His Girl Friday Read online

  His Girl Friday

  Ellen March

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  Fanny Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.fannypress.com

  ellenmarch.jimdo.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  His Girl Friday

  Copyright © 2014 by Ellen March

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-564-2 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-565-9 (eBook)

  Produced in the United States of America

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  To my sister Chris, who always believed in me. I hope she’s looking down from heaven and reading this.

  To my rock (as usual), Leanne, and the wonderful team from Fanny Press, Catherine, Emily and Jennifer. Way to go ladies! It’s girl power.

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  Chapter One

  Sally was just snuggling beneath the quilt as the alarm sounded. With a loud groan, she pulled the pillow over her head in an attempt to drown out the shrill noise. It vibrated on the bedside cabinet with the manic intensity of a Brazilian salsa dancer.

  She flung out a long, slender arm and swiped at the evil device in an attempt to stop the clamour. Sally muttered curses to herself as it crashed to the floor and continued to blare.

  “Oh God, why can’t I win the lottery?” She rubbed at her scratchy, tired eyes. A morning person she was not. Groping for the clock, she attempted to focus on the time. Her eyes widened in shock. “Shit!” She threw back the quilt and scrambled out of bed.

  As she danced around the small bedroom on one leg, Sally tried to pull up her trousers. She cursed the fact she was going to be late for work yet again, and today of all days was so not a good time.

  She reached for her mobile, keyed in the number, then waited, pushing back her heavy mane of honey blond hair. Impatience rode her hard. “Come on!” she urged aloud. After what seemed an eternity a familiar voice answered. Still clutching her mobile, she struggled to pull on her bottoms with one hand.

  “Jenny, it’s me.” She paused and shook her head in disbelief. “What do you mean who? It’s Sally. Listen, I’m running late, like half an hour. Can you fob Norma off with something?” Rolling her eyes, she continued to fight in earnest to pull on a sneaker. She wished Jenny didn’t complicate matters by asking questions. “Well, I don’t know. Say anything, just don’t tell her I’ve overslept again. Right, yeah, okay. See you soon.”

  Almost forty minutes later she cycled up to the high rise office block that stretched into the sky. The early morning sun glinted off the sheet of tinted glass that reflected it, the name ‘Normandy’ emblazoned across the front. It shimmered a harsh red.

  Freewheeling down into the parking garage below, Sally used up precious minutes chaining her bike. But she couldn’t afford to have it stolen. Not bothering to wait for the lift, she raced up the five flights of stairs towards the top floor.

  Jenny glanced up from her desk. She closed her eyes when Sally came skidding through the door, knocking the bin over in her haste, and shook her head in despair. Wherever Sally went some sort of accident happened. She was a walking disaster.

  “Norma is waiting for you.” Jenny, Norma’s secretary, pointed to the closed door opposite her desk. She smoothed back her short dark hair, cut in a bob to frame her round face. Her expression remained unmoved, with not a wrinkle to crease it. A set of periwinkle blue eyes settled on Sally. “And she’s not in a good mood.”

  “Is she ever?” muttered Sally, leaning forward with her hands on her thighs, gasping for air after her sprint. She attempted to calm her breathing. Despite the cycling to work, she was not particularly fit. Finally she stood up straight, tugged off her jacket, and dropped it onto the desk. She didn’t notice the polystyrene cup of water. It tilted and wobbled before falling over.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, why don’t you look what you’re doing?” Jenny shot her a glare, trying to stem the pool of water by dabbing at it with a handful of tissue.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Sally, a blaze of colour splashing across her face as she focused on her scruffy, white trainers. When the door opened, she jumped. A thin, middle-aged woman stood there, glaring at her. She wore a smart suit, the navy skirt fitted snug around narrow hips, along with a pinched expression. Her displeasure was obvious.

  “Nice of you to start work this morning. Or should I say afternoon,” she snapped. Pearly white teeth glinted bright against a dark, tanned complexion. “Now if you can manage it, do you think you could spare me some time?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Norma spun round and marched back into her office, her heels clacking loudly on the wooden floor. The sharp staccato sounded like a volley of gunfire.

  Sally chewed on her lip, a frisson of nerves circling in the pit of her stomach. Pushing her heavy, dark-framed glasses back up her nose, she took a deep breath and followed. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

  The inside of the large office was almost sterile and sparsely furnished. A massive cream desk dominated the room. Behind it sat Norma, her bright, spiky red hair glinting in the late morning light. Sally noticed that the lines on her thin face appeared deeper today. Probably due to the sun bed she was addicted to. Sally wondered if the woman would ever consider Botox.

  “Sit,” Norma ordered, her eyes glazing across Sally in disgust. Norma couldn’t work out why the girl dressed the way she did. She made no attempt to look smart. And the fact that she didn’t seem to care even though she worked at an advertising house grated on Norma. Sally didn’t bother with makeup. Didn’t wear designer clothes. She wondered why Sally worked here at all. Fashionista she wasn’t. Even her hairstyle screamed old-fashioned, dated. But today it suited Norma’s purpose.

