Chapter 4 How scary can a few numbers be in the first part? -4

how can i be so stupid On the way to the press conference, there was only one thing I had to buy - and that was the Financial Times. The Financial Times is a girl's best decoration.Its main advantages are: 1 bright colors. 2 for just 85p. 3 If you walk into a room with it under your arm, people will respect you.With a copy of the Financial Times, people won't think you're an idiot, even if you're talking about the most boring thing in the world; When I went to an interview at Money Success, I went there with a copy of the Financial Times and a copy of Investor Must Read - and I wasn't even asked a single financial question.I remember, the entire interview we were talking about vacation homes and complaining about other editors.

So I stopped at the newsstand, bought a copy of the Financial Times, rolled it up neatly under my arm, and admired myself in the Denny and George window. Looks good, I think.I was wearing that black dress from French Connection, a white T-shirt from Knickerbox, and a little cardigan angora from M&S, but it looked like it belonged to Agnes B.And the square-toed shoes under my feet are just bought from Hobbs.Even better, though no one can appreciate it, I know I'm wearing that new panty and bra with the yellow rosebuds underneath, the prettiest thing in my entire wardrobe.In fact, I even wish I could get run over by a car so the whole world could see them.

It is my habit to itemize the clothes I wear, like a page in a fashion magazine.I've been doing this for years - ever since I read Just Seventeen.Every issue, they would stop a girl on the street, take a picture of her, and list all the clothes she had on. "T-shirt: Chelsea Girl; jeans: bought from Top; shoes: borrowed from a friend." I used to eagerly read these lists—and now, if I buy clothes that are not designer brands, I will Rip off the logo.That way, if I get stopped on the street, I can pretend I forgot where I bought it. Anyway, here I am, staring at myself, thinking how beautiful I look, and vaguely hoping someone from Just Seventeen will pop up with a camera - and that's when my eyes pop Light up, full focus, and my heart stopped! There's a nondescript notice in the Denny and George window.The word "discount" was written in cream on dark green paper.

I stared at the notice, my heart beating rapidly.It can't be true, Denny and George can't be discounting, they never discount.Their silk scarves and cashmere are very popular, and they will still be bought for twice the price.Everyone I know in this world longs for a Denny and George scarf. (Not including my parents, obviously. My mom's point is that anything you can't get at Bentalls in Kingston is useless.) I took a breath, walked forward a few steps, and pushed open the door of the small shop.The door creaked and the pretty blonde who worked there looked up.I don't know her name, but I've always liked her.Unlike those arrogant fat women in clothing stores, she doesn't mind you standing there for years staring at clothes you really can't afford.Usually, I spend half an hour lingering among the Denny and George scarves and then go to Accessorize to buy something to make myself feel better.I've bought a whole drawer of Denny and George replacements.

"Hi," I said as calmly as I could, "you...you're on sale." "That's right." The blonde smiled, "This is really rare!" My eyes scanned the store, and I saw rows of silk scarves, neatly folded, with dark green "half-fold" price reduction signs on them.Printed velvets, beaded silks, and embroidered cashmere all had the modest Denny and George logo on them.Everywhere.I don't know where to start looking.I think I've had another nervous attack. "I remember you always liked this one!" the pretty blonde said to me, picking out a blue-gray silk scarf with a soft sheen from the pile in front of her.

Oh god, yes.I remembered this silk scarf.The velvet material, overprinted in light blue, is also dotted with glitter beads.While staring at it, I felt many invisible ropes quietly pulling me towards the silk scarf.I had to touch it, I had to tie it.It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen! The girl looked at the label, "The original price is 340 pounds, the current price is 120 pounds." She walked up and tied the silk scarf around my neck, and I stared blankly at myself in the mirror. There is no doubt that I must buy this silk scarf, I have to buy it.It makes my eyes look bigger, it makes my hair look more expensive, and it makes me a different person.I can wear it with anything.People will call me "the girl with the Denny and George scarf"!

"If I were you, I would buy it without hesitation." The blonde smiled at me, "There is only one of this style left." I involuntarily grabbed the silk scarf tightly. "I bought it," I gasped, "I bought this silk scarf!" While she was packing the silk scarf, I took out my wallet, opened it, and reached for my VISA card in a natural, unconscious gesture—but all my fingers touched was the empty purse.I was taken aback, and quickly rummaged through the various compartments of my wallet, not knowing where I had stuffed the card and the receipt together, or hidden it under the business card... Then, my heart trembled suddenly, I remembered, VISA The card was placed on the table by me.

