined to get even with the woman who has dared to
cross her. But is Ivy really the innocent party? Or is she
hiding secrets of her own?
From Sarah Rayner, the international bestselling author of
One Moment, One Morning, comes Getting Even,
an unputdownable story of jealousy, sex, friendship and
backstabbing set in the heart of London's Soho adland.
Excerpt "We'll be late," said Dan.
"Aw ... Five more minutes?" said Orianna, snuggling up to him.
With her head on his chest, she could feel his breath come
and go. She gazed absentmindedly past the geraniums on the
windowsill and into the distance; she was in that soporific
state after making love when nothing else matters. Even the
presentation she was due to give that morning seemed less
important, although the new business could be worth
thousands to the ad agency where she worked.
If I were to die this minute, she thought, I'd die happy. If
a bomb were to land slap bang on the apartment and
snuff us out in an instant, it would be a good time to go.
Her eyes came to rest on the window box. There was something
about the zinging red petals against the dusty bright green
of the leaves she found beautiful. Even on a gray day like
today, they were brimming with life, determined to bloom,
defiant.
This was how Dan made her feelβthe world seemed
heightened, her senses ablaze. Ordinary experiences were
more intense; she noticed things that might otherwise pass
her by.
Orianna patted his belly. "You realize this is one of my
favorite bits of you?"
Dan breathed in and tensed his lower abdomen.
"Lookβyou can almost see the outline of my muscles."
Much as she loved his body, Orianna was skeptical. Thanks to
the amount of sex they'd been having, she'd got to know
every inch of him over the last few months and it seemed
unlikely she'd have missed such a delicious sign of
masculinity. "Where?"
Dan extricated himself from their embrace and sat up. "Here."
Indeed, there were the oh-so-faint contours of a six-pack.
"Ooh yes!"
"I've worked hard for them. I've been doing extra sit-ups
with Rob at the gym."
"Because I said I liked your little tummy?"
Dan's voice was gruff. "I've always been a bit conscious of it."
"I didn't mean it as a criticism..."
"No, I know..." He paused. "You see, I didn't used to be
like this."
"Oh?"
"I was quite chubby, when I was little."
She couldn't imagine it. Dan might not be Michelangelo's
David, but he was in pretty good shape for an ad man
with several years' drinking and debauchery under his belt.
He scratched his head, then muttered, "My brother used to
call me Dough Boy."
"No!" She couldn't resist poking a finger into Dan's
midriff. "Because of this?"
Dan jumped. "Stop! That tickles!"
"What did you say?" She tickled him some more.
Dan laughed, helpless, but preventing further humiliation
seemed the incentive he needed to precipitate him out of bed
and into the shower. Minutes later he emerged, rubbing his
hair dry with a towel so it stood up in haphazard spikes.
"It'd be great to celebrate getting the pitch over with,"
she said. "What are you doing tonight?" She awaited his
response, apprehensive. Although they'd been seeing each
other a while and he'd never given her cause to worry,
Orianna wasn't confident when it came to men. Moments of
uncertainty when she feared he might say he had something
better to do still gave her butterflies.
"I've got an appointment with Rob at seven thirty."
"Oh." She turned away so he wouldn't see how disappointed
she was. She'd fallen for Dan big-time and couldn't get
enough of him. Although perhaps she ought to be
gratefulβthese grueling sessions with his personal
trainer seemed to be keeping him trim.
He added, "I'm free afterwards."
Inside she skipped with delight. "I thought you guys
sometimes went for a drink, when you have an evening session?"
"Yeah, we doβonly a quick one."
"Don't let me stop you."
"No, no, you won't."
Hmm, she pondered, I do so want to see Dan later, and it's
about time we began socializing openly ... Rob would be a
good place to start. Besides, it could be worth getting to
know him. All this talk of tummiesβnow I'm in a
regular sexual relationship, I might benefit from a little
personal training myself. He could help me stave off those
Italian curves to which I seem genetically disposed if Mum
is anything to go by.
"How about I hook up with you both somewhere? I'd like to
meet him."
"Actually, that may not be a bad idea."
"Yeah?"
"I'm a bit worried about Rob."