  Sally stumbled backwards, fumbling for a chair, before realizing someone else was in the room. She turned to look and saw that it was Pepper.

  As usual, the svelte blonde appeared immaculate, from the top of her perfectly layered blonde-streaked hair to the short, fitted black dress that clung to her emaciated body. Her hair looked as if she’d just stepped out of a beauty parlour. Legs of giraffe proportion were crossed comfortably in front of her, and she wore ridiculous high heels whose red soles screamed designer label Louboutin.

  Sally attempted to tuck her legs beneath the chair, anything not to draw attention to her tattered trainers. She tried to avert her gaze from Pepper’s gleaming shoes.

  “You’re both here today to attend an interview,” began Norma, glancing at one then the other.

  “What, you’re sacking us?” squeaked Sally as fear squeezed her lungs. Her eyes were huge behind the thick black glasses. She was already behind with her rent. She picked at a broken nail with a feverish intensity, worrying how she’d pay her bills. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure I’m on time from now on.”

  “Will you be quiet and simply listen for once in your life?” Irritated, Norma lit a cigarette, not bothering to ask if they minded. It didn’t matter to her, anyway. “No I’m not sacking you, but I’m glad to hear your time keeping is going to improve. You’ve both heard of Roman Daniels, the reclusive millionaire?” She paused, waiting for a reaction.

  As expected, Sally stared back at her with a blank, uninterested expression.

  “He’s made his money running a string of fitness centres, and he’s adverti
sing for a secretary,” she explained, blowing a long spiral of blue smoke up into the air.

  “So?” Sally frowned, wondering what that had to do with her. She didn’t care about the man, millionaire or no.

  “So shut up!” Norma pinned her with a glare, wishing she would just listen. “His PA will be conducting the interviews, and I’ve heard through the grapevine that she’s having an affair with him. Which is my reason for sending the two of you. She won’t want any competition.” Her attention dropped on Sally, making her point clear. “He’s renowned for his affairs with beautiful women. But just in case he’s there, I’m hedging my bets by sending the best and the, er, worst.” She grimaced at Sally’s shoes.

  Sally sat unmoving. She was aware of her looks, or lack of them, and working at a fashion magazine like Normandy served to reinforce the fact she was a misfit. She no longer felt hurt. Those emotions had died an eon ago. She’d started working there two years ago. After a stint in a shop, she’d gone back to college, fulfilled a year-long night-school course which happened to be free, and gained her qualifications in word processing. When the position came up in the local job centre, she’d applied for it. She’d been amazed to get it. Though not ideal, it paid more than shop work. She’d hoped to progress, to advance from a mere drone to an aspiring reporter.

  She’d had a lifetime to get used to her face and body, hating both with a passion. Sally couldn’t decide which she hated the most. Her over-compensated chest or the flash of braces that glinted out of her too-wide mouth. Her daily routine consisted of covering up her figure and welcoming the accessories that distracted from her features.

  “So what’s the point in this?” Sally shook her head, frowning in confusion. She was still unable to work out what Norma was up to.

  “The point is … why I’m the editor of this magazine and you’re a clerk,” she hissed with a drizzle of scorn. Rising, she placed her hands on the desk and glared at them both. “I want a story on him, all the sexy lurid details. What he gets up to, his likes, his dislikes. I want to know everything about him. One of you will get me that information, and when I’ve got enough then we will run it in Normandy.”

  “Won’t he be, you know, a-annoyed?” said Sally, stumbling over her words. Raising her eyes, she waited for the backlash. Norma was small in stature but she scared the shit out of her.

  “I would imagine so, but once I have that scoop, well ….” Smiling, Norma left the rest unsaid.

  Sally noticed that Pepper sat silent. No contribution from her. She did exactly what she was told to do. But somehow this assignment left a bitter taste in Sally’s mouth. It felt dishonest, tantamount to spying.

  “I don’t know.” Sally’s forehead creased with a frown. She gazed past Norma, out through the window and into the distance, beyond the jutting roof tops arced in sharp contrast against the pale light. “It just doesn’t seem right.”

  Norma slammed the table with the palm of her hand, her volatile temper exploding. “Stop moralizing. I’m not interested in what’s right or wrong! What you should remember is that you need this job. It’s entirely up to you. You know where the door is.” Norma stood glaring down at her, then spun around and paced up and down the room. “All I’m asking for is his personal details. Now what harm can that do? He’s quite open about his sex life. It’s what our readers want. Now, do you need the job or not?” Stopping in front of Sally, she pinned her with a glare. Her arms were folded and she tapped her foot in impatience.

  Sally sighed in defeat. “When is the interview?” she asked with resignation. She didn’t have much choice if it came down to keeping a roof over her head or telling the world how many shags the man had in a night.

