“I’m Alice’s oldest friend.” Cassie thrust a hand at Ella to shake. Wide-legged pinstripe trousers hung off her narrow frame, a simple white vest highlighting her perfect collarbone. “We jumped rope together in the playground, would you believe?”
“Great to meet you.” Ella barely had time to reply before Cassie turned back. “He’s here, isn’t he?” “He” would be the all-consuming ex.
Alice paused. “I’m not sure—”
“God, I knew I shouldn’t have come.” Cassie shook her head, unleashing a torrent of chatter while Alice could only sit, a captive audience. “But Tony said, I need to do the red carpet. You know I’ve got a callback next week for the new Andrew Davies thing? Corsets and crinoline, down in the depths of Dorset for a month.” She shifted, radiating nervous energy. “God, I’m dying for a smoke. I don’t suppose…? But no, you never touched the things. Smart girl.” Cassie glanced around the room, eyes widening as she spotted someone: “Shit, Devorah!”
Grabbing Alice’s arm, Cassie ducked behind her. Seeing as she was at least three inches taller and twice as noticeable, Alice doubted it would be an effective evasive maneuver.
“What’s going on?” Ella looked over with clear amusement.
Cassie sighed, peeking out from behind Alice’s neat plait. “She hasn’t forgiven me for spilling gin on her Givenchy loaner at the BAFTAs.”
“Drama.” Ella grinned at Alice.
She shifted, uncomfortable. “Can I move yet?”
“No!” Cassie yelped. “She’s looking right at us.”
“No,” Alice corrected gently, peeling Cassie off her. “She’s stalking Chris Carmel, like every other single woman here tonight.”
“And half the taken ones too,” Ella piped up. “And every g*y man between here and Brighton—”
“Ooh, she’s looking away. See you soon? Call me!” With another flutter of kisses, Cassie disappeared into the crowd.
“Wow.” Ella said faintly, watching her go. “Was she always like this?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Alice agreed. Technically, the “oldest friend” routine was a somewhat rose-tinted view of the past. They’d been in primary school together, yes, but while Cassie ruled the year-five cliques from her prized seat under the apple tree, Alice had been staying in at lunch, reading in the book corner. It wasn’t until later, when Alice started at Grayson Wells, that their paths had crossed again.
“See, this is what I’m talking about.” Ella turned back to Alice: “You need some more excitement in your life. I mean, you have Vivienne, and Flora, and Cassie there buzzing around with all their drama, but what about you?”
Alice made a noise of protest. “I have plenty of excitement. Hello, banking fraud!”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Spending hours on the phone to some call-center drone is not excitement. I’m serious, Alice, you spend all your time making their lives run smoothly, and what do you get?”
“So you’re saying I’m a doormat?” Alice folded her arms. She knew Ella meant well, but she couldn’t help feel a touch defensive.
“No, that’s not it.” Ella must have realized Alice was offended, because her tone became soothing. “It would be different if you were, if you just lay back and let them trample all over you. But you’re brilliant, and capable—you swoop in and set their whole lives straight.”
Alice shrugged. “So?”
“So…Oh, I don’t know.” Ella sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I just never see you be selfish, that’s all.”
“I thought that was a good thing,” Alice replied. At least, it was to her. Selfish women wreaked havoc; they caused pain. They left.
“Alice.” Ella was undeterred.
“What?” She shrugged again. “I just don’t see what good it would do me to burst into tears the whole time and throw tantrums the way Flora does.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ella noted with a wry expression. “Men love high-maintenance women.”
“Where did you read that?” Alice snorted, “Cosmo?”
“Glamour, actually.” Ella laughed. “And I’m right. It makes them feel like they’re in some kind of noir film. You know, caught up in a femme fatale’s plot.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Ella exhaled. “You’re probably right. But not about the drama. You need to go crazy sometimes.”
“Sure.” Alice felt a smile tug the edge of her lips. “I’ll walk around my flat with heels on past nine p.m. Rebellious enough for you?”
“It’s a start.”
Chapter Four
Alice tried not to think about what Ella had said, but as she spent the next week on hold with her bank, fielding overwrought emails from Cassie about the precise meaning of “good to see you” in a note from the ex and avoiding Flora’s increasingly insistent demands for lunch—“or drinks, or dinner, or maybe even shopping?”—she couldn’t help but remember the instructions to be more of a drama queen. Dramatic, Alice would never be, but perhaps there was something to be said for putting herself first and using her brisk efficiency to further her own career for now, instead of treading water, organizing everyone else.
Delivering a stack of contracts to Vivienne one afternoon, Alice decided to take the plunge. Again.
“Do you have a moment?” she asked, as Vivienne carelessly scrawled her signature over every page, not even glancing at the dense print. The drawing room was dim, with lace drapes shrouding the windows, and Vivienne hunched behind her desk like a gothic Miss Havisham.
She looked up, dark eyes lined with a swipe of black liner behind the tiny quizzing glasses she donned for all her contract signing. “Of course, darling, what do you need?”
“Well, I was hoping we could talk again about me agenting.” Alice took a seat in one of the faux Louis XV chairs, strangely nervous. She was out of her comfort zone here, asking for something she couldn’t back up with charts and figures. She’d negotiated pay raises every year and expanded her benefits package, but this was new, uncertain territory.
Balancing her organizer on her knees, Alice flipped to the page she’d prepared with bulleted talking points. “I know I brought it up earlier in the year,” she began with a purposeful tone. “But I’ve been thinking more about it, and I think now would be a good time to start transitioning away from the strictly legal side of things.”