Perfect on Paper by Gillian Harvey (top 20 books to read txt) 📕

stand proud; others see us as powerful, masterful, dominant. Standing this way send a message to your subconscious that you’re strong and ready for action!’

‘Could you all stand up, please,’ Nigel continued.

Reluctantly, the staff got to their feet, glancing at each other.

‘Now the distance recommended between feet is one metre thirty,’ Nigel said. ‘As you can see,’ he continued, proudly, ‘I’ve recently achieved this, and Will here has even clocked up one metre forty-five.’ He began a small round of applause and a few joined in, dutifully.

‘Feel free,’ Will added, to take off your trousers or hitch up your skirts to release your legs for the exercise. Really, Nigel and I didn’t get where we are today without shedding our inhibitions and allowing free movement.’

‘Indeed we didn’t,’ nodded Nigel.

‘In fact, while we may remain outwardly clothed on this occasion, I’m sure Nigel won’t mind me sharing with you that we’ve both elected to go pant-free today to limit restriction.’

Will turned and picked up a series of long rulers. ‘If you could take one of these and lay it on the floor in front of you, then place your feet at either end. That’s it, that’s it … and if any of you are feeling particularly corporately sexy, do feel free to stretch a little further.’

Gradually, as if humouring a madman, the staff acquiesced. Some making it to a metre, some further. Mike, the IT guy from the fourth floor, ripped off his trousers with the ease of a hen night stripper, revealing a pair of Batman boxer shorts.

‘That’s it! That’s it!’ cried Nigel enthusiastically, as if cheering on a school football team. ‘Look at you all, I couldn’t be prouder.’

‘Now for the mantra,’ Will said, opening the book for reference. ‘I have power, I AM power … I have power, I AM power,’ he looked up and nodded at them.

‘I have power,’ they chanted obediently, ‘I AM power.’

‘And as you’re chanting,’ Will said, dropping out of the chant and letting them continue, ‘try to push your legs just a little bit further. Imagine the muscles stretching – feel your own strength!’

Clare glanced at her watch. Half an hour until the Jones’s would expect the keys to their newbuild. She’d give it another five. She stood, her feet neatly at each end of the ruler, and waited for the meeting to end.

‘Aaannnddd relaxxx,’ finished Will finally, stepping into a more normal pose. ‘Well done everyone! Give yourself a round of applause!’ He tucked the book under his arm and led the clapping.

After a brief self-congratulatory clap, they all sank gratefully back into their seats; Mike, rather reluctantly, pulled his trousers back on.

Nigel remained standing at the front of the room, his face a little flushed. Will looked at him for a second. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll stay in the stance.’

‘That’s dedication, sir.’

‘Thank you. Anyway, we’re looking to hold these sessions every Thursday morning, with a couple of after-work events for those who are interested. Details to follow.’

‘We really think,’ added Will, ‘that this could be good for the firm. Great for our image, great for our clients.’

‘Quite right,’ Nigel added. ‘Let’s draw this to a close now, shall we?’ His voice sounded slightly strained. Perhaps, Clare thought, he’d finally seen that Will had stepped over the line – acting as if he was their boss; telling Nigel what to do.

‘Meeting concluded,’ Will said. ‘Go out and be sexy! Corporately sexy, I mean,’ he added hastily, just in case any of them had been about to throw themselves onto the next warm body that walked through the door.

Nigel remained in situ, nodding to them as they went past. ‘Thank you,’ he said, still in the strange, rather hoarse voice. ‘Thank you. Have a good day.’

Clare was the last one out of the room, and as she went to close the door she heard Will say, ‘Well I think that went well, don’t you?’

To which Nigel gasped, his voice an urgent whisper, ‘For God’s sake, Will. Help me. Something’s gone horribly wrong.’

Chapter Eighteen

Clare stayed half an hour later than planned at work, before leaving and grabbing a sandwich from the small garage en route to the church hall Dan now referred to as ‘the dance studio.’ She ate it while driving, feeling almost rebellious and expecting to be ticked off by Claudia at any moment.

Once parked, she got out of the car and brushed the crumbs of cheese and pickle from her lap. She’d changed into tracksuit bottoms and a hoody in the staff toilets before she left, feigning a trip to the gym. The joggers were old and now had pickle stains on the thighs. But they would do.

Walking up to the small building, Clare felt more than a little bit nervous. She was holding the crumpled piece of paper with her original poem written on it and felt incredibly self-conscious about what she was about to do. Glancing about her furtively, she pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The crew – all thirteen of them – were mid-rehearsal and there was some pretty mind-blowing back-flipping going on. Music pounded out of a tiny Bluetooth speaker on one of the windowsills and all the boys seemed completely lost in the moment. As the music ended in a pounding crescendo, the boys dropped into the splits, except for little Henri, who did some sort of elaborate flip from the back of the troupe to the front, landing on his knees with his arms outstretched.

In the silence that followed, Clare clapped eagerly, feeling a bit like a parent at a school play or an over-enthusiastic teacher. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘That was great.’

‘Brilliant - thanks!’ Dan said, striding from the back of the group and, for some reason, shaking her hand.

‘I can’t believe you think you need me,’ she said, trying to picture herself through their eyes. The oldest member of the group was thirteen – she was nearly three times his age. She must seem geriatric to them.

‘I’m so