"Oh?" Dan's such a sweetheart, thought Orianna. How
touching he's so concerned.
"Having you there might help."
"D'you reckon?" Even though she'd never met Rob, she was
flattered by the idea he could need her advice.
"I think he might, er..." Dan scratched his scalp again, a
habit she'd noticed suggested he was about to reveal something.
What could it be? Perhaps Rob had girlfriend problems, and
Orianna, with her female perspective, could help him. She
was good at being a sympathetic ear. And maybe, when he met
Orianna, he'd realize what a great girl she was, and
appreciating there were other lovely women out there would
ease his pain ... Not that she'd do anything about it, of
course. No, she was in love with Dan (though she hadn't told
him yet), but still, it was nice to be admired. She smiled,
relishing the prospect of having two men to herself for the
evening. "Mm?"
"I think he might fancy me," muttered Dan.
* * *
Across London, in Battersea, Rob slept on under his duvet,
oblivious to the fact his sexual proclivities were an early
morning talking point in Holloway. He'd no client till
lunchtime today (thank God) so could indulge in sleeping in,
with Potato, the cat, snuggled up at his feet. The revving
engines and beeping horns of rush hour had evolved into the
soft schwoom, schwoom of regular traffic, and his
roommate had banged the front door shut long before Rob
began to stir. His friends often commented on his ability to
sleep through anything; today was no exception.
Eventually, after eleven, Potato made his starvation clear
with determined padding of paws on his pillow. Rob rubbed
his eyes, looked crossly at Potato and then the alarm clock,
admitted the cat was within his rights, and hauled himself
blearily into the kitchen. He liked to maintain it was
because his job was so physical he needed more rest
than most, though in truth he would sleep just as long even
when he'd been slobbing in front of the television all day.
"You miss our ChloΓ«, don't you?" he said to Potato and
scooped an extra spoonful of Whiskas into his bowl to make
up for it. ChloΓ« was Rob's old roommate, and a few weeks
before she'd gone to work in New York, leaving him in charge
of the cat. Rob missed ChloΓ« too, but at least he could
regularly correspond with her by instant messenger.
Texting and phoning the US was expensive, but messaging was
free, so he would contact ChloΓ« several times a day, keeping
her abreast of the minutiae of his life. He'd even written
once to tell her the state of his bowels after a rather
unsuccessful attempt at a new Indian recipe. It was only
when she'd replied tetchily that this was TMI (and ChloΓ« was
no prude), especially as she had Important Things To Do (and
ChloΓ« tended to welcome distraction), he realized he'd
better curb his transatlantic correspondence.
At last he was dressed, propelled by the need to pay his
direct debits and keep himself in designer shirts and the
occasional designer drug. Armed with numerous toiletries and
a post-workout change of clothes, he headed into the West
End. He'd do a quick bit of food shopping in Chinatown, then
go to the gym and meet his first client. She was from Green
Integrated, the Soho agency whose staff provided a sizeable
chunk of his business: a woman he'd not met before.
Ivy.
* * *
"Perfect weather for That Sunshine Feeling," quipped
Ivy, throwing her bag and raincoat onto the sofa.
Orianna had been hard at work for almost an hour, nosed
pressed to the screen of her computer. She turned to look
out of the window. It was raining buckets. "Isn't it?"
"So, sweetie." Ivy's tone was brisk. "How we doing?"
"Nearly sorted. I'm running out captions for the boards."
"You're a star. When do we have to leave?"
"Nine thirty."
"Just time for a coffee."
"You mean you're not going to start the day with a glass of
That Sunshine Feeling?" Orianna laughed.
"Am I hell," said Ivy, and headed off to the drinks machine.
While her copywriter was gone, Orianna thumbed through their
creative work, checking everything was in order. That
Sunshine Feeling, a new soft drink, could be a very
exciting piece of business. Press ads, posters, direct mail,
promotionsβthe lot. She and Ivy had been slaving on
the product all week, staying late several nights on the trot.
As she was sticking a caption on the last board, her phone rang.
"Oh, Orianna, hi." It was Esme, the production assistant. "I
know you're about to leave, so I'm sorry to bother you."
