Always Eli by Charlie Novak
Chapter Two
Eli
The external frontagefor the offices for Green & Wodehouse, estate agents to the rich and wanting, could only be described as Fancy. Capital F and everything. Located in the Bailgate area of Lincoln, not far from the Cathedral, they’d taken up residence in a converted Georgian building with deep navy window frames and signage decorated with gold lettering. There were a variety of properties displayed in the window, going for such eye-popping prices that even if I sold both my kidneys, my liver, and all the blood in my body, I’d never be able to afford more than the front door.
It was also the place that had hired me to be their new administration assistant, a decision that still utterly baffled me. Perhaps it was because Orlando had packed me off to the interview in a crisp suit, freshly ironed shirt, and sporting a new haircut that was styled to within an inch of its life. He’d even made me remove my nose ring under pain of torment, a threat I’d readily succumbed too.
Perhaps I really was as charming as I’d thought and the interviewers had been blown away by my natural vivacity, wit, and charisma.
Or perhaps they had limited options and had been forced to reach deep into the rubbish bin of life and had thus been rewarded with me—a being that looked vaguely human but was largely a raccoon in disguise.
Either way, there I was, once again sporting a brand-new, ironed shirt Orlando had forced me to buy, along with some dark grey suit trousers and a sensible blue jumper. I was even wearing a tie. I’d sent my mum a picture to prove I could scrub up nicely when required. She’d sent back heart emojis while her wife, and my beloved stepmum, Mimbles, had asked when I’d been abducted by aliens. I’d just laughed and told her I’d finally succumbed to the wrath of capitalism.
I reached up and nervously touched my hair again. Four weeks and I still wasn’t used to the new length. Although that might be because Orlando had cut it again last night to “tidy it up” and get me ready for my first day. You’d have thought I was starting fucking primary school, not an office job. Orlando had done a nice job though; I’d give him that. He’d shaved the sides shorter but left it much longer on top, then he’d run some wax through the waves and pulled them together so it looked like I had a natural pompadour. It was cute. And it fit under my wigs so much better.
Adjusting my bag—which contained the lunch Orlando had insisted on packing for me—on my shoulder, I headed for the front door. It was just before half past nine, which was when I’d been instructed to show up for my induction.
I took a deep breath, pasted on a smile, and pushed open the navy door. An electric buzz and the sound of ringing telephones greeted me. There were some rather nice-looking armchairs off to my right clustered around a glass coffee table. And in front of me sat a large desk with a “Green & Wodehouse” sign attached to the front of it. Behind it sat a round, older woman with elegantly styled grey hair, bright purple glasses, and red lipstick, who was wearing a pretty polka-dot blouse. If my memory served, she’d been there when I’d come for my interview, but I hadn’t spoken to her because I’d been whisked off upstairs before I could open my mouth.
“Good morning,” she said as soon as she saw me. “May I help you?”
“Good morning. My name is Eli Baker. I’m the new admin assistant. It’s my first day.” I gave her my best beaming smile and reached out across the desk to shake her hand. I always made it a point to be nice to receptionists, counter staff, or anyone else I met first because they were the gatekeepers and the ones who always got treated like shit. It was the same rule I applied to everyone in retail and food service and the cleaning staff in hotels.
It could largely be summed up as only be a dick to people with power. And only then if they strike first.
“I’m Pamela, not Pam, and I’m the receptionist and other admin assistant.” She shook my hand and grinned at me, and I saw a spark in her eyes. We were going to be friends. I could tell. “You’re here covering Jaz’s maternity leave, aren’t you?”
“I believe so. You’ll only have to put up with me for a maximum of a year, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Pamela laughed. It was a warm, friendly sound, and I felt myself relax. “I think we’re going to get on famously,” she said. “Wait here a minute, and I’ll let Holly know you’ve arrived.” She picked up the phone and pointed at the armchairs. “Take a seat. I don’t know when she’ll be down.”
My bum had barely touched the seat when another woman appeared from a door to the left, which seemed to lead to a set of stairs. She had lots of dark curly hair and a wide smile but clever, calculating eyes that seemed to study every inch of me. It had been the same look she’d given me during the interview. She was wearing a business suit and a rather spectacular pair of heels, and I was now quite glad Orlando had forced me to acquire more work wear, even if it had come from Primark and the lowest budget tier of ASOS.
“Hello,” she said, shaking my hand and squeezing. “It’s nice to see you again, Eli. Would you like to follow me?”
It was phrased as a question, but it wasn’t as if I really had a choice in the matter. Not if I wanted a job. And given that I’d spent the last four weeks eking out whatever money I’d had left and living on the kindness of Orlando and some leftovers I’d acquired from my mothers, I didn’t.
“Of course.”
And so began my first day at Green & Wodehouse.
Holly was one of the directors of the business, which she co-owned with her husband, Andrew. She oversaw the office staff, finances, and marketing, making her my boss. I got the impression that as long as I did my job, I’d be absolutely fine, and we’d get on as well as could be expected. If I fucked up, then it would be a monumentally different experience. She directed me to my desk, which happened to be behind Pamela’s, and talked me through some of my responsibilities before she gave me a tour.
Given that the building was fairly narrow, the offices were located over several floors. On the top floor was an office shared by Holly and Andrew, who was a chartered surveyor and did some of the valuations. He gave me a half-smile and a curt nod before returning to whatever he’d been staring at on his computer. On the middle floor were three offices in what I assumed had once been three bedrooms. The largest was shared by the three members of the sales team—Alistair, Rebecca, and Michael—who looked at me with a range of expressions from welcoming to disdain. I made a note for later in case I was ever required to make anyone coffee. Treat me like shit and I would make you drink sludge.
