Page 70 of Santa's Baby

My heart races. An instinctive rush of panic as I click my calendar to find my schedule has completely vanished after tonight. It’s clear. Right up until the founders’ proposal in a few weeks’ time.

You moved them?Orla asks.We haven’t had any client complaints, but if you are ill or need any support or anything, please do tell us. We prefer to manage it from this end.

I don’t know what the hell to say to that. I type, then delete, type then delete. I can’t tell her the truth. I’m still reeling with my lack of bookings myself, because I sure as fuck didn’t empty my calendar… and apparently the Agency didn’t either… which only means…

Shit. Sorry, Orla,I type.I should have brought you into it. I’m having some personal crap going on around Christmas. Just need some headspace, and want to make sure I’m fit for the founders.

My head fucking pounds as she types.

That’s no problem. You have a client booking now, though? Are you going to be ok with that? And have you managed to postpone everything else that needed postponing?

Again, I feel like a criminal as my jittery fingers type lie after lie…

I’m on a booking now. Just taking a break. Client is a newbie, but he’s going to be a big player, I think, so I’ll keep him happy, but some of my regulars got shunted. I’m sure they willbe ok. I’ll be back and booming soon! Nothing else needs doing from your end, honestly. Thanks, though. You are a star.

Lies don’t suit me. Just as well she can’t see my face, or my burning cheeks would give me up in a heartbeat.

Great,she says. Let me know if you need anything. Speak soon x

I hope fucking not.

Telling white lies to Orla has made this situation all so real. She could have been such an ass to me for breaking cancellation rules like that, and not giving her updates. But I didn’t have any to give her. They weren’t my fucking updates.

Thank fucking God I’m one of their star performers, or I may have got ten times more of a bollocking.

I scroll through my empty calendar – so many appointments gone. Not a single gig between now and the founders one.

Not apart from today, of course.

My head is spinning with so many questions.

Are my clients gone for good?

Is the Agency going to find out?

Why did Reuben do this? Is he pissed at me? Have I fucked him off?

Has someone found out what’s going on between us?

More to the point – what the hell IS going on between us!?

And what’s going to happen to my income?!

Jesus Christ, I could do without this right now. I grab my painkillers and down a couple with some iced water in the kitchen, and then godfuckingdamnit, I feel the paranoia rising. I feel the shakes, hating the lack of control… because without Creamgirl… without my job…

I check the clock. About an hour to go before Reuben leaves the grotto.

I scroll through mypostponedbookings, assuring myself that I have options at my fingertips right here. I could click and offerto reverse the postponements. I’d get a load of them back. My regulars.

The safe option.

It’s only been one night since they were messed around with. I could tell them it was an error or something. I could sort it out. I could ease my mind, and tell Orla I’ve changed my mind, no problem. I could tell her I’m feeling just fine now.

But I don’t click anything and I don’t type a word. Not yet.

I need answers from the originalfinger clickerthe very moment he walks in through the front door. He is the boss after all, and I’d best have the sense to remember it.

All it would take is one click of Reuben’s finger clicking fingers, and my whole fucking life could come tumbling down.