Morning arrives without apology.
The newsroom lights hum with the confidence of something that has never been hungover in its life. My head feels too tight for my skull and my mouth tastes like regret with a citrus note.
I drop into my chair and stare at my screen like it might take pity on me.
Ava looks up from her proofing, pauses, closes her laptop and then looks at me again. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Which is worse.
“Morning," I groak.
AJ swivels in his chair immediately. “That’s not just tired. That’s choices.”
“I hate both of you,” I mutter, blinking hard and reaching for my coffee like it’s medicinal.
Ava hesitates, then adds, gently, “You smell a bit like… regret.”
I turn slowly. “Excuse me.”
She winces. “Faintly. Like citrus.”
AJ grins. “Vodka.”
“I conducted a thorough investigation,” I say. “The vodka was unreasonable.”
Ava gives me a small, sympathetic smile. “Rough night.”
“No,” I say quickly. “Productive.”
She nods like a woman humouring a toddler. “Of course it was.”
We grab our laptops and head to the conference room for the end-of-week meeting. The last thing I need with my hangover is a group of journalists arguing over prime space in the Sunday edition.
Marie-Louise demands attention in her usual way and the room rearranges itself into something resembling professionalism. Chairs scrape. Laptops open. Someone sighs like the concept of our meeting has personally wronged them. I cradle my coffee and will my skull to stop vibrating.
“All right,” says. “What has next week in store for us.”
The meeting rolls on in its usual rhythm. Deadlines. Column inches. A brief skirmish over photos. I nod where required, sip coffee that tastes faintly of punishment, and make a concerted effort not to think about stainless steel counters or a very talented cock… cook.
Then Marie-Louise looks at me.
“Chloe,” she says. “How did it go at La Cucina di Rosa.”
I straighten automatically. Professional posture. Neutral expression. I have rehearsed this answer. It is concise. Balanced. Entirely normal.
“It was… thorough,” I begin.
Ava’s pen stills.
“Thorough,” Marie-Louise repeats.
“Yes,” I say, nodding a fraction too much. “I spent the evening with the team. Observed service. Prep. Processes.”
“Processes,” AJ murmurs. “That sounds intense.”
I ignore him. “There’s a strong emphasis on technique. Intentionality. Everything is very… deliberate.”
Marie-Louise watches me carefully. “And the food.”
“The food,” I say. “Is… well structured.”
