Just what did that mean in a super-sophisticated office like Culp and Christopher? Zoe looked wildly out of the window and prayed for divine translation.
At home, with her twenty-year-old sister and seventeen- year-old brother, she knew what wicked meant. It was hip. It was far-out. It was wild. The ultimate compliment.
But that was in a house run for people who still spent their days in full-time classes and their nights dancing. The offices of Culp and Christopher Public Relations PLC were not like that. Culp and Christopher carried sophistication into a realm that made her eyeballs bubble.
The blonde, whose name she had been too nervous to catch, had already whisked her round so fast her toes had hardly touched the gleaming wooden floor. There were plenty of people milling about among the irregular geometric shapes that seemed to be desks. They were discussing their weekends, laughing, all friendly enough to the newcomer. But so far Zoe had understood less than half of the conversations she overheard. It was like travelling in foreign country. Who could guess what wicked meant in the realms of the super-cool?
The very grown-up super-cool, what was more. The blonde was wearing a dark grey trouser suit that was so well cut it seemed to flow into new shapes as she moved. It put Zoe’s crisply ironed white shirt back where it belonged, on the bargain rack.
Oh, boy, am I out of my depth here.
And there was no way to disguise it. She gave up and asked, ‘Wicked, like how?’
‘You’ll see,’ said the blonde mysteriously.
That didn’t help at all, of course.
‘He’s got a bad temper?’ Zoe hazarded doubtfully.
She hoped that was what the blonde meant. Zoe knew about a lot about bad temper. She knew she could handle it, too. She wasn’t sure how well she was going to handle the designer suits and the minimalist office.
The blonde grinned. ‘Who knows?’
‘What?’
‘There was a movie we did some publicity for. The Ice Volcano. The girls started to call him that.’
Zoe blinked again. The man who wore flame silk shirts? Ice? This was worse than a foreign language. This was a foreign universe.
The blonde saw her confusion and laughed heartily. ‘Jay is very, very self-contained. When he’s angry he goes all cold and quiet. Brings the hair up on the back of your neck. Ice. Only then he explodes…’
She leaned back, smiling reminiscently. It was obviously a great show.
‘Does he explode often?’ said Zoe warily.
‘Hardly ever. But when he goes, he goes. Once seen, never forgotten.’
‘Oh.’
The blonde got to her feet. ‘Probably won’t happen while you’re here. Don’t worry about it. Come on. I’ll show you where the hot negotiating goes on.’
She did, pointing out various framed photographs of products and personalities on the walls as they went. The photographs were all high quality, and some were truly beautiful. But they meant nothing to Zoe. There seemed to be a lot of sportsmen in fields or beautiful women standing in front of film posters.
The blonde was dry. ‘Jay is very big in the sports world. It might be a good idea if you mug up before you meet him.’
I’ve already met him. He looked at me as if I were a slave he wasn’t very interested in buying.
‘I suppose so,’ she said carefully.
‘We’ll tell Poppy. If he isn’t in yet, she can give you his publicity file and you can learn it by heart.’ She zipped Zoe down a narrow corridor, indicating doors briskly as they passed. ‘Ladies’ rest room. Supplies cupboard—everything that you want is in there: stationery, disks, printer cartridges, privacy, gossip. The kitchen. Boardroom.’
‘I’ll remember,’ said Zoe, trying to commit the layout to memory. She thought there was a fifty-fifty chance that she would succeed.
The blonde pushed open another door. This one was studded with silver saucepan lids and led into a botanical hot house. Climbing plants and fig trees grew right up to the glass roof and the roof was high.
Instantly Zoe forgot the location of the stationery cupboard and the boardroom.
‘Are there spiders in there?’ she said involuntarily.
Her guide looked surprised. ‘Never thought about it.’