Page 21 of Love or Your Money Back

CHAPTER

As a marketer, Freddy knows the difference between real fine dining (small plates, expensive ingredients, obscure combinations) and faux fine dining (over-priced brioche-bun burgers with sugary caramelised onion relish and a mini-metal mesh frier of French fries on the side).

Freddy prefers the latter. He likes fries. But only real fine dining will do for this particular dinner, because Kat needs to meet the right consumers in the right environment. So the Oxo Tower restaurant is perfect: a London institution with teeny tiny portions and a hell of a lot of cutlery.

Freddy arrives at the rooftop bar half an hour early because, contrary to what Kat might think of him, he respects women and hates to think of them sitting alone.

He also wants to get a whiskey down his neck before the dinner.

He’s not sure why, but meeting Kat in a social setting feels mildly awkward.

Not bad exactly. But a little too intimate.

Especially considering he’s supposed to be marrying her off.

As Freddy takes his seat at the bar, he notices a stunningly beautiful woman in a blue velvet cocktail dress, dark hair falling around her pale shoulders like waves of dark water. She has a beer in front of her and is frowning. At him.

Did he sleep with her and not call?

No. He would have remembered. What then?

The woman’s slightly angry expression is so

familiar. And those eyes …

‘KAT? Good god!’ Freddy nearly falls off the stool. ‘I didn’t recognise you. Wow. Your hair

. What did you do, darling? You look astonishing.’

Kat touches her long, gleaming black waves. ‘Indira arranged a haircut and this special keratin straightening, conditioning treatment. I smelt like rotten eggs for hours, but I think it turned out okay.’

‘It’s better than okay. That’s your natural hair?’

‘It’s not a wig, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘You’re stunning,’ Freddy gabbles. ‘This is terrific. Right on brand. Intelligent, professional and successful. Except for the beer. It’s not expensive enough.’

‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’ Kat snorts. ‘Have you seen the prices in here?’

‘Let me order you champagne.’ Freddy feels something sparkling in his chest as he waves the barman over.

He’s happy, he supposes, because the rebranding plan is working so well.

Which means he can carry on making major changes to Little Voice without Kat giving unwelcome opinions.

‘We need to have a quick debrief before going to dinner. To go over our promotional strategy –’

‘Promotional strategy. Right. Yes.’ Kat looks down at herself. ‘I’m all dressed up and ready to sell. Tell me, oh marketing guru. How do I promote myself to these two men?’

‘You do not

promote yourself.’ Freddy nods his handsome head at the barman: ‘One Charles Hendrich Champagne, one Tequila Sunrise.’

‘But what about the three Ps?’ Kat asks. ‘We’ve done packaging and placement. Now we do promotion, right?’

‘Yes, but in your case, promotion doesn’t require any doing

,’ says Freddy. ‘In fact, it requires the opposite of doing. Your promotional strategy is exclusivity. Repeat after me. EXCLUSIVITY.’

Kat does not repeat.

Freddy continues, unphased: ‘You, Katerina, are the VIP section at an exclusive nightclub. A fine-dining restaurant with a year-long waiting list. You do not advertise. You wait for consumers to come to you. You are discreet and discerning. Not available to everyone. Got it?’

‘I get the logic,’ says Kat. ‘But I’m not discerning at all. I’ll marry anyone who will have me. Well, within the non-racist, sexist, homophobic criteria previously mentioned. Oh, and they have to have a good job. Right? A career

.’ She pauses to consider this. ‘Although we might be pushing things with that last one. What do you think?’

‘Good grief.’ Freddy reaches for his drink. ‘I think we need to work on your self-talk.’

‘I just don’t want to aim too high and be disappointed.’

Freddy takes a sip of his cocktail. ‘Because you have MS?’

‘No,’ says Kat. ‘Because good men are hard to come by.’

‘Says who?’

Kat shrugs. ‘I suppose … my mother. She was a single parent after my dad left us. So that was her experience.’

‘Well, it doesn’t have to be your experience,’ says Freddy. ‘There are thousands of good men out there. They just have to know you exist.’

Kat’s face lights up. ‘Does that mean I can hand out business cards?’

‘Of course you can’t hand out bloody business cards!

