The Chic Boutique On Baker Street. Rachel Dove

let alone socialise. Last Saturday night, whilst her colleagues were all with their families, or knocking back overpriced drinks in loud sweaty clubs, she had been sat in her flat, knocking back wine, flicking through Plenty of Fish for a possible date and screening calls from her parents, both eager to give her pep talks about ‘the last push for partner’. Her mother had even taken to sending her daily emails, suggesting ways of clinching the partnership, whilst simultaneously disparaging her for not cutting her hair short or returning their calls.

      As though summoned by Amanda’s mind, Elaine buzzed through.

      ‘Miss Perry, I have your mother on line one.’

      Amanda rolled her eyes, groaning.

      ‘Tell her I am in a meeting please, Elaine.’

      ‘Er …’ Elaine’s hesistant voice came through the speaker. ‘I have told her that excuse the last five times, and she says if you don’t speak to her now, she will come to the office.’

      Amanda grimaced. ‘Well played, Mother,’ she said under her breath. ‘Fine, put her through please, and hold my calls.’ She knew this would take a while, like root canal treatment and about as pleasant.

      ‘Hello, Mother,’ she sighed into the line.

      ‘Hello, darling, meeting go well?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, knowing full well there was no meeting. ‘Did you get my email this morning, with the picture?’ Amanda fired up her email, putting the phone receiver between her cheek and shoulder.

      ‘Do you see it?’ her mother pestered.

      ‘Yes,’ Amanda said, looking at the woman clad in an astronaut suit, minus a helmet, that now filled her email screen. ‘I like my hair though,’ she said, running her fingers through the ends of her hair as though to comfort the strands under threat.

      ‘No, no, it’s too girly, too feminine. Think Anne Hathaway in Interstellar, elfin like, efficient. Would save you valuable billable time too, dear. How much money must you lose every month just by straightening that mop of yours?’

      ‘Well, if I stopped going to that overpriced muscle gym you made me sign up to, I would save even more,’ she retorted like a sulky teen being made to take French for her options against her will.

      ‘The gym is not a waste of time, it’s an investment. Trust me, when you get to my age, you will be thanking me for making you exercise. Now, have they made an announcement about the partnership yet? My sources tell me it is due any time. Kimberley is threatening divorce if he doesn’t step down soon,’ her mother declared, referring to Mr Ford’s wife. Sometimes, it felt like Amanda was still at school, getting regular reports from her teachers and having to sit through parents’ evenings with her mother and father barraging her poor subject teachers on every aspect of her education. She half expected her mother to check her homework too. Amanda deleted the email and short hair Hathaway disappeared from the screen.

      ‘Look, Mum, I have to go, I am busy,’ she said, bringing up her schedule on the screen.

      ‘That’s fine, Amanda dear, go get some work done, get this partnership nailed down. Think about the hair, OK?’

      Amanda strangled the receiver a little between her fingers, before putting it back to her ear. Marcus sidled into the room and she pointed a finger at him to stay silent. The fact that she was sleeping with her colleague and partnership rival was something for another day. Like the twelfth of never.

      ‘I have thought about it, and the answer is still no. Bye.’

      Celine Perry let out an elaborate sigh designed to guilt trip her spawn, and hung on the line, her disapproval making the phone lines jangle. Amanda put down the receiver like a woman handling a live grenade, staring at it ticking away in its cradle. Marcus cleared his throat, and she jumped at the noise, turning her gaze to her visitor, her demeanour tightening further.

      ‘Marcus, what do you want? I am busy today.’

      Marcus Beresford grinned from the corner of Amanda’s office, clearly amused by her terse welcome.

      ‘Why, Miss Perry, anyone would think you weren’t pleased to see me?’

      Amanda’s frown deepened as she eyed him from the top of her computer monitor.

      ‘I’m not pleased to see you, and I am busy—what is it?’

      Marcus smiled, now appearing contrite. ‘Is this about last night?’

      Amanda angrily motioned him to come in and shut the door, aware that Elaine was sitting outside, probably earwigging every word.

      Marcus stepped in, closing the door behind him, and sat on one of the meeting chairs. Despite herself, Amanda found herself gazing at him. His hair was freshly cut and still slightly damp, and the edges curled slightly at the nape of his neck, showing the grey flecks in his black hair against the dazzling white of his shirt. He was dressed impeccably as always—crisp dark grey suit, cream striped tie and polished-to-perfection black loafers. Even his hands were immaculate, with manicured short nails, and wisps of coarse dark hair peeked from his cuffs, licking around his designer watch. Amanda turned her admiring gaze swiftly back into a glare and she returned to the commercial lease she had been poring over for the last two days. She felt his eyes on her. Sighing, she met his eyes, anger fuelling the feeling in her gut.

      ‘Marcus, I have said this before, our personal life does not come into this office, ever! I don’t want to talk about last night. You stood me up, again. Remember Saturday? You are a git. End of conversation. Now, I am busy, so, please, close the door after you.’

      Marcus stood up, walked over to the side of the desk and knelt down beside her. Amanda flushed at his proximity, and willed her cheeks not to betray the fluttering in her chest. ‘Marcus …’

      ‘Amanda, I am so sorry. It just got too late to call, we had the Japanese clients fly in unexpectedly, I couldn’t just blow them off. I am so sorry! It was a late one and, when I did get a chance to call, your phone was off. And I explained about Saturday, my mother was in town. Did you really want me to not see my mother when she had come to London to see me?’

      Amanda paused. She liked how attentive to his mother he was, always on the phone to her, spending time with her when she came into town. Last night she was furious, but she did turn her phone off in anger before she went to bed, having waited for two hours, dressed up to go to a dinner that never happened. Again. Softening slightly, she nodded slowly.

      ‘OK, fair point, but I have a busy life too, Marcus. A call or even a text earlier would have been nice. I could have worked late.’

      Marcus stuck his bottom lip out, pouting like a child at the girl he was dating.

      ‘I know, pookie, I am sorry.’

      Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t call me “pookie”, I am not a bimbo. Now let me get to work, I have lots to do today and you dribbling on my desk is counterproductive.’

      Marcus grinned then, bouncing back upright. ‘Thanks, babe, I mean Amanda. I will make it up to you, I promise.’

      Amanda raised her eyebrows at him and pointed to the door, before returning to her work, feeling slightly better about her morning. Marcus swaggered to the door and paused with the handle in his hand, a gap showing the offices outside.

      ‘Oh and, Miss Perry, I emailed you a contract to look over, for the Kamimura account. Would you give it a look?’

      Amanda’s fingers stilled on her keyboard. She had a busy workload, and that account was not hers to work on, it was his!

      ‘Why can’t you attend to that, Mr Beresford? It is your account,’ she retorted, trying to keep the indignation out of her voice, aware that they once again had an audience. Marcus pursed his lips sheepishly.

      ‘Ah, well, the clients have booked a golf session for this afternoon, so I am leaving the office now till tomorrow.’

      Amanda’s jaw dropped, and her mouth