I Owe You One (Page 19)

I feel a huge wash of sympathy for him. I can’t imagine what it would be like if Mum married someone we didn’t get on with. I’m also longing to say, “Move in here! There’s plenty of room!” But that might be too pushy.

“You’ll find something!” I say encouragingly. “There are other headhunters … there must be loads of opportunities. You said you were willing to start at a more junior level—”

“Yeah, I told them that. I said, ‘What about fast-track schemes, whatever?’ And they go, ‘Well, are you a graduate?’ ”

There’s a prickly silence around the table, broken by Nicole saying with vague interest, “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you dropped out of uni, Ryan.”

Typical Nicole to spell out what we’re all thinking. Although, actually, I’d forgotten that Ryan dropped out too. It’s so long ago now, and it didn’t seem to matter, once he was in Hollywood, being the big success. But I guess it matters if you want to join a graduate scheme.

“Maybe you could finish your degree?” I suggest warily, even though I’m fairly sure that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Sod that,” Ryan says vehemently. “Either people understand what I have to offer or forget it.”

There’s such a miserable edge to his voice, I wince. It must be hard. I mean, rejection is hard whoever you are—but he’s Ryan Chalker! At school, he was the One. Maybe he wasn’t on the school council, or top at math, but he was still the One. Coolest boy. Golden boy. He had “success story” written all over him. So how can he be in this situation? Can’t these headhunters see his star quality? I feel so sorry for him. And I don’t blame him for lashing out. He’s like a wounded lion.

After we’ve finished eating, Nicole disappears upstairs to watch her Netflix show. Leila goes to get Jake’s cigarettes out of the car and I clear the plates, preoccupied. I want to solve this. A job. What job could Ryan get? I scrape the plates and stack the dishwasher, thinking: A job … a job … a job …

And then it comes to me. Oh my God! I have heard about a job recently. In Café Allegro. That conversation Sebastian was having, before the ceiling fell in.

As I close the dishwasher, I’m trying frantically to remember everything I overheard. He wanted someone bright and savvy and tough … someone with experience of the world.… He didn’t care about degrees.… Yes! It couldn’t be more perfect!

“Ryan!” I exclaim in excitement. “I’ve remembered, I heard about a job the other day. Exactly the kind of thing you want. You don’t need any qualifications, you just need some sense.…”

“What job?” says Jake with a laugh. “Flipping burgers?”

“It’s investment management,” I say, ignoring Jake. “It’s this company who are sick of clever-clever people. They want savvy people who’ve been in the real world. Well, that’s you!”

“Investment management?” Jake stares at me, flabbergasted. “How do you know anything about investment management?”

“I happened to hear about it.” I address Ryan. “What do you think?”

“You’re sweet to try,” he says without even turning his head. “But that’s, like, the most competitive field going. There’s no way an investment manager’s going to give me a job. I’ve got no degree, no experience—”

“They don’t care about that. If I find out the name of the company, we can look them up. There’ll be an application form. I’m sure you’d be in with a chance—”

“Fixie, stop!” Ryan lifts a hand, sounding almost angry. “Do you know the level of competition out there? Math graduates? Clever kids who can code and all that?”

“You don’t understand!” I say eagerly. “I overheard the guy talking. I got the inside scoop! They don’t want people with a million degrees. Look, I’ll get the name of the company and you can google them.”

I hurry into the hall and reach into my bag. The coffee-cup sleeve is still there, the business card still pinned to it with my Anna’s Accessories hair clip. I carry them both into the kitchen, reading out the name of the company.

“Ethical Sense Investment Management. ESIM. There you go.” I reach for my laptop, type the name into Google, and a moment later I’m looking at a familiar frondy-haired face. Sebastian Marlowe. Founder and CEO.

“They’re based in Farringdon.” I scan the opening paragraph. “Ethically led investment.”

“What the fuck is that?” Jake snorts.