She was a good deal younger than Orianna and she sounded
anxious. Orianna's heart went out to her. "It's OK. What's
the matter?"
"I wondered what time you think you'll be back."
"Midday-ish, I guess."
"It's only an urgent brief's come in..."
Orianna's heart sank.
"On Burroso, the olive oil spread, and I was hoping
you and Ivy would have the chance to take a look at it."
Orianna was drained. She'd been planning to take it easier
for the rest of the dayβcatch up on some admin. She
was sure Ivy wouldn't relish the prospect either. Yet she
liked Esme and wanted to help. "When's it needed by?"
Esme hesitated. "Tomorrow, first thing."
"What is it?"
"The July mailer."
"Ah, yes." Compared to a pitch, this was simple. Orianna and
Ivy knew the brand inside outβthey should be able to
sort it fast. And she was still basking in the glow of that
morning's lovemaking with Dan, so well-disposed toward the
world. "We'll look at it when we're back."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." It would mean working through lunch again. But
tonight she was going out with Dan and Robβat least
then she'd have the chance to unwind.
* * *
"Taxi's here," said Clare.
Damn, thought Ivy, I could do with a coffee. Oh well, we're
bound to be offered one by the client. She pulled on her
coat again, picked up her bag, and followed Orianna and
Clare into the elevator and out of the building.
But when they entered the meeting room at Bellings Scott
Inc., Ivy was dismayed to see that there were four clients
sitting around a large glass-topped table, and all of them
appeared to be drinking That Sunshine Feeling. Not a
drop of coffee in sight.
Bugger! she thought, scanning the room.
They sat down; Clare at the head of the tableβas the
new business director it was her role to take the
leadβIvy and Orianna together so they could present
their creative work in tandem.
"Have a glass of our finest?" offered the guy nearest to
them, holding out a jug of near-luminous orange liquid. The
other three clients smiled and nodded, as if That
Sunshine Feeling were the best thing on earth.
Creeps, thought Ivy.
"Yes, please," said Orianna. She gently pressed her foot
against Ivy's to signal she should follow her lead.
"Thanks," muttered Ivy.
Clare opened the meeting with an introduction to Green
Integrated. As she did so, Ivy, who'd heard the spiel
before, found herself contemplating how Clare's mouse-like
appearance belied her tenacity. Once Clare got her claws
into a new business prospect she was ferocious in her
pursuit; she was one of Green's greatest assets, the only
woman on the board. Then, as Clare recapped on the brief,
Ivy couldn't resist the temptation to typecast each client.
It was a game she often played to amuse herself in
presentations. The one who'd served their drinks was an East
End barrow boy (wider than wide). There was a used-car
dealer (fat, balding, probably the boss). Next to him, a
department store assistant (a dire case of
mutton-dressed-as-lamb), and finally the token female totty
(a frizzy-haired twentysomething).
At last it was time to present the creative work. Orianna
rose to her feet.
"I'm not surprised you're all drinking That Sunshine
Feeling this morning." She beamed. "Because as Ivy and I
discovered when we began working on the brand, it really
gets you going first thing."
You liar, thought Ivy. She and Orianna had agreed it was
revoltingβway too sweet, watery and, according to the
list of ingredients, full of preservatives. Still, Ivy had
to admire her colleague's diplomacy.
Orianna continued. "Talking of βgetting going' set us
thinkingβwhat is the most obvious symbol of stopping
and starting, getting going?"
The clients shook their heads, clueless.
"Traffic lights," said Orianna, as if there was no question.
They all nodded.
She turned to Barrow Boy. "And what's your product made of?"
"Fruit."
Doh! thought Ivy.
Orianna was more patient. "What kind of fruit?"
"Oranges," he said.
Not that you can taste them, thought Ivy.
Orianna turned to Used-Car Salesman. "And, I know it may
seem obvious, but what color's your product?"
"Orange."
"And traffic lights?" she turned to Mutton-Dressed-As-Lamb.
"What color are they?"
"Orange," she said obediently.
What, all three lights? protested Ivy silently.
But Orianna had them eating out of her hand. "Exactly. Red,
orange, and green."
