скачать книгу бесплатно
She’s young. Currently
posing for a ‘knee bra’
shot. Extremely turned
on. Ax
Alexa tucked her phone away and refocused on the action. Jamie seemed to be pleased with how things were going.
‘Well done, Kayleigh. That’s really great. Are you okay to do a few topless shots now?’
Kayleigh nodded, slowly reaching round and gathering the dark locks of hair to reveal her full, heavy breasts.
‘That’s good,’ said Jamie, under his breath. ‘They’re real. The readers prefer real ones.’
Alexa nodded, watching as the photographer directed Kayleigh to sit on the chair, open her legs and straighten her back. She didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was the muted references to various parts of the girl’s body that bothered her. Jamie seemed respectful enough, but Alexa couldn’t help noticing the way his brief exchanges with the photographer centred around Kayleigh’s hair, thigh or breasts as though they were parts of a mannequin in a window display.
‘Okay!’ The photographer eventually ran out of poses and started checking through his shots. ‘I think we’re done.’ He beckoned for Kayleigh to take a look. ‘Loads of great stuff here.’
Kayleigh grabbed her bra from the floor and pulled it on, her inhibitions visibly returning.
‘Oh my God!’ Kayleigh gasped as she caught sight of herself on the screen. ‘I look like a real model!’
The photographer smiled modestly, flicking through a selection for the girl to see. Alexa wondered what it must be like to see topless photographs of yourself, knowing that in a couple of weeks’ time, they would be plastered across the back pages of a national magazine. She couldn’t help feeling a shudder of panic on Kayleigh’s behalf.
The videographer caught Jamie’s eye. ‘Can we do a few words to the camera?’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ Jamie wandered over to the tripod and gently interrupted. He was very genteel, noted Alexa. They all were. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but perhaps she had foreseen an element of seediness in today’s shoot – a lewd remark or possibly some inappropriate gestures. There had been nothing like that. The only crudeness at Banter, as far as she could tell, went on behind women’s backs – in the office upstairs.
The videographer checked the settings on his camera and looked at Kayleigh, who was subtly plumping her breasts inside her bra.
‘I want you to say “Hi, I’m Kayleigh and you’re watching Banter TV.” Okay?’
Kayleigh nodded, looking down to check on her cleavage. She suddenly looked nervous again.
‘Ready when you are.’
‘Hi, I’m Banter TV and . . . oh, sorry.’
‘That’s okay.’ The videographer smiled. ‘Try again.’
‘Hi, I’m Kayleigh and – sorry. What was it again?’
‘Don’t panic. Just take it slowly. It’s “Hi, I’m Kayleigh and you’re watching Banter TV.”’
‘Okay.’ Kayleigh took a deep breath and looked down the barrel of the video camera. Then she turned away, flushed and exasperated. ‘Oh God. I can’t do it!’
Jamie wandered over, offering a glass of water.
‘Hey, Kayleigh, there’s no rush. We can take all afternoon if you like.’
Alexa admired his tact. She knew how much work Jamie had on his plate upstairs; he was always the last to leave the office at night. He certainly wouldn’t want to take all afternoon.
With a shaky hand, Kayleigh returned the empty glass to the pictures editor and flashed him an apologetic look.
‘Tell you what,’ said Jamie. ‘Just do a dry-run. No pressure; we’ll leave the camera off and you can just practise what you’re going to say.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded. ‘Right.’ Kayleigh looked darkly into the camera and in a slow, sexy voice, growled: ‘Hi, I’m Kayleigh and you’re watching Banter TV.’
The videographer smiled. ‘Got it.’
Kayleigh frowned. ‘What d’you mean? That was a practice.’
‘Oh, I must have left the camera running by mistake.’ The videographer glanced at Jamie. ‘That’s lucky, isn’t it?’
Alexa had to stop herself from laughing. Kayleigh was an ideal candidate for ‘Brainy Banter’.
She looked at her watch. Strictly speaking, they were ten minutes into Kayleigh’s ‘exam’, but the junior editor who was supposed to be asking the questions had wandered off in search of a pen and hadn’t been seen since. She was about to suggest popping upstairs to find the young man when the door flew open to reveal a windswept-looking Paddy, towering in the doorway, panting.
‘Hey!’ He made a half-hearted attempt at taming his wild, curly hair as he looked around the room, his eyes settling on the lingerie-clad student. ‘Sorry I’m late. I’m stepping in as exam master. Had to track down some questions.’
Kayleigh smiled timidly. Alexa breathed a sigh of relief. Paddy, she was beginning to realise, was one of the gems shining out from a mixed team at Banter. She raised a hand to the lad in a gesture of appreciation.
‘I’m Paddy,’ he said, bounding over. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’
‘Kayleigh,’ she replied, shaking his hand.
‘You can put your clothes on if you like,’ suggested Jamie, quietly.