Another office held a young man named Hayden, who did all the marketing and design for this office and the various other branches they had across the East Midlands. He looked up at me from his enormous iMac and gave me a small wave. There was another desk in there, which belonged to the accountant, but she was apparently out sick.
The third door was closed.
“We have an in-house finance and mortgage adviser,” Holly said, gesturing to the little gold plaque on the door. It had a name on it, but I wasn’t close enough to read it. “He’s technically an independent professional, but we recommend him to all our clients. If the door is closed it means he’s in a meeting or on the phone, but I’m sure he’ll come down and introduce himself later.”
Holly didn’t mention his name, and I’d totally forgotten to ask before Holly launched into an explanation of their in-house charity fundraising programme. I added it to the mental list of things I needed to remember as she led me back downstairs. Pamela smiled at me from the front desk as Holly pointed out the downstairs meeting room used for client appointments, a bathroom, and a small kitchenette with a fridge, microwave, kettle, water cooler, and a rather nice coffee maker.
“You’re welcome to bring your own mug, but please make sure the design is tasteful. No rude slogans or explicit designs.” I nodded, hiding my smile as best I could. Given that half the mugs Orlando and I had were printed with slogans that included some variation of the word fuck or were covered in dicks, I thought I’d probably need to pick up a plain one from Tesco. Or maybe I’d see if I could get a pride one off Amazon. “We also have cups and glasses available for client drinks, which you’ll need to make if requested,” Holly continued. “Do you have any questions?”
“None so far.” From what she’d explained, it seemed like a dead hamster would be able to do this job. My one issue would be keeping the snark in check if someone decided to take umbrage with me. And given the expression I’d seen on the face of at least one member of the sales team, it was definitely going to be when and not if.
“Good. I’ll leave you to get logged in and set up. Pamela will talk you through the phones and your email and get you started.” Holly gave me another smile, then retreated upstairs, her heels thudding on the carpet.
I grinned at Pamela, who’d rolled her chair back and was smiling at me again.
“Fancy a cup of tea?” she asked.
“Pamela, dear, I think you read my mind.”
By the middle of the afternoon, I was convinced a dead hamster would indeed be able to replace me with very little inconvenience.
My job seemed to largely consist of directing phone calls from clients at various stages to the appropriate person, making viewing appointments, answering emails, sending out property details, and dealing with a phenomenal amount of paperwork, despite the fact that everything could easily be digital. The printer and I had already had words, and I’d promised it I was not above giving it a swift kick if it refused to do as I asked and kept scrawling up random chunks of paper.
Pamela had turned out to be a rather wonderful woman, who’d been working here for nearly ten years, seemed to know everything that went on, and had an opinion about everyone.
“Michael has no people skills but seems to be able to sell everything under the sun, Rebecca is very sweet but doesn’t mess around, and Alistair has as much charm as a slug in your shoe unless you have several million pounds in your bank account,” Pamela said over our afternoon cup of tea. She’d produced a tin patterned with Christmas teddy bears and filled with biscuits from under her desk and let me help myself to the last chocolate one. I made a mental note to grab some more tomorrow morning to refill the tin. It seemed like she and Jasmine, the girl who’d gone on leave, had been close, and tea had been one of their little rituals. I was more than happy to partake, given that I was naturally a people person. Or as my brother Lewis said, “an obnoxiously chatty asshole”. He was probably my favourite brother, tied in equal place with Jules, my only sister, for favourite sibling.
My family was large and chaotic, but I loved them all. With the exception of Richard.
“Got it,” I said, dunking the last of a chocolate hobnob into my mug. “Michael is asocial, Rebecca is the one I’ll like, and Alistair is a dick.”
Pamela laughed, shaking her head at me. “Exactly. And don’t ever let Alistair talk down to you. Jaz was terrible for that.” She looked at me shrewdly. “Then again, I don’t think you’ll have that problem.”
“No,” I said, smiling sweetly. “I don’t think I will.”
“Good.”
The phone rang, and we went back to work. I spent the next few hours becoming familiar with the current portfolio of properties on offer, which basically meant perusing the website and becoming more and more convinced money very rarely equalled taste, particularly when it came to decor. If this was what rich people wanted their houses to look like, then I could have made a fortune shoving lemons into a glass jar, sticking it on an overpriced table, and calling it good.
There was another clattering on the stairs. I glanced up from my computer to see who was going to grace us with their presence. So far, I’d hardly spoken to anyone else, even when a couple of them had popped down at lunchtime to either use the microwave or disappear out to see what was on offer elsewhere. Clearly being just the administrator made me unworthy of bothering.
I froze, a sudden chill sliding down my sternum like I’d drunk too much of a cold drink at once.
The man entering the office was altogether too familiar, though so far today we hadn’t been introduced. He had golden hair and sparkling grey-blue eyes that shined like the sea under a stormy sky and a body that had been perfectly sculpted to carry off the designer suit he was currently wearing.
He saw me and strode over, sticking out his hand with a charming smile on his soft, rosy lips. There was no hint of recognition in his expression, which stung because I’d known him in some capacity for nearly twenty years. Granted, he wasn’t my friend. He was Richard’s.
“Hi,” he said, grasping my hand tightly. “I’m Tristan Rose. I’m the financial adviser here.”
A warm rush spread across my skin like I’d suddenly dunked it in hot water, and I had to resist the urge to cling to him for just a second longer. It startled me.
“Hello, Tristan.”