  “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” Norma smirked, nodded her head in approval, and lit yet another cigarette. Her index finger showed a trace of yellow, and her nails were highly polished with deep blood red varnish. “It’s this afternoon, and neither of you should bother changing. I think you’re both perfect as is.” She was confident in Antonia’s jealousy. Norma had heard on the grapevine what Antonia was like. How she considered Roman her own personal stud. And that she would attempt to thwart any affairs beneath his roof. No way would she put anything tempting in front of him. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Roman’s PA would pick the runt of the litter. She stared at Sally with blatant contempt. She couldn’t understand why Sally remained a mess. Apparently nothing of Normandy had rubbed off on her. As far as Norma was concerned, it was lazy and selfish not to make the most of what you were blessed with, and surely Sally could have done better.

  Jenny leaned back in her chair, glancing up as they all came out. “So what was it about?” Hastily, she moved the renewed cup of water out of harm’s way.

  “Don’t ask,” groaned Sally. She hated interviews and knew damn well she’d stick out like a sore thumb. As she picked up her jacket, she didn’t notice the pile of papers alongside. They fluttered to the floor like confetti, culminating in a messy shambolic heap.

  “Sally! For pity’s sake, I wish you’d watch what you’re doing.” Jenny slapped a hand to her forehead in frustration. “I spent ages getting those papers in order.”

  Sally stooped to pick them up, muttering apologies.

  “No, don’t bother. I’ll do it myself. Please, Sal.” Jenny held her hands up, wanting to get Sally away from her desk before something else happened.

  “Sorry.” Warily folding her arms close to her body, Sally held her jacket tight. With a final glance down at the mess, she shuffled shame-faced towards her own desk.

  The remainder of the morning flew by far too fast for Sally’s liking. She keyed in the stockpiled reports and lost a lot of her data, her nerves making her fingers hit the delete button instead of save. She spent five minutes cursing and the rest searching for the spreadsheet she’d worked on. The interview loomed before her, a dreaded nightmare.

  At the designated time, Norma rounded them up, putting any sheepdog to shame, and ushered them into her Mercedes. Suffering from verbal diarrhoea, she droned on and on non-stop with orders and instructions until she finally deposited them outside a large glass building. The name ‘Daniels’ was emblazoned across it in large, gold lettering.

  Sally swallowed her nerves and stepped out into the afternoon sunshine alongside perfect Pepper, who didn’t appear to have a care in the world. More concerned with her appearance than the impending interview, Pepper smeared her lips with fuchsia pink gloss then checked her hair in her compact, pulling several errant strands into place.

  Sally released a deep rolling sigh and gave her own appearance a cursory glance. No point in attempting the impossible. The entire outfit was second-hand, and looked it. The pink baggy top clashed with the elasticised pair of olive green trousers. They were old, used, and so not functional. Only her tatty trainers peeped out. Oh well; she would soon be out of range of Norma’s relentless nagging.

  “Good luck, girls. I’ll wait here for you.” Norma did not care about the fact that they were parked on double yellow lines. Laws meant nothing to her; she flouted them as much as she did convention.

  Sally shot her a sick smile before walking into the cool foyer, shadowing Pepper. Happy in her own role, she didn’t care about the job. What she’d heard about the elusive Roman didn’t inspire her with confidence. She couldn’t help but notice the shocked stares from the other aspiring secretaries. All were immaculately attired in the height of fashion, from their hair and clothes to their makeup. Perfection was not something she aspired to, ever. What was the point? Makeup was supposed to enhance a face, not produce miracles.

  Sally slumped down heavily into the nearest chair, making a pretence of reading a nearby magazine. Peeping over the top, she gazed around the room of beautiful women and wondered if any of them could do the work Roman would be employing them for. They were like models, not secretaries.

  Then she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. It made no difference to her. She was more than happy to keep worki
ng for Normandy. What she’d heard about Roman didn’t inspire her confidence. She crossed her legs, unaware of how close she was to the glass coffee table. Her foot hit it hard from underneath, lifting it upright. It cartwheeled over, spilling magazines onto the floor.

  “Oh, Christ, I’m sorry,” she cried aloud to no one in particular. In the silent hush, a score of eyes turned to stare, pity etched on their perfect faces. She struggled with the overturned table, thankful that it was still in one piece. Then she dropped to her knees, gathered the medley of magazines into her arms, and placed them in a neat stack in the middle of the table.

  From behind a closed door, a petite woman with short, cropped black hair made an impressive entrance into the foyer. She stood in the centre and clapped her hands with a theatrical flair. Clearing her throat, she glanced down at her clipboard and scanned the room of hopefuls, her pale blue eyes missing nothing.

  For a brief second, her eyes rested on Sally and studied her.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Antonia, and I am Roman’s personal assistant. We’ll try and get through the auditions as quickly as possible. Originally there were to be two people conducting the interviews, myself and Roman.” She listened to the excited shrieks before holding a hand up. “However, I’m afraid he’s been called away. An emergency has come up, so I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me.” She glanced around at the sea of disappointed faces. “So, shall we begin?”

  Sally watched the girls stream in and out of the office. Fanning her face with a rolled up magazine, she realized that she was bored senseless. She was afraid to put her head back because she knew she’d fall asleep and end up drooling, or worse, snuffling with the little snorts that often woke her up. The room was stifling, and she sniffed experimentally at her underarms. When at long last her name was called, she jumped.