Chapter 2

Next morning, Carla was up and about before I even began to wake. In fact, when I finally opened my eyes I found her waving a coffee under my nose, already dressed in full business regalia and with her competent, determined business face on.

"Time to get moving, I'm afraid ... you need to get home and back to Borough by about 12:30. I'll make sure they're expecting you at building reception, you just pitch up and talk a bit about CastList. By that stage I should have them pretty receptive ... we got quite a lot of the way yesterday..."

I admired her confidence, even as I was bundled out of bed and had a load of clothes thrust into my arms. I was aching a bit, no doubt about that, and I was still more than slightly confused by the events of the previous days. After all, you don't go from semi unemployed freelancer to prospective multinational consultant in a few days with any regularity. Not that Carla seemed inclined to discuss anything much, or even to acknowledge my existence, for that matter. She was "in focus", clearly, concentrated totally on the meetings to come. For the moment, I was simply an impediment, the tenderness between us the previous night filed away for future reference. Or not. I couldn't see any easy way of raising the issue and, frankly, I wasn't brave enough to try.

So I was on the tube back home before I had a chance to actually think. Undoubtedly a force of nature, Carla. I'd only met her two days before, and already I'd slept with her and apparently become a significant part in her plans for business expansion. And while I thought maybe that I was a little bit in love with her, I was also increasingly aware that in about four hours I was due to do a serious business presentation to a bunch of corporates who I'd never met. Who, in fact, were in a league I never even wanted to play in. It was quite nice that my new friend seemed to think that this was no problem, but I was nothing like as confident.

Actually, sitting there on the tube, it did occur to me that a nice simple way of dealing with the situation would be to just go home, turn off the mobile and hide. Not that I would normally be so recalcitrant, its just that things were getting a little out of hand, events spiralling quite quickly out of control. Frankly, I had been quite happy with my life as it had been only too recently, working when I wanted to on stuff I found interesting. Now, it looked like I was getting into a major enterprise, major, life changing commitments, on the basis of a more or less chance meeting.

Assuming that I managed not to screw up the next few hours, anyway.

Strangely, it was that thought that made the decision for me. OK, I had serious doubts about the wisdom of what I was doing and a complete lack of faith in my ability to actually deliver any of it. Against that, though, there was something about Carla that I found very hard to resist. Something which included that fact that I found her physically incredibly attractive, obviously, but which had rather more to do with the fact that I'd simply never met anyone like her. Anyone so confident, so instantly decisive, so able to move so easily between roles and even virtually personalities. I was, I decided, fascinated by the fact that she played such a powerful game in the business world and was still such an amusing and intelligent companion outside of it. Maybe it was just a romantic folly, but I decided that I didn't want to give it up just yet. And, hey, I could always run away later.

So it was back to my tiny one bedroom flat, a quick shower and a change into my single business suit. I found a tie, eventually. Then onto the PC and half an hour adapting a presentation on CastList for a new audience, removing the jokes and adopting a rather more conservative design, before scrabbling round for a key drive and finally - and in context somewhat surprisingly, for me - actually remembering to save the thing as a powerpoint file rather than OpenOffice native. And then I was back out the door again.

I got down to the city ridiculously early, of course, texted Carla to let her know I was ready when she needed me and went and got a coffee in a cafe just beside Southwark Cathedral. This being a regular haunt, I got a few jibes about the fancy dress but mainly ignored them and sat down to imbibe caffeine and, well, wait. Which wasn't for long.

PCW inhabit a strange looking building right beside the Thames, a sort of red stone and glass shrine to corporate narcissism, and one with an unpleasantly angled set of steps from street level down to the main entrance. Not wishing to make my entrance memorable by coming down these arse first, I concentrated on my feet and thus failed to notice the reception committee waiting for me just inside the lobby. Carla was there, of course, looking serious and checking her phone, standing beside a couple of suits. Both tall, white men, identikit cropped hair and rimless glasses, both looking sort of efficient and somehow profitable. Obviously I decided there and then that I didn't like them.

I think the feeling was probably mutual. Suit #1 looked slightly incredulous as I walked up to them - I think he had thought I was the new mail boy or something - but recovered professionally when I greeted Carla and stuck out his hand. Bone crunching handshake, of course, and stacatto introductions. One VP European Theatre, the other a Senior Partner (Operations). Didn't catch their names; did wonder which was likely to be more senior. And whether the vaguely military feel to the job titles was conscious. Then I was being led briskly through security (these guys clearly weren't in the searchable classes) and into a lift. No small talk, just a brief smile from Carla and the inevitable checking of phones on all sides. I thought of joining in with that one but then realised that even my phone would strike these guys as a joke. I began to wish that I'd turned up wearing jeans and a lefty T-shirt - at least I'd have failed for obvious reasons. As it was, I just felt that I didn't fit in and that they knew I didn't fit in and that this was somehow my fault.

