скачать книгу бесплатно
It’s A Man’s World
Polly Courtney
This is women’s fiction with bite! Join Alexa as she battles her way through the chauvinistic lads mag’s industry and makes real progress – it might be a man’s world, but it takes a woman to run it.If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em…Alexa Harris loves a challenge. So when she’s asked to head up lads’ mag, Banter, she doesn’t need much persuasion.But life on the all-male editorial team proves harder than Alexa had imagined – and not just because of her ambitious targets. As Alexa battles with a testosterone-fuelled office, she decides to play the boys at their own game.As success hits, she’s forced to look at who she has become. Has she forfeited her principles in return for praise from the lads? And what price will there be to pay?An addictive read with a hard-hitting meaning.
POLLY COURTNEY
It’s A Man’s World
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
AVON
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright © Polly Courtney 2011
Polly Courtney asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Source ISBN: 9781847561480
Ebook Edition © August 2011 ISBN: 9781847562999
Dedication (#uaedaf122-edae-5cba-8852-978a7f59b63f)
To Caroline – because we all need a Leonie in our lives.
Contents
Cover (#u06c93953-9cac-5805-a205-39fb56114b1f)
Title Page (#u79c73863-faae-5af0-bb26-61cb8216b38f)
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Read on for an exclusive interview with Polly Courtney
Q&A with Polly
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the same author
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Many people helped to inspire, shape and publish this book. Firstly, I’d like to thank the members of OBJECT for their tireless work in challenging our ‘sex object culture’. Good luck with your campaigns and thank you for opening my eyes. Thanks also to those at Bauer Media who helped, wittingly or unwittingly, to provide a relevant backdrop to the story. A big thank you to my dear friend Caroline, who read every page in record time and put me straight when I went off course. Of course, I thank Sammia and everyone at Avon for turning my words into a published book and lastly, I thank Chris, for putting up with my hermit impression. I couldn’t have done it without you.
Chapter 1
‘Ah, Alexa. Thanks for coming to see me.’ Terry Peterson leaned forward and waved at the seat opposite.
Alexa pressed the door shut behind her, relishing the wall of cold air that separated Peterson’s office from the rest of the building. As the folds of soft, cool leather engulfed her, she wondered whether Peterson really believed that there had been any element of choice about today’s meeting. To turn down an invitation from the chief executive of Senate Media UK, particularly an ambiguous, last-minute ‘catch up’, was to propel oneself straight to the top of the redundancy list.
‘I’ve been thinking about your role,’ said Peterson, leaning forward and blinking a couple of times at Alexa.
She nodded, forcing a smile despite the stomach-churning sensation that his ominous words had provoked. Alexa was on a two-year contract at Hers, Senate’s leading title for the over-fifties, of which there were still three months left to run.
‘Sorry,’ he chuckled. ‘Poor choice of words. Don’t look so worried.’
Alexa smiled harder and joined in with a laugh of her own. Despite his fifty-seven years, Peterson had a good head of hair and piercing blue eyes that crinkled attractively at the edges as he smiled, which he did all the time. The chief executive wore his smile like a mask.
‘As you know, I’m very pleased with your achievements at Hers.’
Alexa nodded again, more confidently. Peterson was pleased with the re-launch of Hers; she knew that much. Who wouldn’t be pleased with a three-fold increase in gross revenue and a twenty percent reduction in costs? The magazine had been on the brink of collapse when Alexa, then a management consultant at TDS Consulting, had been seconded to establish a new business plan for the title. At Peterson’s request and at vast expense, Alexa had been transferred from TDS and brought in-house at Senate Media to oversee the execution of this transformation – a transformation that was just beginning to bear fruit. The magazine was cash positive for the first time in a decade and Alexa had made it happen.
‘I think you proved a lot of people wrong – not least the Americans.’
Alexa returned his smile. Being part of a US-owned company meant that everyone in the UK offices, including Terry Peterson, answered to the board of Senate Media Inc., or ‘the Americans’, as they were known.
Alexa knew what the Americans had thought of Peterson’s initial suggestion that a twenty-nine-year-old management consultant should take charge of their fifty-plus title. She knew, because Peterson’s PA had inadvertently forwarded her an email containing the full conversation between the UK and US board. Alexa sometimes wondered whether she would have made quite so much progress at Hers had she not caught sight of that email.
‘I’m thinking,’ said Peterson, his eyes still twinkling, ‘you might be able to help us out on something else.’
Alexa felt a combination of apprehension and relief. Peterson’s smile was suspiciously intense.
‘Another title,’ he clarified. ‘It’s the same set of problems we had at Hers, really: declining circulation, collapsing advertising industry, increasing competition from the internet . . .’
Alexa looked at him, trying to guess which magazine they were talking about. Frankly, it could have been any Senate title, or any UK magazine for that matter. The whole publishing industry was falling apart.
‘I’m referring, of course, to Banter.’
Alexa swallowed. She looked up to the wall behind Peterson’s head, where a set of black frames immortalised the front cover of every title ever published by Senate Media UK. Banter was there, top right, next to Teenz, an American import that had a limited life expectancy. Alexa glanced at the cover and then looked away, gazing at the bustle of Soho in the mid-afternoon heat. She tried to collect her thoughts. Even looking at the cover felt wrong. There was such a concentration of flesh and cleavage, it was overwhelming. Breasts spilled off the page, a smattering of strategically placed headlines obscuring nipples and other bodily parts that would tip the magazine into the category of porn – if it wasn’t already there.
Porn, mused Alexa, increasingly aware that Peterson was expecting some kind of a response. That was the answer, up there on the wall, amid the airbrushed buttocks and cleavages. Banter was a form of soft porn. It was dirty, sexist, degrading to women and, frankly, an embarrassment to UK society. What would her mother say if she found out she was working for Banter?
Alexa pursed her lips, angry with herself for letting her mother’s opinion interfere with her decision-making. She was turning thirty next year.
‘I . . .’
Alexa cursed inwardly. The image of her disapproving mother was distracting. But there was something else, deep inside her, knocking her thoughts off course. It was small, only partially formed, but Alexa knew instantly what it was.
‘I’m not familiar with the lads’ mag market,’ she said.
‘Just as you weren’t familiar with the over-fifties market,’ Peterson returned, pointedly.
The feeling swelled inside her. Alexa tried to suppress it. She recognised it from the first time she had sat in this room with the chief executive – the time he had asked her to take on the Hers re-launch. It was the buzz of the challenge. She could do little to quash it, this amorphous sensation at the back of her mind. Banter was one of Senate Media’s flagship brands. It was a household name. Licensed in seventeen countries and filled with the dirtiest smut that could be legally sold in supermarkets around the world – and some that couldn’t – the magazine had been a controversial hit for Senate since its launch nearly seven years ago. Unfortunately, though, this was one challenge she would have to turn down.
‘As I said,’ Peterson went on, uninterested in Alexa’s protest, ‘the project isn’t dissimilar to the one you’ve undertaken at Hers. The only difference is the severity.’
‘The severity of . . . what?’ Alexa knew that what she really ought to be doing was telling Peterson, politely, that she wasn’t interested in the role. But she was curious.
‘Banter’s circulation fell by a third this year. The audience isn’t buying magazines any more – or if they are, they’re buying a competitor’s.’ He shook his head. ‘And then there’s the legal costs.’
Alexa nodded. No explanation was required. Lawsuits against Banter were legendary. Nearly every week, Banter was served a writ by some celebrity objecting to a crude or racist joke in the magazine.
‘The truth of the matter – and please, don’t mention this outside these four walls – is that the Americans are looking to shut it down by the end of the year.’