“Don’t you want something a bit ethical, for a change?” I say to Ryan, ignoring Jake. “Anyway, look, here’s the job!” I’ve already clicked on Vacancies and found it: Trainee Researcher. “Applications are still being accepted for this post,” I read out loud. “Candidates are likely to have a business or finance degree; however, this is not necessary. An appropriate background in business will be taken into account. You see?”

“Trainee.” Ryan wrinkles his nose. “Like, intern?”

“You’ll be fine, mate.” Jake gives a short laugh. “Mine’s a flat white, and be quick about it.”

“It’s not an internship,” I say hastily. “But, I mean, you’ll have to be trained, won’t you?”

“Paying how much?” Ryan frowns at the screen.

“Does that matter?” I say. “It’s a foot in the door, isn’t it? I think it sounds really exciting!”

There’s silence for a few moments. I was hoping Ryan’s face would break into a joyful smile or he might even hug me. But he’s still reading the job description, his brow furrowed.

“Dunno,” he says at last. “I dunno. I need a proper job, not some crummy internship. I mean, in L.A. I employed interns.”

“Yes, but—” I break off awkwardly.

I don’t want to rub salt in his wounds. He doesn’t need reminding that he can’t afford to employ anyone now. I know exactly what that feels like. For about a month after my catering company failed, I’d wake up and had forgotten. Then the truth came crashing in on me again, and every time it was horrible.

“What’s this?” Ryan reaches curiously for the coffee-cup sleeve and reads the writing on it. “I owe you one. Redeemable in perpetuity.” He looks up. “What does that mean?”

“Oh.” For some weird reason, I find myself blushing. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Whose signature is that?” Ryan peers at the scribbly words.

“Yeah, what is this?” Jake takes the coffee-cup sleeve from Ryan and scans it, frowning. “Who owes you one?”

“He does,” I admit, a bit reluctantly. “The guy.”

“What guy?”

“The CEO guy.”

“Him?” Ryan jerks an incredulous thumb at Sebastian, still looking at us from the laptop screen. “How come? What happened?”

“I saved his laptop.”

“How?” Both of them are agog by now.

“It was nothing!” I say, trying to play it down. “There was this gush of water and I grabbed it. He said I’d saved his bacon. He tried to buy me a coffee, but I didn’t want it, so he wrote me this IOU. But it’s a joke,” I repeat for emphasis. “It’s not serious or anything.”

Ryan doesn’t seem to be listening.

“You saved his bacon,” he’s saying slowly. “So now he owes you a favor. Like maybe … giving a job to someone. A proper job. With proper money.”

I stare at Ryan, as it gradually dawns on me what he’s suggesting. He can’t mean— He couldn’t mean—

“Yes!” Jake joins in, his face animated. “Do it!”

“Do what?”

“Claim your IOU. Go and see the guy. Get Ryan a job. And make sure the salary’s decent.”

“I can’t do that!” I say, shocked. “I don’t even know him! He’s a stranger! I mean, I did bump into him tonight, actually,” I add, for the sake of accuracy. “But I don’t know him.…”

“It’s not about knowing him, it’s about your rights. He owes you one!” Jake jabs at the coffee-cup sleeve. “Says it here.”

“He doesn’t owe me that! All I did was save his laptop from getting wet. It was a tiny favor.”

“You don’t know that,” counters Jake at once. “You don’t know what was on that laptop. You could have saved him thousands of pounds.”

“Hundreds of thousands,” puts in Ryan. “You might have saved his whole company, for all you know.”

“You probably did.” Jake nods firmly. “You probably saved him millions and he tries to palm you off with a cappuccino. Cheapskate.”

“Look …” I exhale, trying to stay calm. “It wasn’t like that. And I can’t go waltzing into some guy’s office and say, ‘You owe me one, so give Ryan a job.’ ” I turn to Ryan. “Why don’t you apply properly? You have great experience, a great CV—”