‘No. She’s quite short without her heels. Oh, Nice Nigel from Marketing – the one with the quiff – is now very serious with a woman who works at Sky Sports and is friends with Clare Balding. He’s been to Clare’s house for drinks –twice.’
‘Blimey.’
‘Daisy has joined a club for vintage postcard collectors who meet at a café in Chiswick. She’s got very into vinyl. I offered to lend her aWet Wet WetLP I had knocking about somewhere but she didn’t seem all that excited.’
She chortles into her coffee.
‘So what about my stand-in, the handsome Mr Russo? Is he still unpopular?’
I bring my cup to my lips and take a sip, buying some time. ‘What makes you think he’s handsome?’
‘Obviously, I’ve had a good snoop at his profile picture.’
I feel my neck redden. ‘I think that’s got a filter on it.’
I’m partly stalling for what to tell her about him. I don’t want to let her know that he’s clearly got aspirations to keep her job permanently. She’s got enough on her plate as it is without that.
‘Well . . . Andrea fancies him,’ I offer.
‘She fancies everyone with a Y chromosome.’
‘Exactly.’ She waits for more information. ‘Oh . . . he’s being a pain in the bloody neck, if I’m honest – and causing me a lot of trouble overOur Girl In Milan.’
She frowns. ‘Oh no, really?’
Why can’t I learn to keep my mouth shut? Because now she wants to know about his objections and we end up talking about what he said about glamorising an industry that ‘manipulates vulnerable young women’.
‘Seems a little extreme. Maybe he’s not entirely wrong, though.’
I pull a face. ‘Yes, he is. The whole thing is ludicrous.’
‘I wonder what his problem is?’ she says. ‘Maybe he just likes the sound of his own voice.’
If only it was nothing more than that. Either way, if he does think he’s getting Rose’s job, he’s got another thing coming.
Chapter 13
The whole of the following week is spent trying to magically squeeze my preparation for the meeting with Krishna – who is in LA until Monday – into an already crammed diary. It’s unclear how I’m supposed to fit this in between half a dozen pitches from independent production companies, writing script notes for a new reality show, watching cuts of another and generally undertaking the small daily miracle of making sure everything is delivered on time and on budget.
Matters aren’t helped by the fact that I’m premenstrual which, despite my new HRT routine, left me feeling woolly-headed and flu-like for four days, even if – promisingly – I haven’t had a full-blown migraine in as long as I can remember. Thankfully, the clouds are parting, my brain feels sharp again and I’m raring to go. Which would be great except that it’s now the end of the week.
I’m desperate to stay late on Friday to get the Krishna presentation done, but I can’t as I have to leave at 5pm prompt for the PTA Wine Quiz, hence I’m totally focusing on finishing it when a shadow appears at my desk. I look up and the first thing in my eyeline is Zach Russo’s crotch. I feel my chest redden.
‘Got a few minutes?’ he says, pulling up a chair to sit at the side of my desk before I can say no.
This should feel like an invasion of my personal space, yet something weirdly pleasant stirs in my belly. It’s the way he smells, I think. It’s part citrus, part cedar, part undiluted pheromones oozing from his every pore. I don’t know how muchof this is to do with my filthy dream the other day, but I can’t deny it: he is almost offensively hot.
‘Did you get my email?’ he smiles.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t had time to read it,’ I say curtly, eyes fixed on my screen. ‘Not now that I’m having to do another presentation.’
The bit about not reading it isn’t true.ObviouslyI read it. It said something about how he’s sorry we got off on the wrong foot and he wondered if we could discuss a way forward. He has some ‘thoughts’, apparently. Frankly, I’ve had enough of those.
‘Well, it was aboutOur Girl In Milan,’ he continues breezily, not taking the hint. ‘I felt like I ought to explain a few things. Also, I’d like to clear the air. We got off to a bad start.’
‘Did we?’I say, with a vinegary smile. ‘Are you referring to the fact that in our first meeting you clearly had far better things to do than talk to the likes of me? Or that you’re intent on trashing a project I’ve worked on for months?’
I sound like a bitter bitch but from the raised eyebrow he seems to think this is banter. ‘I think you gave as good as you got in that meeting.’