Quickly, Kayleigh slipped on a translucent white blouse and a leather skirt, perching nervously at the desk, opposite Paddy.
Alexa wondered whether it was fair for her to stick around while the questions were asked. The photographer and videographer were already packing away. She doubted that exam conditions were necessary, but it didn’t seem fair for her to listen in. Her phone buzzed.
I knew it. I will have
to remind U tonight of
what U would miss if
you turned . . . Mmm,
looking forward to it.
Alexa hid her smile as she tucked away her phone. Paddy had already started the exam.
‘You’re at Leeds Uni, right?’ he asked. ‘Studying Sociology and hoping to get . . . a third?’
Kayleigh nodded.
‘And most importantly . . . you’re a 32DD, right?’
Alexa watched as the junior editor glanced approvingly at the girl’s flimsy top. There it was again: the blatant reference to parts of Kayleigh’s body as though they were joints of ham.
‘Okay . . . let’s begin. What is the main ingredient of the German dish, sauerkraut?’
‘Um . . .’ Kayleigh’s face crumpled. ‘Sausage?’
Paddy smiled. ‘That’ll go down well with the readers.’
Alexa followed Jamie out, trying not to cringe as Kayleigh struggled to decide whether a baby fox was called a cub or a puppy.
‘Jamie?’ she said, as the lift started to propel them up to the fifth floor. ‘D’you think, generally, we’d do better to get some higher-calibre models in for our features?’
He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. ‘You mean models with a higher IQ?’
Alexa shook her head. She knew that intelligence, sadly, was not a desirable trait for the girls. ‘No, I mean . . . more professional models. Ones that know how to love the camera.’
Jamie started to smile. ‘You don’t have any brothers, do you?’
She frowned. ‘No.’
‘I only ask because if you did, then you’d know that the thing about Banter and all the other lads’ mags – the thing that makes them sell – is not using chic glamour models who love the camera.’
‘What?’
‘They want photos of the girl-next-door. Or rather, they want photos of their fantasy of the girl-next-door. Chicks like Kayleigh . . . perfect.’
‘But . . .’ Alexa was struggling to understand what he meant. ‘All the airbrushing and touching up that you do . . . surely that’s because the readers want pictures of the perfect woman?’
Jamie motioned for Alexa to exit the lift before him. He was shaking his head and smiling.
‘Nope. They want her to look sexy, but approachable. They want to believe that they can get their hands on tits like Kayleigh’s – that girls like Kayleigh will let them into their pants.’ He leaned forward and yanked open the door. ‘Sexy, but rough. That’s what we do best.’
Alexa headed back into the office, lost in thought.
‘And the best bit?’ he said, eyes twinkling.
She looked at him.
Jamie smiled. ‘We don’t have to pay them a penny.’
Chapter 8
Alexa laid out the cuttings on the desk in front of her, re-reading the headlines that were splashed strategically across backdrops of nipples and flesh.
The ‘Win Your Girlfriend a Boob Job’ competition had been the most popular one of the year. That was closely followed by the search for the nation’s horniest girlfriend, and at number three was Chick Strip, an appeal for readers to send in videos of their other halves undressing – a contest that probably could have performed even better, had it not been curtailed by some women’s rights group declaring it ‘insulting to women’.
Alexa pushed the cuttings aside, thinking about the campaigners’ argument for a moment. Was it insulting? She was a woman and she didn’t feel insulted. But then, she wasn’t one of the subjects of the video footage. She tried to imagine how she would feel to be one of the girls in the winning clips, having her body subjected to scrutiny by hundreds of thousands of hormonal young men. It was difficult. She wasn’t likely to find herself in such a position. Alexa turned back to the blank document on her screen. ‘Competitions’, she typed. Carriage-return. She drummed her fingers against the keyboard.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know what to say. She knew, conceptually, what she needed to recommend to Peterson in the way of features and competitions. She knew that they needed greater reader engagement: more blogging, more uploads, more general banter. They needed to run more contests with compelling incentives – although Alexa was not convinced that cosmetic surgery for girlfriends was necessarily the right way to go on this. No, the problem was not a lack of inspiration. The problem was that she was completely demoralised.
More than a month had passed since Alexa had first set foot in the Banter offices. For weeks, she had read, watched, assessed and observed, pulling together recommendations and starting to make small changes where possible. She had no doubt that she could make an impact, perhaps even meet the ambitious April targets, given the chance – but that was the problem. She wasn’t being given the chance. The weight of resentment felt by certain members of the team was such that she couldn’t make an impact, however hard she tried. Changes couldn’t be made by Alexa alone; they had to be instigated by the senior editors. Of the five senior editors at Banter – Derek, Marcus, Neil, Jamie and Riz – the most critical two were ardently opposed to Alexa’s very existence. It simply wasn’t possible to turn things around with only half of the team on board.
