eff you up!” says Leah.
“Yeah, well I’m tired of having to be protected all of the time. I’m taking care of myself.” I feel awesome, like a new person, New Sydney.
Adam raises his pint of beer and the others do the same with their drinks. Reluctantly, I raise my cranb erry juice. “To Sydney, molest her and she’ll put you on your arse while you’re knees up at the hippest club in London!”
We all laugh and clink glasses, turning a serious situation into the funniest part of the evening.
I have to admit, it feels good to not be helpless for once.
Chapter 15
Waiting around in the conference room of the Warren Hotel seems to be a common occurrence for their nightclub remodels. I’ve already toured the space upstairs, an outdated club named Risk. The layout is decent but the furniture and color palette are too new to be retro and too old to be modern. Management has decided to go with a “V” theme for all of their nightclub names, so Vertigo will be the second club in the rebranding of their new , trendsetting style.
The conference room looks out on the Thames River, its muddy color not detracting from the beauty of the old buildings that crowd along its edge. I don’t feel any anxiety, but I still stand and face the window and press my forehead to the cool glass. It seems like a lifetime ago that I stood like this nearly every day in an attempt to calm my fraying nerves. If nothing else, the ups and downs of being Sydney Tannen over the last few months have at least healed that part of me.
I spin around when the door opens and three people enter. Two I don’t recognize, but the arrogant and handsome face of Jeff Talley is not one I had anticipated seeing here.
“Hello Sydney,” Jeff says politely, extending his hand to me as he walks around the table.
“Hello Jeff. Thank you for bringing me on for another project.” I stuff down the urge to throw up on his perfect suit.
“Sydney,” Jeff continues, “This is Violet Thompson, Vice-President of Operations in Europe.”
I shake hands with a pleasant older woman with a graying bob and a matching gray power suit. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Thompson.”.
“Pleasure, Sydney. Please, call me Violet,” she says in her clipped London accent.
Jeff continues, gesturing to the incredibly attractive, thirty-something year-old man with close-cr opped hair and designer stubble. “And this is Oliver Clarke, he’s the project manager here at this location and will be your point person for the Vertigo remodel.”
I gratefully shake Oliver’s hand. At least Jeff isn’t my project manager here like he was in New York. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Clarke.”
“The pleasure is certainly all mine, Ms. Tannen,” he says in a more northern British inflection, clasping his left hand over our joined ones as we shake. It doesn’t escape me that he didn’t ask me to call him Oliver.
Interesting.
We take our seats and they tell me what they would like to see in the design, what they like and don’t like, and which ideas that I used in New York that they want to have duplicated for continuity between the two locations. Violet, despite the fact that she’s probably a few years past sixty, has very strong opinions on what young Europeans expect in a nightclub.
She must notice my astonished expression, because she winks and says, “I do love a crowded club dear. Partied with the Beatles and the Stones in my day.”
Fascinated, I’m about to ask her about the Beatles when Jeff interrupts, “Oh Violet, Sydney here doesn’t like celebrities, you know. She wouldn’t care if your husband was Paul McCartney or Mick Jagger was your brother.”
That smug bastard is sitting back smirking while I must be turning about a hundred different shades of red.
“In fact, Sydney parties with all kinds of fa mous people. Don’t you Sydney?”
Violet turns to look at me in interest, but I notice that Oliver rolls his eyes and scratches his head uncomfortably. I
“Yeah, well I’m tired of having to be protected all of the time. I’m taking care of myself.” I feel awesome, like a new person, New Sydney.
Adam raises his pint of beer and the others do the same with their drinks. Reluctantly, I raise my cranb erry juice. “To Sydney, molest her and she’ll put you on your arse while you’re knees up at the hippest club in London!”
We all laugh and clink glasses, turning a serious situation into the funniest part of the evening.
I have to admit, it feels good to not be helpless for once.
Chapter 15
Waiting around in the conference room of the Warren Hotel seems to be a common occurrence for their nightclub remodels. I’ve already toured the space upstairs, an outdated club named Risk. The layout is decent but the furniture and color palette are too new to be retro and too old to be modern. Management has decided to go with a “V” theme for all of their nightclub names, so Vertigo will be the second club in the rebranding of their new , trendsetting style.
The conference room looks out on the Thames River, its muddy color not detracting from the beauty of the old buildings that crowd along its edge. I don’t feel any anxiety, but I still stand and face the window and press my forehead to the cool glass. It seems like a lifetime ago that I stood like this nearly every day in an attempt to calm my fraying nerves. If nothing else, the ups and downs of being Sydney Tannen over the last few months have at least healed that part of me.
I spin around when the door opens and three people enter. Two I don’t recognize, but the arrogant and handsome face of Jeff Talley is not one I had anticipated seeing here.
“Hello Sydney,” Jeff says politely, extending his hand to me as he walks around the table.
“Hello Jeff. Thank you for bringing me on for another project.” I stuff down the urge to throw up on his perfect suit.
“Sydney,” Jeff continues, “This is Violet Thompson, Vice-President of Operations in Europe.”
I shake hands with a pleasant older woman with a graying bob and a matching gray power suit. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Thompson.”.
“Pleasure, Sydney. Please, call me Violet,” she says in her clipped London accent.
Jeff continues, gesturing to the incredibly attractive, thirty-something year-old man with close-cr opped hair and designer stubble. “And this is Oliver Clarke, he’s the project manager here at this location and will be your point person for the Vertigo remodel.”
I gratefully shake Oliver’s hand. At least Jeff isn’t my project manager here like he was in New York. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Clarke.”
“The pleasure is certainly all mine, Ms. Tannen,” he says in a more northern British inflection, clasping his left hand over our joined ones as we shake. It doesn’t escape me that he didn’t ask me to call him Oliver.
Interesting.
We take our seats and they tell me what they would like to see in the design, what they like and don’t like, and which ideas that I used in New York that they want to have duplicated for continuity between the two locations. Violet, despite the fact that she’s probably a few years past sixty, has very strong opinions on what young Europeans expect in a nightclub.
She must notice my astonished expression, because she winks and says, “I do love a crowded club dear. Partied with the Beatles and the Stones in my day.”
Fascinated, I’m about to ask her about the Beatles when Jeff interrupts, “Oh Violet, Sydney here doesn’t like celebrities, you know. She wouldn’t care if your husband was Paul McCartney or Mick Jagger was your brother.”
That smug bastard is sitting back smirking while I must be turning about a hundred different shades of red.
“In fact, Sydney parties with all kinds of fa mous people. Don’t you Sydney?”
Violet turns to look at me in interest, but I notice that Oliver rolls his eyes and scratches his head uncomfortably. I
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