’ A deep frown disturbs Freddy’s smooth, tanned forehead.

‘No business card bombing whatsoever, alright? And no lip action or … any other action until you’ve been on a good deal of dates with a man and deemed him worth your attention.

You’re an exclusive product. We’re looking for husbands, not hook-ups. ’

‘No lip action?’

‘Don’t kiss them.’

‘I know what you meant

. I just don’t know why I can’t kiss anyone –’

‘YOU’RE EXCLUSIVE! YOU MAKE THEM PROVE THEMSELVES FIRST!’

‘You’re such a hypocrite,’ says Kat. ‘I bet you kiss a different woman every night. Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Supply and demand.’ Freddy sits back on his stool. ‘In London, the demand for men hugely outweighs supply. Which means my promotional strategy is different to yours. With me, it’s all about letting women know I’m a multi-millionaire. And numbers. Talking to a lot of women, basically.’

‘Ugh.’ Kat makes a face.

‘Hate the game, not the player.’ Freddy takes another sip of his cocktail. ‘Now listen. I

will be promoting the hell out of you at dinner. Talking you up. Telling our dining companions that I’ve asked you out many times and you always turn me down. Making you sound really

exclusive. Are you okay to play along?’

‘Sounds easy enough.’ Kat sips champagne, taking great care not to spill the glass. ‘If you asked me out, I would

turn you down.’

‘Only because I haven’t ever tried to sweep you off your feet.’

‘Go on then.’

‘What?’

‘Sweep me off my feet. Give it your best shot, Mr Irresistible. I guarantee I will remain unmoved.’

Freddy shuffles uneasily on his stool. ‘You’re just about to meet potential husbands. It wouldn’t be bad timing.’

‘Bollocks. You know full well you can’t sweep me off my feet.’

Freddy feels disturbed by this statement. Especially because he has the uneasy feeling that Kat may be right.

‘Let’s change the subject,’ Freddy grunts. ‘And work on positive messages. The way you’re looking right now, darling, we’ll have you married off in no time.’

‘Do you really think so?’ Kat looks disgustingly hopeful.

‘Kat.’ Freddy gives her serious eyes. ‘You are intelligent, successful and beautiful. Why wouldn’t someone want to marry you?’

‘You’d have to ask all the men who’ve turned me down so far.’

‘Jesus!’ Freddy wipes condensation from his glass. ‘You’ve been asking men to marry you?’

‘How do you think Chris and I got engaged?’

Freddy takes a steadying breath. ‘I’m glad we had this conversation, Kat. So. Exclusivity rule one. No more asking men to marry you. Exclusive products don’t do the asking. You’re the VIP, not the salesperson. Got it?’

‘But that’s sexist –’

‘No. It’s about holding your value in a competitive market.’

‘Oh fine. You’re right. Whatever I’ve been doing certainly hasn’t been working. So, tell me about these men I’m meeting.’

‘Ahmet is a successful property developer,’ says Freddy.

‘All his sisters are married, so he’s feeling the pressure.

His mother is very traditional and wants him to carry on the family name.

And to add to the emotional powder keg, he’ll inherit a small fortune when he marries, and he needs a lump sum to move his business to the next level.

So he is in a buying mood if you get my meaning. ’

‘I get your meaning. And the other one?’

‘Marcus works in law, but he wants to become an MP. He’s ready to find the right woman and settle down. Being a family man gets votes.’

‘Great!’ Kat throws back her champagne and wobbles to her feet. ‘Oh shit.’

‘What?’ Freddy asks.

‘I might need my cane.’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Yes. I didn’t bring it. It wouldn’t fit in my bag and I hoped … I don’t know. That the world would be kind and make me steady on my feet tonight. When I’m stressed …’ Kat looks away. ‘Sometimes my body starts rebelling. It’s hard to predict.’

‘Use me as your cane if you need to,’ says Freddy. ‘Lean on my arm. I’ll be the best-looking walking aid you ever used.’

‘Oh fine.’ Kat grabs Freddy’s arm. ‘You’re nothing if not a problem solver.’

Freddy wonders why his stomach feels so strange when Kat links her arm through his. He should probably get himself checked over. Diabetes runs in the family.