Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

his jacket. He looked fantastic. Why the hell hadn’t I gone on that date?
    ‘Hey, you,’ Jude said, getting up to give him a kiss, ‘let me introduce you – this is Matt, Matt – Jake.’ The boys shook hands.
    ‘Great to finally meet you at last,’ Jake said, sitting down next to me. Under the table, he gave my leg an affectionate squeeze. I nearly fainted. ‘You feeling better?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m fine,’ I said. Oh, Christ, what did Jude tell him?
    ‘Sorry I gave you a hard time last time we spoke,’ he said. ‘I was just disappointed that I didn’t get to go out with you.’
    After a brief toast to Matt’s safe return and my new career, Jude started quizzing Jake about what he’d been up to.
    ‘Haven’t seen you in college all week,’ she said. ‘Have you been working, or just skiving?’
    ‘Working, of course. I’ve been getting ready for the college exhibition most of the week, although today I had a proper job. Actual paid employment.’
    ‘Who for?’ Jude asked, popping an olive into her mouth.
    ‘Women’s magazine,’ he said, casually. ‘ InStyle . I was shooting a spread for them.’
    ‘Bloody hell!’ Jude said. ‘That’s brilliant.’ I was pretty sure she had never read InStyle in her life, but you always can count on Jude to be enthusiastic.
    ‘So,’ Matt said with a smile, ‘you’ve been hanging out with models all day? And I thought I’d had a good afternoon.’
    ‘Models in their underwear, actually,’ Jake replied. ‘It was a lingerie shoot.’
    ‘You lucky bastard,’ Matt said, clinking Jake’s glass with his own. Jude rolled her eyes. I didn’t say anything, but I felt a familiar twinge in my gut. I recognised it as the feeling I used to get when I watched Dan flirt with other women. I was jealous. I was horribly, painfully jealous of the fact that Jakehad just spent the entire day in the company of a group of very beautiful, half-naked women. And I hardly even knew this man. How ridiculous am I?
    Dinner was a long and relaxed affair, so relaxed that Matt was starting to nod off by the end.
    ‘I think I’d better take him home,’ Jude said, ruffling his hair. ‘He’s getting old – can’t handle these late nights any more.’
    ‘Excuse me,’ Matt protested. ‘I had a seven-hour flight, getting in to Heathrow at six o’clock in this morning and then had to spend the entire day in bed keeping you happy …’
    ‘Oh, you had to, did you? Don’t recall any protests …’
    ‘How about you two?’ Matt asked. ‘You ready to call it a night?’
    ‘I don’t think I am, actually,’ Jake said. ‘How about you, Cassie? You fancy staying for another?’
    They were stacking chairs on tables by the time Jake and I left. I toyed with the idea of inviting him back to the flat for a nightcap, but by a Herculean effort of will power managed to stop myself. I had a really good feeling about him – it would be idiotic to rush into things at this point. Anticipation is ninety per cent of the pleasure, I reminded myself as he hailed me a cab. As the taxi pulled up next to us, Jake slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him, giving me a long, lustful, delicious kiss goodnight.
    ‘I’m visiting my little brother in Manchester thisweekend – he’s at university there – but I’ll be back on Tuesday. Can I see you next week?’
    ‘That would be lovely,’ I said, reluctantly disentangling myself from his arms. ‘Just give me a call.’
    I hopped into the cab and sank back into the seat, grinning like an idiot.
    ‘Good night, love?’ the cabby asked me.
    ‘Heavenly,’ I sighed.
    Just then, my phone buzzed. You have one message from Jake , the display read. I clicked on the text message icon.
    Models, schmodels. You are without doubt the most beautiful girl I’ve seen all day xxx

17
     
    Cassie Cavanagh is overqualified
    On Sunday evening I had a call from Rupert. After a moment of brief panic (were they going to cancel the job offer?) I discovered that in fact he was just ringing to ask me to come in a bit early on Monday.
    ‘We’ve got some potential investors coming round in the afternoon, so I was hoping we could get an early start. Eight o’clock OK with you?’
    I arrived at Vintage Organics’ offices at ten to eight. For a girl who was used to working on the forty-second floor of Number 1 Canada Square, the VO headquarters came as a bit of a shock. They were situated on the third floor of a dingy walk-up a couple of