She nodded, and allowed herself to be led towards the back of the club, where topless men wearing sashes of glasses handed out vodka shots.
Martin summoned a waitress. ‘Champagne,’ he commanded.
Nervously, Sasha threw back her flute in one go.
Laughing, Martin waved the waitress back. ‘Better give her another,’ he said.
Emboldened by the alcohol – she’d had three glasses of wine at Caroline’s and all on a permanently empty stomach – she met his gaze.
‘Well, if you want my opinion, I think your script is a bit stupid.’
‘Really?’ he said with surprise.
‘Well, not stupid. Just wrong. I mean, my agent said it was a premium product, which means Benson are going to be charging a lot for it. You want something sexier.’
‘Sexier?’ said Martin, raising an eyebrow.
‘I just think chocolicious sounds a bit cheesy. You should be saying something like “Venus ice cream. My guilty pleasure.”’
He gave her a wolfish smile. ‘I like the sound of the pleasure part.’
‘Please, just call me back,’ she said. ‘If Kim doesn’t like me, let me meet the Benson marketing director.’
She hated the desperation in her voice. This wasn’t Sasha Sinclair the confident ass-kicking bitch who ruled the roost at Danehurst. But something had changed in her since she’d arrived in London and she felt she was down to her last roll of the dice. She couldn’t go back to that semi in Esher, she just couldn’t.
‘Listen, Sasha, it needs the marketing director’s sign-off, but they are pretty much following our lead.’
‘So what are you going to recommend?’
‘That we steer away from those stick-insect models. I think we need someone a bit sexier.’
>
‘Like me?’
‘Depends if you can do sexy.’ He touched her bum and pushed her towards a corridor.
‘Where are we going?’
‘In here,’ he said, holding open the door to the bathroom and leading her towards a cubicle.
Sasha felt her heart lurch. She knew that ad agencies were awash with cocaine, but she didn’t take drugs. A lot of the other agency girls did; they said it kept the weight off. Locking the door behind them, Martin tipped some white powder on to the cistern and snorted it through a rolled-up twenty-pound note. Politely she refused his offer of a white line and, shrugging, he took hers too. Then he leant in close, his breath hot on her neck.
‘Show me if you can do sexy,’ he whispered.
She met him directly in the eyes. ‘If I show you, will I get the Venus contract?’
‘I think we can safely say we can make this happen.’
She felt a flicker of dread. His fingers played with the zip of his trousers until his cock and sprouts of black hair like spider’s legs sprang free. It was not a pretty sight. Then again, they never were.
She hesitated.
‘Come on, Sasha. I only need a little bit of persuasion.’
Taking a breath, she dropped to her knees on the cold ceramic floor.
You can do this, she told herself. You’re good at this.