Credit where it's due, acknowledged Ivy. Orianna's a wow at
presentations. I might have come up with the overall
concept, but when it comes to talking others through an
idea, Orianna is in a class of her own. Her enthusiasm is
infectious, her open and friendly manner a real advantage.
That she's so damn sweet looking with those wide brown eyes
does no harm either ...
Orianna coughed.
Ivy, prompted, got to her feet. She picked up the first
board from the stack she had propped against the legs of her
chair and flipped it around. It was a plain piece of card,
covered in an amber-colored paper.
"We thought we'd own orange," she explained. "But not
just any old orangeβthat's been done before, as I'm
sure you all appreciate." She smiled. Or perhaps the
mobile phone company passed you all by. "No, we'll own
the orange of traffic lights. The orange that says, βGet
ready to go.'" She reached for the second board and pointed
at the image of traffic lights with a large orange in the
center. "So the amber light becomes our icon. And to go with
it, our copy line..." She read from the caption, "βGet up
and go with That Sunshine Feeling!'" She stopped and
waited for them to take it in, then elaborated. "But that's
not all. We don't want to just own orange. We don't want to
just own βget up and go.' We want to own the entire
journey to work."
Now it was back to Orianna. "And this is where we really
begin to have fun," she said, hauling a third, larger board
from the floor onto the table. "We have orange buses. Ads at
traffic lights. Bus stops. Subway cards. Cross tracks..."
"Ads in the morning papers," interjected Ivy, showing a
fourth board. "And not just ads but promotions and
competitions on breakfast radio shows. We could sponsor the
weather..."
Orianna raised a fifth board. "βCome rain or shineβget
up and go with That Sunshine Feeling!' Traffic
reports: βWhen you're in a jamβget up and go with
That Sunshine Feeling!' Or come to that, mailers that
arrive in the post before you've even left for work."
But as she was about to reach for their final piece ...
"And what happens when we introduce a lime version of
That Sunshine Feeling later this year?" interrupted
Used-Car Salesman.
Ivy was stumped. Typical bloody clients, she thought,
throwing a wrench in the works. They probably withheld this
information deliberately.
"So, you're planning on a lime flavor?" asked Orianna lightly.
"Not planning," said Used-Car Salesman. "It's a
definite go."
"When?"
"September," he said. Ivy could swear he sounded smug.
"We could always run this campaign before that," suggested
Clare.
Yet Ivy knew they'd be hard-pressed to get everything
produced by thenβit was only three months away. In a
flash it came to her. "I see no problem with a lime
version," she said, struggling not to sound smug in return.
"You don't?"
"No. We use the amber for the orange drink. Green for the
lime. Green means go, after all."
Orianna added, "It would just be a simple alteration to the
visual. We put a giant lime instead of the green light."
"Easy," said Ivy.
"And cheap," said Orianna.
They were good at this: swiftly gauging the client's
mind-set. Ivy looked directly at Used-Car-Salesman, held his
gaze. Slowly he started nodding. "Hmm ... Fair enough. I'll
buy that."
"So, moving on," said Ivy, thinking, phew, what a near
miss. "Here's our final item, which we've executed for
this orange flavor, but in factβnow that we're talking
about itβwould work equally well with lime." She
reached for a large yellow envelope and handed it to the
frizzy-haired girl, aware she was the only client who hadn't
yet been involved specifically in the presentation. Ivy read
out the line on the outside: "βDon't be a lemon.'" She
paused while the girl removed the contents. Inside was what
looked like an enormous birthday card. The girl opened it
andβping!βout popped a giant cutout
orange on a spring.
"Brilliant!" said Frizzy.
"βSpring into action,'" Orianna concluded. "βGet up and go
with That Sunshine Feeling!'"
"Nice." Mutton-Dressed-As-Lamb nodded.
"Let's have a look," said Barrow Boy, snatching.
"Me first," said Used-Car Salesman, evidently pulling rank.
He pinged open the mailer again. "I love it!" he said.
Seconds later, "I love it all."
Orianna glanced at Ivy, jubilant. Ivy gave her a
surreptitious wink.
If my instinct is right, we've won the business, thought
Ivy. Clare's presentation might have warmed the clients up,
but ultimately it was our quick thinking and creativity that
cracked it. What a great team we are.
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