I’m working on updating the budget spreadsheet and trying to figure out where we might be able to lose a zero so I don’t have to make that awkward call to her to let her know she’s going to need to lower her demands or increase her budget. Just as I’m doing so, an email alert pops up on my computer screen.

It’s from her.

I sigh inwardly, my heart dropping a little as I know exactly what sort of thing it will be. She’s either changed her mind about the celebrity, had a brilliant idea to make the party dragon-themed or has decided to turn the art gallery into a shoe shop.

I open the email and read what it says. All of a sudden, my previous thoughts don’t seem all that funny or outrageous anymore.

Hi Grace,

I’ve been having another think about the launch event and I think we might be going down the wrong road with the colour theme.

I was reading an article in Cosmo which talked about the implications of colours and the psychological effects they can induce. I know we talked about purple being quite a regal and upmarket colour, but the article said it’s also seen as pompous and conveys emotions of loneliness and desperation — NOT things we want to be associated with, as I’m sure you agree!

I think instead we should go for classy neutrals, with a base colour of white. Apparently that is pure, clean and conveys brightness of spirit. Definitely the sort of feelings we want to communicate.

I trust all is in hand and you’ll be able to make the necessary changes.

Yours,

Matilda

I can feel the blood rising in my face as I read the email again, sure I must have misunderstood. We’ve got a week left until the event. One week. And she wants to change the bloody colour scheme?

I go to compose a reply, but decide against it. If I send something back to her now, we’ll end up losing the contract. No doubt about that. Over the years I’ve become pretty good at biting my tongue, but every now and again I need to take some space.

In any case, there’s not long to go now until Christmas. The office shuts down completely over the festive period and everyone goes pretty much incommunicado, with Sue, the director, having decreed a couple of years earlier that email access should be banned over the break. It’s a modern approach, but one which is definitely appreciated.

I stand up from my desk, grab my bag and head for the loos. I need to calm down.

When I get there, I dump my bag on the side, lean back against the cold tiled wall and exhale. I take my phone out of my bag and look at the screen. There’s a Tinder message from Tom, sent an hour or so earlier.

Hope you’re having a good day. Speak soon x

I smile, realising that he’s been thinking of me, even though his day has doubtless been as busy as mine. I’d be lying if I said I’d spent the morning thinking about him, but I have a funny feeling the afternoon might be different.