Free Dream a Little Dream by Giovanna Fletcher Page B

sings that afternoon, distracting me from the arduous task of writing out the company’s Christmas cards – a job that I seem to do earlier and earlier each year.
    Scribbling out the same thing again and again seems to numb my brain enough to knock the fear out of me. I find myself walking over to Jonathan’s office door and giving it a purposeful knock – now’s the time to strike!
    ‘Sarah?’ He booms, lifting his arm in the air and waving his hand in a regal fashion to beckon me in quickly.
    ‘Jonathan,’ I reply confidently, walking into his office.
    He seems in a jollier mood after a working lunch out at STK. Clearly a good steak and some red wine (no doubt followed by a calorific dessert) is just what he needed.
    ‘What can I do for you, Sarah?’ he asks, leaning back into his brown leather chair and swinging around to face me.
    Jonathan’s office is an eclectic mix of work and home. One wall is lined with books (mostly big, thick, luxurious, travel ones) for research and another is home to an array of shelves, showing off his various awards for past TV productions, pictures of his travels and of his wife and daughter. His office furniture isn’t the sort you’d usually see in an office (cold, tasteless and boring like the rest of
us use), it’s all individual and handmade in Italy, helping to make his office comfortable, unique and oozing charm and warmth … It’s not reflective of his personality in the slightest, if anything it’s a representation of the opposite – of the anti-Jonathan.
    ‘Well, Jonathan,’ I start, swallowing the lump of nerves in my throat and banishing the thought of mouthy Bruno from my mind. ‘You know I love working here –’
    ‘That’s good,’ he interrupts while nodding.
    ‘And that I’ve been here for –’
    ‘Years.’
    ‘Yes …’ I frown, his cutting in annoying me. ‘Well, as much as I love working as your PA – ’
    ‘You’re an integral part of our well-run machine.’
    Seriously, how much did the man drink at lunch?
    ‘Thank you,’ I smile, because even if it is drunken waffle, it’s still lovely to hear I’m valued. ‘It’s just, when I first started here I hoped being your PA would be, like a sort of, er, stepping stone to other positions within the company.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘It’s not that surprising really, Jonathan. I did a degree in Media – ’
    ‘You did?’
    ‘Yes. I got a 2:1 …’
    It feels weird being proud of that pointless set of numbers so long after having gained them when they’ve been of little use to me so far in life. In fact, do they even count any more? Or do they expire after a certain amount of time – expecting its owner to have dulled the need for them thanks to the endless jobs and experience they’ve
surely gained thanks to its existence? I hope not, otherwise I really am stuffed.
    ‘Well done …’ Jonathan booms, pursing his lips.
    ‘And I remember there being something said about learning the ropes within other departments when I applied.’
    ‘There was?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Interesting. Must’ve been Julie’s input,’ he reflects with a pause, looking past me towards my colleague’s desk. ‘Well, carry on,’ he mumbles, turning his hand in a circling motion as if it might help me get to the point quicker – which I would have done if he hadn’t kept interrupting me in the first place.
    ‘I know there probably aren’t any positions available right this second –’
    ‘No, not right this second,’ he says, scratching his forehead whilst frowning.
    ‘But I was hoping that in the future, if a space did become available – either on the Development or Research teams, maybe, well, whether I might be considered … ?’
    Jonathan looks at me with surprise – his eyebrows raised.
    A squeak-like sound escapes his mouth.
    I’ve no idea how to interpret his reaction, so plough on hopefully.
    ‘It’ll be a change, but I know how the company works and how you like things done. I’m hard