How could I be so stupid? How could I have left my VISA card on the table? What was I thinking? The pretty blonde put the wrapped silk scarf into a dark green Denny and George bag.My heart was pounding.What should I do? "How are you going to pay?" she said cheerfully. My face turned red. "I just found out I left my credit card at the office," I stammered. "Oh," said the girl, stopping what she was doing. "Can you keep the silk scarf for me for a while?" The girl looked hesitant: "How long?" "By tomorrow?" I said desperately.Oh God! She elongated her face.Why doesn't she understand my mood?

"I'm afraid not," she said. "Sales can't be kept." "Then this afternoon!" I said hastily, "When do you close?" "Six o'clock." Six o'clock! I was relieved and a little nervous at the same time.That's a challenge, Rebecca! I have to get to the press conference, get out early, and get a cab back to the office.I'm going to get my VISA card and tell Philip I pulled the laptop down and come here again and buy the scarf. "Can you keep it for me until then?" I begged, "Please, please!" The girl softened.

"Okay, then I'll put it behind the counter first!" "Thank you." I said out of breath.I left the store in a hurry and headed down the road to Brandon Communications.Please keep the press conference short, I pray.Please don't let the question time go on for too long.Please God, just let me get that silk scarf! When I got to Brandon Communications, I felt myself start to relax.After all, I have three full hours.And my silk scarf stays safely behind the counter, no one can steal it from me. A sign in the lobby of Brandon Communications read: "'Flander Overseas Opportunities' press conference held in Artemis Hall."A man in uniform was directing the crowd down the corridor, which meant that the Artemis Hall must be very large.The reception obviously wasn't big enough for CNN to mobilize, but it wasn't small either.A relatively important event in our dull little world.

When I entered the room, it was already full of chattering crowds, with waitresses passing to and fro carrying toast.Journalists gulped champagne like they'd never seen this thing before; public relations ladies looked on scornfully, sipping water.A waiter brought me champagne and I took two glasses.One to drink now, one to put under my chair to drink while I listen to those dreary things. In the far corner of the room, I saw Ellie Granger, a reporter for Investors Weekly.She was squeezed into a corner by two enthusiastic men in neat suits. She nodded to them, but her eyes were blank.Ellie is amazing.She's only been at Investors Weekly for six months, but has applied and interviewed for 43 other jobs.What she really wants is to be the beautiful editor-in-chief of a magazine.What I really want is to be the biggest breakfast TV show in Europe on GMTV. ——Annotated Fiona Phillips GMTV's famous news program host and reporter. ——Annotation.Sometimes, when we've had too much to drink, we'll make a pact that if we can't be more exciting in three months, we'll all quit.But the thought of being out of money—even for a month—is a lot scarier than the thought of spending the rest of my life writing some kind of pension plan. "Rebecca, it's great to have you at the reception." Looking up, I nearly choked on the champagne.It was Luke Brandon, the owner of Brandon Communications, and he was staring at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I've only met him a few times, and I always feel a little uncomfortable around him.First of all, his fame is scary.Everyone agrees that he is a genius, even my boss, Philippe.He started Brandon Communications from nothing, and it is now the largest financial consulting firm in London. A few months ago he was named by a newspaper as one of the brightest entrepreneurs of his generation.It is said that he has a very high IQ and a precise memory. (I've always hated people with perfect memories.) But it's not all that makes me uncomfortable.He always seemed to frown when talking to me, as if he knew I was a total liar.Actually, that's just my opinion, maybe he wasn't.It may also turn out that the famous Luke Brandon is not only a genius, but also good at reading other people's minds.He must know that when I stare at some boring chart and nod seriously, I'm actually thinking about a nice black blouse I saw in Joseph and wondering if I have enough money to put another Also bought the pants. "You know Alicia, right?" Luke said, pointing to the impeccable blonde standing beside him. Actually, I don't know Alicia, and I don't need to know her.The girls at Brandon's (as they were called) were all the same: well-dressed, well-spoken, husbands who were bankers, and no sense of humor.