Winner Takes It All by Karen Mason Read Free Book Online

hopefully,’ Jackson said, shocking Tom a
little. No one had mentioned working in a museum before. ‘So we
don’t want casual. We want preppy but approachable.’
    ‘ I’ve got
you,’ Marcus smiled. ‘Leave him here with me. Within hours we’ll
have him looking like a different man.’
    Jackson left and Tom was
rushed down to the first floor beauty studio. He zoned out while
stylists shaved off his beard, did weird things to his skin,
plucked hairs out of his nose and God knows what else. He kept
thinking about Jackson’s words. He’d no recollection of being told
he was going to be working in a museum. He could only assume his
cousin was talking about The Museum of Irish History in Summerset.
It used to be Claremont Hall, the home of the Sheridan family,
where his grandmother had grown up. When Louisa Cusack had bought
it in 1973 she’d opened it as a museum celebrating Summerset’s
strange affinity with Ireland. Tom wondered how on earth working
here was going to help him get Jackson in as head of
Sheridans.
    By six o’clock that
evening, he felt as though he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson and
yet he looked like a dream. His beard had been shaved off to reveal
a chiselled jaw; his unruly dark brown hair had been de-matted,
trimmed and brushed into a flattering style that swept off his face
with just a few strands falling onto his forehead. Drops had been
squirted into his eyes to make them look brighter and more alert,
emphasising their blueness, and his scruffy Metallica t-shirt and
jeans had been replaced by a wardrobe full of designers he hadn’t
even heard of. Much to his relief, they hadn’t suited and booted
him, but instead Farrell thought it best if he had a selection of
tailored jackets, fitted shirts, well cut casual trousers, loafers,
a university style scarf, vintage trainers, smart t-shirts and one
Antony Price suit for business occasions. Tom didn’t dare ask, but
he estimated his cousin must have spent nigh on ten thousand
dollars on him.
    As he left the salon –
thankfully not laden down with bags as a lackey would be delivering
them directly to Jackson’s apartment – Tom skipped down the stairs,
feeling quite confident in his corduroy blazer, fitted shirt and
DKNY jeans. It felt weird not to have that itchy beard on his face
- the cool evening air blowing directly onto his skin. Jackson got
out of a yellow taxi and mounted the stairs, passing Tom. He
clearly hadn’t recognised him.
    ‘ Jackson
mate,’ he laughed.
    His cousin stopped on the
steps and almost fell over to see the new Tom.
    ‘ My God,’ he
gasped. ‘Is that really you?’
    ‘ Yes. I feel
like a stranger.’
    ‘ You look like
one. Farrell truly is a genius.’
     
    ***
     
    Jackson had an on off
girlfriend called Lisa whom he’d been seeing for several years. She
was a Brit working for the New York Times and Tom got the
feeling she was used more as a sexual outlet for Jackson rather
than a partner. Her friend Sadie, whose father owned
Petersen-Bailey-Jennings, the huge advertising agency, was staying
with her for a couple of weeks and in the taxi on the way to Zen’s,
all Jackson could do was rave at how foxy Sadie was and that Tom
could do with a seriously connected girlfriend like that. The whole
concept of going out with someone because they would be beneficial
was a weird notion to Tom and he just remained quiet and decided to
take things as they came.
    Zen wasn’t at all what
Tom had been expecting. In his mind he’d imagined Jackson to belong
to some swanky lounge club that had a resident pianist and served
vodka martinis. While the club was in an upmarket part of
Manhattan, it was quite grungy. They entered to the strains of
Pearl Jam’s Alive playing and all the people in there seemed
to be pretty dressed down in Converse trainers and plaid
shirts.
    Jackson led Tom over to a
spot behind the bar, where two girls were waiting for them. The
blonde was skinny with straggly hair, wearing a Pixies t-shirt