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

fell away as they collectively stopped to look. Because Will was not wearing his characteristic suit, with its fashionably tiny collar and pencil-thin tie. He was not even wearing a dress-down version of his usual look – perhaps a pair of coloured jeans and a short-sleeved shirt.

In fact, Will was – to all intents and purposes – naked. He’d shed his suit and instead had pulled on some sort of shiny, gold-coloured Lycra body stocking. Every lump, every contour and even every hair of his naked form was accentuated – each one shone out in the harsh light of the meeting room. It was the last place she wanted to look, but Clare couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the very graphic bulge between his legs. It was like going to the Royal Ballet all over again.

Nigel followed, nodding at staff members as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Clare was just going to offer a prayer of thanks that her boss had decided to stay in his usual attire when he turned to face them all, and she saw the shimmer of shiny red material under his suit jacket.

‘Good afternoon!’ Will said, as if everything was completely normal and he wasn’t standing, legs akimbo, giving them all much more information about his anatomy than was completely necessary. ‘Glad you could all make it.’

‘Good afternoon,’ they murmured, like schoolkids in assembly and with the same level of enthusiasm.

‘So, you might ask, Will, why are you wearing gym gear?’ he continued.

Gym gear?

Admittedly, Clare hadn’t been to the gym for a while. But she was pretty sure that what Will was wearing wouldn’t be acceptable in any of the sports centres she’d graced in the past.

‘Well, today’s seminar is all about trust. And what better way to trust than to be honestly and authentically ourselves. Nigel?’ Will looked pointedly at his boss who at least had the good grace to blush a little before dropping his trousers, removing his jacket and revealing a red body stocking that accentuated every curve and fold of his flesh. Thankfully, his belly hung pretty low, shielding his Lycra-clad crotch area.

‘Good grief,’ Ann whispered to Clare. ‘He looks like a cherry on a cocktail stick.’

‘Stop it!’ Clare hissed, holding back the giggles.

The two men at the front of the room continued, as if there was nothing unusual about any of this. They turned and faced each other.

‘I am Will,’ Will said to Nigel. ‘I live with my mum in Stevenage. I’m twenty-five years old. I worry that my eyes are too close together. I hope one day to run my own successful law firm.’

‘I am Nigel,’ replied Nigel. ‘I am fixty-six years old and I live on my own. I’m divorced. I have a son who lives in Edinburgh. I already run a successful law firm, but I hope to make it even more successful. When I was twelve I wanted to be a dancer. I worry that women no longer find me attractive.’

Clare felt a sound bubble up in her throat – a mixture between a laugh and a hysterical scream. She forced it back down and avoided eye contact with anyone else in the room. Bill, in the corner, was barely supressing his laughter – his shoulders trembled with the effort.

‘OK, so in the bag under your chair you’ll each find a similar suit – Hans calls them “honesty suits” as when we wear them, we have nothing to hide,’ continued Will. ‘I want you to change into the suit. Then, with a partner, admit your deepest fears and desires. The idea is that this total honesty opens up the lines of communication.’

Yep, so would a glass or two of wine, thought Clare, looking into the bag under her chair to find that her outfit was flesh-coloured, meaning, if it were possible, she’d look even more naked than the rest of her colleagues.

I’m Clare, she imagined saying. I’m married with kids, but nobody in my life seems to notice me. I have an alter ego called Martha B. I hope to get through the rest of my life without ever having to wear a Lycra all-in-one.

Panicking slightly, she glanced at Ann, who looked equally horrified. Thinking on her feet, Clare grabbed her mobile phone. ‘Hello?’ she said to no one. ‘This is Clare Bailey.’

A couple of people glanced at her.

‘Oh, Mr Camberwaddle!’ she said loudly, making sure she caught Nigel’s eye. ‘Of course. Yes, right away.’

She held the phone against her chest as if to muffle the sound and spoke to Nigel. ‘Really sorry, but some sort of conveyancing emergency with Mr …’

‘Of course, of course …’ her boss nodded. ‘You can always take the costume with you.’

‘And,’ Clare added, catching Ann’s pleading gaze, ‘I’m going to have to ask Ann to come with me.’

‘Right … OK, well don’t forget.’

The pair of them scrambled to their feet and virtually raced out of the room.

‘So, what’s the emergency?’ Ann asked, looking at her sideways as they walked along the corridor.

‘The emergency,’ Clare said, holding open the door to the stairs, ‘is that I can think of better ways to spend my time than parading my flaws in front of half the office.’

‘Oh my god,’ her friend said almost slumping against the wall with relief, ‘I was hoping that was it. I completely and utterly owe you one. Thanks for rescuing me.’

‘No problem,’ Clare smiled. ‘What are friends for if not to rescue each other from parading around the room in Lycra onesies in front of the senior legal team.’

‘You know, you should put that out on Twitter as an inspirational quote,’ giggled Ann.

‘I might just do that.’

Chapter Twenty

Dan was delighted when Clare called a few minutes after leaving the meeting to say she could make the teatime rehearsal after all. When she’d phoned to tell him that she’d be staying late for a work thing and wouldn’t make their arranged time, he’d been quite down. ‘We’ll still be practicing when you’re done,’ he’d