Free Talk to Me by Jules Wake Page A

found some brilliant Aussie bowler. He was already counting his wickets.

Chapter Six
    The reception at Organic PR is manned by Piranha One and Piranha Two. I don’t bother learning their names any more as they are replaced by updated identikit models every couple of months. Whatever that job ad promises, it must be a pack of lies because they never last long. The necessary qualifications must include a rigid expression – or they’re paid in Botox treatments – a distant superior manner and the ability to wither plants at ten paces with one icy look.
    Yet all of them have this unnerving ability to morph into a human being the minute they spot an important client or a board director. Forget asking them to order a courier – which I believe is part of a receptionist’s duties. From the twitch of their immaculate lips – so much Botox they don’t curl any more – you’d think that you’d asked them whether their Prada handbags came from Next.
    As Emily and I crossed the hall to the lifts, carrying hot drinks we’d picked up from Starbucks next door, Piranha One lifted her head and said in clear cutting tones, ‘Emily! Could you explain to your boyfriend that we are not here to pass on personal messages to staff? And remind him that our email is working perfectly.’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘I think you heard,’ and with that she turned back to her wordsearch hidden below the desk.
    ‘She is so bloody rude,’ Emily seethed. ‘How much longer has she got?’
    ‘Another six weeks of that one. Time’s nearly up for Piranha Two. What was she on about? I thought Daniel always phoned your mobile?’
    ‘Haven’t a clue. Probably got me muddled up with Emily Parr in Accounts.’
    I’d just sat down at my desk, prised the lid off my hot chocolate and fired up my computer when a grumpy-faced Emily appeared in front of me.
    ‘Olivia, I’ve had another bloody email.’ Scowling she stomped back to her desk.
    I followed. Peering over her shoulder I read …
    -----Original Message-----
    From: Peter Cooper [mailto:[email protected]]
    To: ‘Emily’
    Subject: Tardiness
    Dear Emily
    I emailed you yesterday and I haven’t heard back from you. I was worried you never got my email. Your receptionist tells me, however, that this is unlikely and that your system is very reliable. (She’s rather abrupt for one in her position.)
    However I wasn’t confident she knew what she was doing so I popped in to ensure that she had checked properly. A proper little madam but that’s so many women for you. Knowing you as I do, I’m sure there’s a good explanation as to why you haven’t answered my first email. That stupid female on the front desk was covering up her own incompetence  …
    Oo er and yikes.
    ‘He popped in!’ My voice went up. ‘No wonder the Piranhas were ruder than normal.’
    ‘Bloody cheek. How dare he?’ exploded Emily. ‘Who does he think he is? Checking up on me? He can piss off.’
    ‘Emily, calm down. There’s obviously been a mix-up. Poor chap. Thought Santa had done a personal delivery when he heard you’d ticked his box.’
    ‘I didn’t tick his sodding box! I’ve a good mind to ring your cousin. Get him to explain the cock-up to this Peter.’ She was pacing furiously up and down in front of my desk, oblivious to the curious looks she was getting.
    ‘As far as he’s concerned you did tick the box,’ I said gently.
    ‘Well, I didn’t,’ she roared at me. ‘I’m going to email him. How the hell did he find out where I worked?’
    Er hello, a quick Google on the web and Facebook and he could have found Emily and where she worked in seconds. Peter didn’t need to be Einstein to work out her email address.
    ‘Emily, just let him down gently,’ I pleaded. ‘Imagine how he feels.’ In this mood there was no knowing what response she would fire off.
    ‘I was hardly going to email, “Piss off you loony and don’t darken my inbox again”, was I?’
    Actually, I wouldn’t put it past her.