Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

interesting than mine, butI just knew that he wouldn’t care about that. He’d be kind and polite and interested and he’d chat to my dad about gardening.
    In the taxi on the way home (alone, I was still being a good girl, taking it slow), I made a mental list of things I like about Jake:
    His hands. He has long, delicate fingers, a pianist’s hands.
    The way he gesticulates wildly when he’s explaining something.
    He laughs all the time.
    He makes me laugh all the time.
    He has perfect skin.
    He’s kind.
    When I’m with him, I’m feel like I’m a better version of myself.
    I took Jake’s advice. When I got to work on Monday, I knocked on Rupert’s office door.
    ‘Brought you a coffee,’ I said, putting it down on his desk.
    ‘Oh, thank you, Cassie. When you’re done with the post will you do the invoicing? There’s a list of customers here who need statements sent out.’
    ‘Of course,’ I said, taking the list. ‘But I was wondering whether I could have a brief word first?’
    ‘By all means. Sit down. Is everything all right?’ He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and pressing his fingertips together. ‘I know you haven’t had the ideal introduction to the company. Things havebeen a bit chaotic – as soon as things calm down a bit we’ll be able to discuss your role more thoroughly.’
    ‘No, no – it’s fine. Everything’s fine. I was just thinking … I was wondering … it’s about the office. Basically, I was wondering whether you would allow me to give it a bit of a makeover. I just think that investors might be getting the wrong impression when they come here.’
    Rupert frowned. ‘It’s not that bad …’ he said, casting an eye over the office. He looked almost hurt.
    ‘Not that bad, no,’ I said hastily, ‘but it’s not that great either. I just don’t think the place looks … well, it’s not slick. We don’t look like a professional outfit.’
    There was a moment of silence. I wondered whether I had gone too far. Had I just called him unprofessional?
    ‘I can see where you’re coming from, Cassie,’ he said, nodding sagely. ‘Presentation is important. But we just don’t have the budget for a fancy office just yet …’
    ‘I’m not saying fancy …’
    ‘No, no, let me finish. You’re used to working for very rich investment banks – or investment banks that used to be very rich, anyway – which have gleaming, steel and glass corporate headquarters with gyms in the basement and coffee shops in the foyer. We’re a long, long way from that.’ He got to his feet and began to pace the short distance from his desk to the window and back again. ‘Eventually, yes, I would like to get this place spruced up. But we have more pressingissues to deal with just now. And I can assure you that when investors take a look at the business plan, they will know that we’re a professional outfit.’
    Oh, God, I had gone too far. I’d pissed him off. I slunk out of the office and into the meeting room, where I got back to sorting through the post.
    I stayed late that evening, re-ordering the office filing system for the umpteenth time. It didn’t really need doing, but I thought that perhaps by staying late and showing willing I might make up for that morning’s faux pas. Rupert had barely spoken to me all day. He hadn’t been rude, but he had certainly not been his usual garrulous self.
    When everyone else had gone home, I took a good look around. I examined the blinds over the windows, once white, now a nicotine yellow. They had probably been there for so long, they were remnants of a time when you could still smoke in offices. Behind the blinds the windows were grimy. The office furniture was cheap, tired and unmatched: it looked as thought it had been recovered from a skip. The carpets were a dirty beige, worn thin in patches. The entire place looked as though it hadn’t been redecorated since the early 1980s. In the corner of the meeting room, I pulled up a bit of carpet. There was parquet tiling underneath. Good, solid oak parquet tiling. And someone had stuck a nasty beige carpet on top of it.
    I started to calculate what it would take – in terms of money and time – to give the place a facelift. All I needed, I reasoned, was to replace the ugly officefurniture, pull up the carpet, get new blinds, reorganise a bit, and give everything a really good clean. It could probably be done in a weekend. And it really wouldn’t cost that much.
    I