The phone rang, and she quickly dealt with the offshore agent who had secured a number of techies for the app who were cheaper than the Aussies. Plenty of people might complain about telcos outsourcing their call centres, but wage costs were a huge factor in whether a tech company could ever achieve liftoff.
She then replied to an email from Maurice, the business adviser recommended to her by a lead designer of one of Australia’s most successful start-ups, a design app that EJ had used to promote Dream Match way back when. To have the phone numbers of some of these people, to feel their support, tangible through shared contacts, felt like a dream come true.
The only reason she was successful was thanks to people like the creative tech guru—now rumoured to be a billionaire—and Maurice, and Jordan, of course. She sat back in her seat, then swivelled to face the million-dollar view that showed the setting of last week’s celebration dinner, the one that had turned a little sour on the edges.
“Ugh.”
The word shimmied off the walls, the quiet in Aunty Marion’s apartment a thousand times removed from the noisy bustle of Donwell’s offices. Not that she missed it at all.
Images flashed of that night at Bennelong. She and Jordan, happy, laughing. Then that man who’d somehow floated in andstolen attention. She still felt a little bad for Jordan, but it wasn’t like they were dating. She was a free agent. Which was why she didn’t like him getting his knickers in a knot because she just so happened to appreciate another man’s attention. What was wrong with that? But Jordan’s overreaction made her question—once again—whether he did hold feelings warmer than friendship in his heart. Or was that simply the effect of her working in the matchmaking industry that made her see potential for romance everywhere?
“You’re being dumb,” she muttered to herself. “He doesn’t even think you’re pretty, remember?”
She’d even given him a golden opportunity to say so too—yes, it had been a test of sorts—but as he’d failed to say she was attractive, it probably meant he didn’t think she was. Which was great. Awesome, actually. Because it meant she didn’t need to waste another second worrying that he might think she was potential girlfriend material.
Ameowdrew her attention to Charlie, making his presence felt again. She clicked her fingers, but he ignored her, stalking through the room like a diva. Oh well. She had his water and kitty kibble ready.
Her phone rang again, this one from her offsider, Harriet Smart. Harriet certainly lived up to her surname, being whip-smart, and dux of her year at school. Harriet was another Wattle Vale escapee—well, technically she’d grown up in the nearby village of Wootten Forest, but that was the next town along, so practically the same—and had come to work for EJ on a casual basis.
“Harriet. What can I do for you?”
“That picture you asked me for? I haveInformation.”
“Okay.” She bit her lip, glad this was a phone call and not video. She didn’t need Harriet seeing how nervous she was aboutthis, even though Harriet clearly knew how important this was, signposting this with her capitalIterm before.
“Like, he really is a VIP.”
EJ loved Harriet, but the girl really needed to learn to get to the point. “Got a name?”
“Oh, right! Of course.” Nervous giggle. “Get this: It’s Eric Churchill.”
Breath hitched. “Are you kidding me?”
Eric Churchill. Son of a squillionaire. His dad owned or had a solid stake in most of the media companies around the world. No wonder the man could afford top-shelf champagne. Or was that aged barrel champagne? “Oh my gosh.”
“Right? So, uh, pardon me for asking, but why did you want me to find out about him?”
No way was she going to admit what Eric had done. Harriet would put two and two together fast if EJ breathed another word. So she swallowed. Forced her voice to sound normal, casual, as she said, “Oh, I just saw him the other night when I was at Bennelong.”
“Oh my gosh!” Harriet squawked. “I thought that must be it. Your post the other day looked so amazing.”
EJ had to post regularly on Insta and the like, and prove she belonged in the rarefied air the rich and famous preferred to play in. Jordan had been a good sport, taking photos of her, the view, her and the view. And she’d taken a few pics of him too, then a few sneaky pics of the golden table and the guests.
“Wow. So are you going to meet him?”
Having him nod at her, and drinking the drink he’d sent didn’t count as meeting him, did it? And unless a miracle happened, she was probably never going to see him again. “Probably not.” She hoped she’d kept enough regret out of her voice.
“Then why did you want to know?”
She faked a laugh. “Oh, it’s just handy to know who’s who.”
“Who’s who in the zoo,”she could hear Jordan say. Why he had to remain in her head and make inopportune remarks like that, she didn’t know.
“Well, thanks for that, Harriet. Much appreciated.”
“Okay. Work well.”
“You too.”
