Page 63 of The Girlfriend Clause
While no explicit threats, inducements, or promises were made, I am conscious that consent and autonomy can be affected where there is a substantial asymmetry of authority, particularly where one party is unaware of the other’s status at thetime.
I believe it is appropriate to place this on record in the interests of transparency and to protect my professional standing and well-being should any future concernsarise.
This statement is submitted in good faith, and I am willing to cooperate with any process the company deemsnecessary.
AndreaJones
Pharmaceutical SalesRepresentative
“Happy with it?” he said.
“I… ah… it’s very legal sounding?”
“Yes, that’s the point.” He looked at me. “It just says you didn’t know who he was when you shagged, you’re not accusing him of anything, but now that you know he’s basicallyGod, it’s made you uncomfortable. So you’re sticking a flag in the ground noting that ‘this happened, I didn’t have all the info, please don’t screw me over later.’ It’s not a complaint. It’s a receipt. Okay?”
“Okay. I guess?”
“Good. I’ll print it out and keep it in your paper file. Nobody’s ever going to look in there unless a whole load of other things have turned to custard.”
I looked at the formal language, the careful phrasing. It made the whole thing feel sordid.
“He wasn’t like that on Monday,” I said, more to myself than to James. “In the meeting today he was… cold. I was just a problem to be managed.”
“Yeah, well.” James leaned back in his chair. “Billionaires don’t get to be billionaires by being warm and fuzzy, do they? They step on people. It’s a job prerequisite.”
“I suppose.” But it still stung.
Chapter 13
Andrea
“A boob—sorry, didyou say a boob job?” I looked at Eliza. She was staring out the window from the passenger seat of my Corolla. It was Saturday, and so nice to be out of the city. Golden fields rolled past on the left; a skinny row of trees to our right separated us from the M4.
“Yeah,” she said. “Don’t shit a brick. Apparently, they’re tax deductible.”
Hell’s bells.
“I think that’s unlikely,” I said. “Unless she can detach them between shoots and store them in her ‘modeling wardrobe’?”
“Maybe the tax man will treat them like a home office?”
“Allocate partial usage for work and the rest for fun and day-to-day life?” I raised a brow. “What happened to ‘the medical industry is a scam designed to create lifelong customers’?”
“That was before she discovered the tax advantages of low-profile teardrop silicone.”
A sign flashed past on the left:Welcome toDatchet.
“You know, she still hasn’t paid me back for the boiler repairs yet,” I said.
Mum’s carpet was so threadbare on the stairs that it was a miracle she hadn’t broken her neck, and she didn’t have a retirement plan. Yet at the ripe old age of fifty-eight, she was planning to drop thousands into a pair of fake breasts.
Brilliant.
“She won’t, Andy. She never does,” Eliza said. “Anyway, she’s convinced they’ll show a good return over three years. More work, apparently.”
“Probably won’t hurt her Tinder profile either.”
“Oh no, she’s off that. Still seeing the semi-famous Aussie cricketer. Apparently, he insisted.”
