Guilty Pleasures. Tasmina Perry

Rich has already been seen coming out of Daniel Davies’ office grinning like a Cheshire cat. Apparently a couple of other senior managers have just had meetings chalked in for after lunch.’

      For the rest of the day Emma couldn’t settle as all afternoon senior managers had been going up to see the managing partner Daniel Davies. When Gretchen put the call through at 5 p.m. asking her to go and see Davies, Emma could hardly stand the suspense.

      This is it, thought Emma feeling sick. She stood up and smoothed down her skirt.

      She tried to calm herself, but had never felt so nervous about anything in her whole life. Three years at Stanford. Another two at Harvard; Emma had always known she was not as academically gifted as her father, a Fellow at Oxford, so she had to work damn hard to the exclusion of everything else. No social life. No boyfriends. The work never stopped once she got to Price Donahue with six years of ninety-hour weeks, eleven and a half months a year. But a partnership at 29! It would mean instant respect around the city and instant respect in corporate America, not to mention a high six-figure salary. In ten years’ time she could pick and choose board directorships at some of the biggest blue chip companies in the world. And best of all, it would have been all of her own making, not like the brash, young CEOs she met on the corporate circuit who only held the job because their daddies had held the position and their daddies before that. With a lurch, she realized that she was also thinking about Milford. Handed to me on a plate. Where was the victory, the glory in that?

      She went to Daniel Davies’ office on the top floor and tried to read his face the minute she walked through the door. He was sitting behind his desk, furiously scribbling on a yellow legal pad with a silver fountain pen. He was 45 but his thick black hair was greying, making him look older. His gaze, when he looked up at Emma, gave nothing away.

      ‘Ah, Emma,’ he said, putting his pen down carefully.

      ‘Daniel,’ said Emma feeling her palms go clammy.

      ‘Have a seat and I’ll get straight to the point. You know we’ve been extremely pleased with you over the last twelve months. Client feedback has been excellent from many of your projects and we always like having a Harvard Baker Scholar on the team,’ he said, referring to the prestigious award given to the top 5 per cent of students from the business school.

      A flock of butterflies took flight in Emma’s stomach.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

      ‘But despite my enormous respect for your abilities, I’m afraid you are not going to be invited to join the partnership this year.’

      It was as if she had been kicked. She felt a thickness in her throat.

      ‘I see,’ she said evenly, fighting back her emotions. Now was not the time to fall apart-a tearful scene would only confirm their decision.

      ‘I wonder if you could expand on that?’ she asked. ‘I know it was competitive this year, but some feedback might be useful.’

      She was digging her nails into her palm, but managed to meet Davies’ eyes.

      He averted his gaze slightly.

      ‘Of course,’ he said slowly. ‘Some partners simply felt that you were a little short of experience to make the jump to the next level. I’m sorry.’

      Emma nodded. She had rehearsed a hundred times how she would respond to the news that she had not made partner. She knew the dignified response would be to thank him and leave the room immediately, but she had felt so sure. She had to know.

      ‘Could I ask if it was a unanimous decision?’

      She knew she was the strongest manager by a mile, she just knew it. But if the senior partners couldn’t see it, then she was obviously wasting her time at the firm.

      ‘I’m afraid so,’ he said, examining his manicured fingernails. ‘Of course, the decision is taken by the board, but we take advice and recommendations from the partners you have worked most closely with.’

      He paused and gave her a small encouraging smile.

      ‘Everyone thinks you can do the job, Emma,’ he said looking at her with his dark eyes.

      ‘But some people think you could do with a little more maturity before you progress to the next stage.’

      Emma could not hold it inside any longer.

      ‘Who?’ she asked weakly.

      ‘Emma. Being a partner isn’t just about doing the job. It’s about bringing in business. Mark Eisner thinks you need to be more confident in social situations. You need to interact better with potential clients, be more aggressive with salesmanship.’

      ‘Salesmanship?’ repeated Emma, stunned. ‘Only last week I brought in Frost Industries. I met PJ at a convention. He invited me to Vermont… It’s worth a fortune in fees.’ Her head was spinning. How could Mark, the man she was in love with, have betrayed her so brutally? He knew how much she had wanted this partnership. Only days ago, she had lain naked in his arms as he had told her she was the brightest talent in the firm. Surely Daniel Davies was lying or mistaken?

      Davies raised an eyebrow. ‘It was my understanding that Mark Eisner brought in that business and closed the deal. He told me so himself on Monday. We are grateful for your work on the pitch and I am sure you will be involved in the team that implements the work.’

      She bit her lip knowing it was pointless to contest what David had said. She remembered how Mark had insisted on coming on the Vermont trip. At the time, she’d been flattered and excited. ‘Bring me. Let’s have a couple of nights in a five-star hotel on the company,’ he’d told her. But no: was he just looking for a way to steal her thunder? How much more of her work had he passed off as his own? The bastard.

      ‘Emma. Given time, I, for one, think you have a future at Price Donahue,’ said Davies sympathetically. ‘You are only 29 years old.’

      ‘If you’re good enough, you’re old enough,’ she whispered, her hands trembling.

      They looked at each other, each knowing that Price Donahue was a company of Young Turks; you had your window of opportunity to make partner. If you didn’t make it, you were history.

      Without another word she got up and left the room.

      She walked back to her office in silence, a short shake of the head all she needed to impart her news to Gretchen.

      ‘Who did?’ she asked, knowing Gretchen was popular with all the PAs and secretaries in the company.

      ‘Pete Wise, Jack Johnson, Bob Hatch,’ she said apologetically.

      Pete Wise? The man was an idiot! And what business had Jack Johnson brought in? Despairing, Emma grabbed her coat and headed out into the cold Boston evening.

      The tall office blocks of downtown soared up around her. In front, Boston harbour shimmered like a vat of ink. Suddenly she felt very small and alone.

      Hearing footsteps behind her on the pavement, she turned to see Mark running after her, his breath puffing white clouds up to the skyline behind him.

      ‘Em! Emma!’ he called, panting as he caught up with her.

      ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you didn’t make it,’ he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘I only found out early today.’

      She jerked her arm away from him.

      ‘Don’t give me that, Mark,’ she said turning on her heel. ‘You knew.’

      ‘Emma. Don’t get so worked up. What’s the big hurry? You’ll make partner next year.’

      She stopped and turned back, her eyes blazing.

      ‘Next year? Or perhaps the next? Or whenever you let Daniel Davies know that I’ve suitably matured?’

      Mark went pale.