worked for the Sheffield Telegraph for nine years before I came here. I celebrated my 30th birthday last week… and to tell you the truth, I’ve only just woken from the fog of the world’s worst hangover…”
Shit. I knew I came across as a total freak but mouth lurched into action before brain sometimes. Especially with several pairs of eyes either trained on me, or trained away. Those looking at me might have thought me a dickhead, those looking away were obviously bored.
I was just an ordinary girl with a talent and didn’t really know how to get round all these professional fuckers who were looking at me like my shit stank.
I looked at my audience and realised nobody was impressed. Neither was I, really. I was talking drivel. I sat back down with a thump and drowned in my seat.
Ash cleared his throat and politely thanked me for sharing. (Yeah, sharing a little too much I reckon!)
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. In one respect, I was glad Kincaid wasn’t in that room with us. God knows what he’d think of me otherwise. Then again, it led me to consider what his job was.
During the meeting various members of staff made their input at whatever point they felt like, which meant I had no idea what was going on between all the criss-crossing and to-ing and fro-ing of conversations and exchanges. It was a free-for-all. I was in a room with researchers, editors, managers and the lackeys at the bottom like me—the content writers.
“That’s it for this week then guys,” Ash said.
Everyone left the room quickly but Ash waited behind and we were the last ones.
“Kind of don’t like talking in front of people,” I explained sheepishly. “I sort of have shit for brains sometimes.”
He patted my shoulder, laughing. “Actually kind of made my day knowing someone new can see straight through these boring old tossers. Now, let’s get you and Trevor acquainted.”
Back at my desk, Trevor was waiting. I didn’t know if he’d been in the meeting—like I said it’d all passed in a blur and there were too many people’s names to remember. Trevor had rocker hair, he was 50-odd years old and rake thin.
“Right Chloe… Trev’ll get you started.”
I nodded like I knew what he was saying, when really I was still in a daze of confusion. They knew I had nearly ten years under my belt, right? Right!? When Trevor and I were alone, he talked like I knew what the hell he was going on about.
He started passing me bundles of paper. “Here is a copy of the in-house style guide, you know? A guide to familiarising with the systems… a guide to exceptions to the rules… oh, and I’ll mail you a favourites list to add to your browser… email contacts, too. So, there’s lots to get yourself accustomed with…” and the list went on.
His voice was so quiet, so low, almost a hiss. I had to move closer so I could hear and I ended up like he was—hunched over the desk with my elbows propping my head up. At one point we even sighed in unison. He seemed like an okay guy so I said off the bat, “Is this place gonna be my worst nightmare?”
His laughter was like his voice—a comical hiss, his eyes closed, his hair and fuzz making most of his features indistinguishable—his face squeezed tight with amusement.
He whispered, “Nah. You’ll be fine.”
Chapter 4
BY LUNCHTIME I was exhausted. I’d been awake since six a.m., run the gauntlet of my own stupid nerves—and Trevor had just about tested me with as many facts and figures as he could. I had a mere half an hour for lunch and would have preferred to use that time to have a snooze under my desk!
Instead I sat Googling stuff to do for free in London. I held a ham sandwich with very curly lettuce in my hand and looked down at the empty coffee cup by my side, wondering how I might procure some more. Which is when I realised I had my email system up and running. I navigated the internal address book and typed, Kinc —, when his name
Shit. I knew I came across as a total freak but mouth lurched into action before brain sometimes. Especially with several pairs of eyes either trained on me, or trained away. Those looking at me might have thought me a dickhead, those looking away were obviously bored.
I was just an ordinary girl with a talent and didn’t really know how to get round all these professional fuckers who were looking at me like my shit stank.
I looked at my audience and realised nobody was impressed. Neither was I, really. I was talking drivel. I sat back down with a thump and drowned in my seat.
Ash cleared his throat and politely thanked me for sharing. (Yeah, sharing a little too much I reckon!)
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. In one respect, I was glad Kincaid wasn’t in that room with us. God knows what he’d think of me otherwise. Then again, it led me to consider what his job was.
During the meeting various members of staff made their input at whatever point they felt like, which meant I had no idea what was going on between all the criss-crossing and to-ing and fro-ing of conversations and exchanges. It was a free-for-all. I was in a room with researchers, editors, managers and the lackeys at the bottom like me—the content writers.
“That’s it for this week then guys,” Ash said.
Everyone left the room quickly but Ash waited behind and we were the last ones.
“Kind of don’t like talking in front of people,” I explained sheepishly. “I sort of have shit for brains sometimes.”
He patted my shoulder, laughing. “Actually kind of made my day knowing someone new can see straight through these boring old tossers. Now, let’s get you and Trevor acquainted.”
Back at my desk, Trevor was waiting. I didn’t know if he’d been in the meeting—like I said it’d all passed in a blur and there were too many people’s names to remember. Trevor had rocker hair, he was 50-odd years old and rake thin.
“Right Chloe… Trev’ll get you started.”
I nodded like I knew what he was saying, when really I was still in a daze of confusion. They knew I had nearly ten years under my belt, right? Right!? When Trevor and I were alone, he talked like I knew what the hell he was going on about.
He started passing me bundles of paper. “Here is a copy of the in-house style guide, you know? A guide to familiarising with the systems… a guide to exceptions to the rules… oh, and I’ll mail you a favourites list to add to your browser… email contacts, too. So, there’s lots to get yourself accustomed with…” and the list went on.
His voice was so quiet, so low, almost a hiss. I had to move closer so I could hear and I ended up like he was—hunched over the desk with my elbows propping my head up. At one point we even sighed in unison. He seemed like an okay guy so I said off the bat, “Is this place gonna be my worst nightmare?”
His laughter was like his voice—a comical hiss, his eyes closed, his hair and fuzz making most of his features indistinguishable—his face squeezed tight with amusement.
He whispered, “Nah. You’ll be fine.”
Chapter 4
BY LUNCHTIME I was exhausted. I’d been awake since six a.m., run the gauntlet of my own stupid nerves—and Trevor had just about tested me with as many facts and figures as he could. I had a mere half an hour for lunch and would have preferred to use that time to have a snooze under my desk!
Instead I sat Googling stuff to do for free in London. I held a ham sandwich with very curly lettuce in my hand and looked down at the empty coffee cup by my side, wondering how I might procure some more. Which is when I realised I had my email system up and running. I navigated the internal address book and typed, Kinc —, when his name
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