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“Just wealthy people, I guess.”
“Oh, babe. Very wealthy people indeed, and I’m pretty certain a lot of them know of each other. Right at the centre is a special group of them. The founders, so rumour has it. And they all value their secrets. They won’t want people digging into their business. Especially not sleazy wankers like Richard Jacobs.”
I take in what she’s saying, or try to.
“You think they’re going to have words with him?”
She laughs. “Words with him would be one way of looking at it. Putting him in his place with a threat and a promise, more like it. The owner of Kingsgate is probably a client of ours, they’re not going to be wanting an employee of theirs digging around in Agency business, are they?”
I’m shocked at the thought, but he’d deserve it. The piece of shit would absolutely deserve the payback for being such a manipulative cunt over my new home, AND for being such a wanker to Tiff and Josh, too. At least then maybe he’d leave us all the fuck alone.
Eb and I are in the Dev enjoying our third wine of the afternoon when a call comes through from Kingsgate Lettings Agency. I’ve still got their number saved on my phone and my guts lurch at the sight of it. I take a breath before I answer, figuring it will be him himself – Mr Caught Out – but it’s Rachel, the woman I filed the tenancy paperwork with.
“Miss Edwards,” she says, in a cheerful voice. “I’m pleased to say that the apartment in the Belgravia’s West Wing has become available again. Would you like to accept it?”
“Sorry, what?” I ask. “Is this to do with Richard? Is he suddenly accepting my tenancy application again or something? Because if he is…”
“No, no,” she tells me, and clears her throat. “Unfortunately, Mr Jacobs has had some unfortunate personal issues come up which have led to his immediate resignation. I’m taking his place in management now and the property is yours to rent, if you want it. Just say the word and you can collect the keys tomorrow.”
I can collect the keys tomorrow, just what the hell?
I wanted it so fucking much, the thought slams me. Hard. The horror at losing my imaginary future because that asshole wanted to rub my face in the dirt. I’m reeling. Swarming with a sense of WTF at the speed of Orla’s influence.
I must go whiter than my foundation, because Eb mouths a what to me as I hold my phone tighter to my ear.
But still, even through the shock, one thing is obvious. The words come straight out of my heart as well as my mouth, without so much as a thought.
“Thank you very much for the consideration,” I tell Rachel. “But you can keep the apartment, thanks, I won’t be needing it. I’ve already found a new home.”
Eb is open mouthed when I hang up.
“That was fucking quick. Orla’s gone all guns blazing to get you that place back.” She pauses. “But you don’t want it? You’d rather be with Josh?”
Too right I’d rather be with Josh. The very thought of moving out of his place gives me a pang of heartbreak.
“I wasn’t lying,” I tell Eb. “I’ve found a new home now, and there’s no way I’d want to leave. Waving at Josh across the courtyard just isn’t going to cut it. Not anymore.”
“Cheers to you then, babe.” She raises her glass to me, and we finish up our drinks in one.
“I’ll go get us another,” she says and she’s up and off to the bar before I can protest that it’s my round.
I watch her so warmly on her way across the pub, grateful once again for her, and for Josh, and Tiff and everyone who has helped me.
There’s another very important person I need to be grateful for now, too.
I call up The Agency app and send another message to Orla.
Thank you. I really appreciate it. You’re amazing. Just, wow. Thanks. But luckily, I’m with Josh now, and I won’t be leaving his place. We’re like two peas in a very happy pod together.
I get a reply as Ebony reappears with our drinks.
You’re welcome, Ella, and congratulations to you and Josh – two of our most valued entertainers. Any other issues with people using your career as leverage, please reach out to us. It’s unacceptable behaviour, and we’ll always help however we can.
Hell, judging by the speed she handled that bullshit debacle, I’m sure glad to have her on my side.
“All good?” Eb asks, and I give her a wine-fuelled grin.
“All is more than good,” I say. “It’s the best it could possibly be.”
