I've Got Your Number

He’s staring straight at me. It’s not the most friendly of expressions. I fact, I feel like backing away, only there’s nowhere to go.

“Oh, Loulou!” Rachel suddenly waves a hand across the room. “Do excuse me, Sam.” She heads off, pushing her way through the throng, leaving us alone.

There’s silence. Sam regards me evenly, without a flicker. He’s waiting for me to start, I realize.

“I thought … ” I swallow hard.

“Yes?” His voice is curt and unforgiving.

“I thought you might like to do a Fun Run.”

“You did.”

“Yes. I did.” My voice is a little husky with nerves. “I mean … they’re fun! So I thought I’d reply. Just to save you time.”

“You wrote an email and signed it as me ?” He sounds thunderous.

“I was trying to help!” I say hurriedly. “I knew you didn’t have time, and they kept asking you, and I thought—”

“The e-card was you too, I take it?” He shuts his eyes briefly. “Jesus. Is there anything else you’ve been meddling in?”

I want to bury my head like an ostrich. But I can’t. I have to tell him, quickly, before anyone else accosts him.

“OK, I had this … this other idea,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Only everyone got a bit carried away, and now everyone’s emailing about it, and they think there’s a job involved—”

“A job?” He stares at me. “What are you talking about?”

“Sam.” A guy claps him on the back as he passes. “Glad you’re interested in coming to Iceland. I’ll be in touch.”

“Iceland?” Sam’s face jerks in shock.

I’d forgotten about accepting the Iceland trip too.68 But I only have time to make another apologetic smile before someone else is accosting Sam.

“Sam, OK, I don’t know what’s going on.” It’s a girl with glasses and a very intense way of speaking. “I don’t know if you’re playing us for fools or what … ” She seems a bit stressed out and keeps pushing her hair back off her brow. “Anyway. Here’s my CV. You know how many ideas I’ve had for this company, but if we all have to keeping jumping through even more bloody hoops, then … whatever, Sam. Your call.”

“Elena—” Sam breaks off in bafflement.

“Just read my personal statement. It’s all in there.” She stalks off.

There’s a silent beat, then Sam wheels round, his face so ominous I feel a quailing inside.

“Start from the beginning. What did you do?”

“I sent an email.” I scuff my foot, feeling like a naughty child. “From you.”

“To whom?”

“Everyone in the company.” I cringe as I say the words. “I just wanted everyone to feel … encouraged and positive. So I said everyone should send their ideas in. To you.”

“You wrote that? Under my name ?”

He looks so livid I actually back away, feeling a bit petrified.

“I’m sorry,” I say breathlessly. “I thought it was a good idea. But some people thought you were trying to sack them, and other people think you’re secretly interviewing for a job, and everyone’s got into a tizz about it … I’m sorry,” I end lamely.

“Sam, I got your email!” A girl with a ponytail interrupts us eagerly. “So, I’ll see you at dance classes.”

“Wh—” Sam’s eyes swivel in his head.

“Thanks so much for the support. Actually, you’re my only pupil so far! Bring comfortable clothes and soft shoes, OK?”

I glance at Sam and gulp at his expression. He seems literally unable to speak. What’s wrong with dance classes? He’s going to need to dance at his wedding, isn’t he? He should be grateful I signed him up.

“Sounds great!” I say encouragingly.

“See you next Tuesday evening, Sam!”

As she disappears into the hubbub, I fold my arms defensively, all ready to tell him that I’ve done him a huge favor. But as he turns back, his face is so stony, I lose my nerve.

“Exactly how many emails have you sent in my name?” He sounds calm, but not in a good way.

“I—not many,” I flounder. “I mean … just a few. I only wanted to help—”

“If you were my PA, I’d have you fired on the spot and quite possibly prosecuted.” He fires the words out as though he’s a machine gun. “As it is, I can only ask for my phone back and request that you—”