‘You are a maverick, Cassandra. Creative, yes. Talented, of course. But not a team-player. I can’t trust you to behave professionally, respectfully.’
‘For instance?’
‘For instance, Phoebe Fenton’s husband Ethan has just bought Artemis cosmetics.’
Artemis was one of the biggest cosmetics companies in the world, almost rivalling L’Oreal in size.
‘Phoebe and Ethan reunited over the holiday period,’ continued Pierre. ‘Ethan has already informed me that no Artemis advertising will run in Rive so long as you are in charge. Your Phoebe story, I believe, was another instance of you thinking only of ambition and not of consequence.’
Cassandra snorted.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, how was I to know her husband was going to buy Artemis? If that’s what you call negligent, why not throw these in: circulation is up; ad revenue is up; our profile is sky-high. The industry love me. Fire me and you’ll have the biggest, noisiest unfair dismissal case you’ve ever heard of.’
‘You really must keep that ego in check,’ said Pierre quietly, ‘it will get you into trouble one day.’
Cassandra narrowed her eyes.
‘Don’t threaten me,’ she spat. ‘Rive is nothing without me. You know I was the driving force in the US and when I left to relaunch Rive UK all Glenda did was copy my vision.’
‘Actually, Glenda has presented a very exciting new vision to me for the future of Rive.’
‘You’re welcome to it,’ she snarled, standing up and walking towards the door; a hundred faces turned to watch her as she left.
Cassandra’s apartment felt unusually still in the middle of the day. Ruby was back at her grandmother’s before returning to school and the chaos she’d left in her wake had been replaced with Cassandra’s tasteful order – but suddenly she longed for Ruby’s careless abandon. She paced around the open-plan flat, aimlessly straightening books and cushions, still in her coat, clutching it tight around her body like emotional insulation.
She didn’t need Rive, she didn’t need Pierre Desseau, she told herself. She was Cassandra Grand! Any magazine or fashion house would kill to have her on board. So why do I feel like I’m walking to the gallows?
She snatched up her mobile phone.
‘Max, can you come?’
She hadn’t seen him for two weeks or spoken to him for three days; she missed him so much it was like a physical pain. Right now she wanted him by her side more than she had ever wanted anything.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I need to see you about something. I’m at home. Come as soon as you can.’
She poured a vodka and slimline-tonic and took it out onto the balcony. She stared out at the city, not really thinking, just being, watching the clouds and traffic. She had no idea how long she was out there but she had watched the grey afternoon fade and now it was getting dark. Her skin was ice cold; she liked that. She wanted to be numbed – it was her way of coping. Max came at five, letting himself in with the key she had given him weeks before. He put the key on the table and walked across to her. Cassandra lifted her fingers to touch his lips, cupping his face before kissing him.
‘You’re cold,’ he said, frowning.
‘And you’re early,’ she smiled, pleased that he had rushed to her side.
‘I wanted to come early,’ said Max going over to sit in the Barcelona chair opposite her. Watching him, in the half light, almost made her forget about Rive. She wanted to climb into him, as if he was a suit. She decided not to mention her troubles straightaway – she wanted to enjoy a little time together first.
‘So how was New Year without me?’
‘St Barts was OK.’
He seemed uneasy, distracted. Cassandra immediately felt nervous. The room felt charged like the air before a storm.
‘You were supposed to say how much you missed me,’ she said.
There was a long uncomfortable pause.
‘Laura is pregnant. We found out two days ago.’
She bit her bottom lip painfully.