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Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-One
  25. Chapter Twenty-Two
  26. Chapter Twenty-Three
  27. Chapter Twenty-Four
  28. Chapter Twenty-Five
  29. Chapter Twenty-Six
  30. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-One
  35. Chapter Thirty-Two
  36. Chapter Thirty-Three
  37. Chapter Thirty-Four
  38. Chapter Thirty-Five
  39. Chapter Thirty-Six
  40. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  41. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  42. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  43. Chapter Forty
  44. Chapter Forty-One
  45. Chapter Forty-Two
  46. Chapter Forty-Three
  47. Chapter Forty-Four
  48. Chapter Forty-Five
  49. Chapter Forty-Six
  50. Chapter Forty-Seven
  51. Chapter Forty-Eight
  52. Chapter Forty-Nine
  53. Chapter Fifty
  54. Chapter Fifty-One
  55. Chapter Fifty-Two
  56. Chapter Fifty-Three
  57. Chapter Fifty-Four
  58. Chapter Fifty-Five
  59. Chapter Fifty-Six
  60. Chapter Fifty-Seven
  61. Chapter Fifty-Eight
  62. Chapter Fifty-Nine
  63. Epilogue
  64. Acknowledgements

‘Ten grand?’ He looks at me. ‘Maybe five grand. Anyway, it puts the ball in your court. You go, or you stay. Here’s the thing, Imogen. No one ever gives you a pay rise because you actually deserve one. You move—or you threaten to move. That’s all the power you ever have, as an employee. The great affair is to move.’

‘Diana Vreeland?’

‘Well done, good girl.’ He is unbelievable. Six months ago, Sam Strong didn’t know who Diana Vreeland was, and had to borrow my copy of her memoir in order to give a talk at an Esquire party at the V&A. I look pointedly at his protein article, but he does not register my sarcasm. He’s texting someone. ‘Right. You’re on. John will see you tomorrow. You know Marker? That massive office near London Bridge.’

‘What will I tell Harri?’

‘Whatever you told her that made you available this afternoon. Now, take that terrible robe off and tell me all about Fallen Angels.’

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Perfect Gentleman

Imogen

Things are very different at The Gentleman. The building is opposite London Bridge station, but for a moment, I’m worried that I’ve taken a wrong turn and gone back inside a new part of the tube. Hundreds of people—OK, maybe not hundreds, but lots—are scurrying. Everyone looks sour and serious, and packed with purpose. Everyone seems to be wearing grey or black. Focus fills their handbags, their briefcases. Believe me, it’s a briefcase sort of place.

Even though I have applied for every single internship, placement and editorial assistant job I have ever seen advertised by Marker Media, this is the first time that I’ve been invited inside. I did not think this door would ever open for me, no matter how politely I knocked, or powerfully I pushed. The Gentleman exerts a strange pull on me.

Even though all I want is a job offer, a bargaining chip, I start daydreaming about seeing the words ‘Imogen Mounce: The Gentleman’ on a business card. It sounds like titanium. No one bullies a girl who knows her way around a single malt whisky, or a Louis Vuitton monogram. I’m trying not to think about the seedy, depressing rumours. That they only hire interns from model agencies. That their Christmas party has a cocaine budget. That someone in their ad team had been fired for ‘using’ an inflatable doll in a stationery cupboard.