I was still musing on my general inadequacy as I was led down a plushly carpeted, discretely lit corridor and into a board room. More suits, more bruising handshakes, more incomprehensible job titles. Mineral water and stuff on the table. All very competent and professional. And very quick: I'd only just been invited to take a seat (plush, undoubtedly stylish and expensive, not actually comfortable) when I was asked to say my piece, give them the rundown on CastList.

Which threw me. I'd been hoping to get a feel for the meeting and the people, perhaps to get a bit of spin from Carla on how she'd been approaching the situation, who were likely to be the difficult people in the audience, but: No. Was this because Carla had sewn the thing up already or had they simply decided that I was out of my depth and to get it over with quickly? I didn't know, had no way of finding out. I couldn't even make eye contact with Carla - she was sitting down the table from me and currently chatting to a Director of something or the other. So I did what I usually do in these circumstances and got angry, in a carefully controlled way. Its a good trick if you can pull it off.

In this case, I was faced with a room full of pricks, arrogant bastards who wouldn't normally have given the likes of me (or anything or anyone I cared about) a second thought. They probably drove Porsches, flew private jets, sent their daughters to private schools. Class enemies, in fact. And I was here to talk to the shitheads about a programme I was proud of, a programme designed to facilitate a way of working and dealing with people that was probably outside their conception. So I did. Talked for about half an hour to a totally silent room. OK, I was a bit shaky at first but got into my stride when I started to talk as me, not as I thought they would expect me to. Even tried a few jokes and got a couple of slightly glassy smiles in response. Well, I wasn't expecting applause.

Instead, I finished to the same silence, the same expressions that I'd met at the beginning. I didn't even invite questions, just sort of stood there, unsure as to whether I was allowed to sit back down or should just turn and go. It was an uncomfortable moment. Broken by the VP Europe or whatever. And even he didn't speak, just looked at Carla, nodded and smiled broadly.

With which the floodgates opened. Lots of questions, lots of discussion. Not that I was actually involved, to any extent: Carla was the star of the show, conspicuously the only woman in the room, fielding questions, reinforcing points with complete aplomb. A couple of times she turned to me for some technical stuff about the programme and the way people were already using it but otherwise it was her show. I was in awe of the woman, frankly: I know I'm good at working a room, guiding discussions, leading meetings to sensible (ie, my) decisions but this was something from another planet. I didn't even freak when I heard myself described as Chief Operating Officer of Bronstein Associates (Europe) nor when I learnt that we'd have a corporate base up and running in six months, and have deliverable "product" within the year. I think I found out what shell shock is like.

And then there were more attempts to maul my fingers, even a firm pat on the back from one enthusiast, and we were back out on the street. I looked at my watch: We'd been in there three hours. I'd have sworn it was five minutes, if anyone had bothered to ask.

Carla was back to nice Carla, though, shrugging off the corporate action woman persona even as we passed through the plate glass doors. She was clearly still focused, however, as she turned to me and said, "You know, I think I'd like a drink..."

We went to a pub about half a mile South of the river, the walk giving me time to begin to collect my thoughts (or at least gather up a few remaining brain cells). We didn't speak, or touch, just walked in companionable silence. I got the drinks in - strong bitter for me, a large vodka for her - and sat down across a table from her. She raised her glass, touched it to mine, laughed happily.

"Dave, you were brilliant. Just perfect. I'd been trying to convince them you were onto something really different, something they needed badly, and you pitch up looking like you'd dressed in a charity shop and gave them a virtually marxist rant - they didn't know what hit them. Actually, I still don't think that they actually understand all the implications but they know an idea with potential and they're going to put their money behind it. Quite a lot of their money, actually. So its a result. I hope you're pleased?"

I nodded. "I think so. I'm not sure I understand all the implications, either, and I feel that I've just had my life radically changed without my really deciding to do anything of the sort, but yeah, I'm glad it went the way you wanted. I guess I'll have to get back to you on the other stuff - I mean me as COO - could you not find someone vaguely competent for that sort of role? Or do I have to find a better class of charity shops to buy my suits in?"

This got me a grin and a pout, but then she got serious.