Alexa sighed. It was a quarter to seven. Her brain had given up for the night. She closed the document, emailed it to herself, realising that yet again, she would be opening up her laptop after dinner. Matt would be disappointed. Already, Alexa had downgraded his suggested ‘drinks and dinner’ to a takeaway at her place and now she was effectively writing off any chance of a relaxing evening by committing herself to more work. Her thoughts flitted back to the advice her mother had given her: Make time for him. Where was this time supposed to come from?
‘Not watching the game?’
Alexa jumped. She had assumed she was the only one left in the office. Riz was standing halfway between her desk and his, a sports bag slung over one shoulder and his hair spiky and wet. He must have been to the gym.
‘Um . . . no.’ Alexa blinked. She had heard the guys talk about some match tonight, but nobody had mentioned it to her directly. ‘I’m . . . working late.’
Riz nodded casually. ‘Well, we’ll be in the Eagle if you manage to get away. See ya.’
Alexa lifted a hand. ‘Goodnight, Riz.’
She waited for the door to slam before she exhaled, feeling embarrassed and ashamed on top of everything else. Riz was being charitable. She probably should have felt grateful to him for trying to include her in the team’s plans, but all she could think about was the fact that she’d been left out in the first place.
Alexa started to shut down, her eyes glazing over as she waited for the programmes to close. She looked across the office, wondering vaguely why her outlook seemed more restricted than usual. There was a remote-control helicopter, obscuring a large part of the features desk, but that wasn’t it. Then she realised. On Sienna’s desk was a stack of old copies of Banter. They were piled up, she realised, in a way that completely obscured Alexa’s view of Sienna and of the news desk beyond that. Sienna had erected a barrier between them.
Alexa reached down for her bag, wondering whether there was anything she could have done differently with regards to the surly assistant. It was never going to be easy, walking into a situation like this. Sienna had spent two years carving herself a cosy little niche, being the only female amid a bunch of alpha males who enjoyed her presence on their desks, in their laps and anywhere else they fancied. Here was Alexa, diluting her minority, ignoring her female wiles and restoring her role to the administrative one she was being paid to do. It was probably fair to say that no amount of lenience or kindness would persuade Sienna to switch her allegiance from the lads to the new, female MD.
Alexa trod forlornly towards the lift. Derek was her biggest problem. Derek had been knocked off his perch, just as Sienna had, but he had further to fall. Not only that, but he had more influence within the team. Whereas Sienna was seen as the office totty, Derek had respect. He was the deputy editor and people listened to him. His attitude towards Alexa had infected the minds of others.
Alexa could see it happening around her. She knew that most of the news desk saw her as some kind of joke – thanks to Marcus, the news editor who worshipped Derek’s every movement. Louis Carrillo was just one example. Loud, sexist and one of the team’s most senior writers, he laughed openly at Derek’s laddish remarks that were clearly designed to offend Alexa. Then there were others, in the middle ranks, who clearly didn’t know what to think.
Raising a limp hand in the direction of the security guard, Alexa pushed through the glass doors and took in a lungful of warm, polluted air. Her phone was ringing.
‘Hey, it’s me.’
A smile formed on Alexa’s lips, despite her mood. ‘Still on for a takeaway?’ Matt’s voice sounded tired, but warm. ‘Yeah.’ Alexa stopped just outside Senate House, staring at the words on the mock Tudor building opposite. The Eagle, read the gold lettering. Below the name hung a banner, announcing that Premier League games would be shown on Wednesdays and Saturdays throughout the season.
‘I’m just finishing up now,’ said Matt. ‘Shall I come straight over?’
Alexa continued to stare at the gold lettering, thinking about what might be going on inside.
‘Um . . .’
That was the problem. If she was going to make an impact at Banter, she had to get the team on her side – and to do that, she had to know them. She had to bond with them. Turning a business around wasn’t just about changing business models or distribution channels; it was about changing minds. She had to face up to the likes of Derek and Marcus and persuade them that she was a force for good. She had to go across the road and watch the football with them.
‘I . . .’ Alexa pictured her boyfriend’s face. His blue eyes would be narrowed questioningly, his tanned brow furrowed. ‘The thing is, I’m going to have to work this evening.’
Matt sighed quietly. Alexa wasn’t sure what to do. Her heart was telling her to salvage the date, to reverse the disappointment she had already caused and leave the Banter boys to watch the game. But her mind was telling her to cancel on Matt and cross the road. She loved Matt. She wished she could offer him something more than the distracted, exhausted wreck that was all that remained of her at the end of each working day. But that was the point. The only way she could ensure proper quality time with Matt was to get these things off her plate and then, once the teething problems were over and life at Banter developed more of a predictable rhythm, she would be able to devote herself fully to Matt.
She faltered for a moment and then made her decision.
‘How about we do a proper date, this weekend?’ she asked, as enthusiastically as she could with the guilt and shame weighing her down. ‘There’s no point in you coming round and falling asleep while I work.’
‘I guess.’ Matt sounded disappointed.
