“Yes, hi!” I say, jumping to my feet.
Ryan stands, too, silent.
She does a double take at Ryan, but then thinks better of ogling him and clears her throat.
“I’m Celia,” she says. “I’m the editorial assistant, and I’ll be showing you the ropes. You’ve got your temporary passes?”
Remaining mute, Ryan gestures to the pass hanging round his neck.
“Me too,” I say, “I’ve got it right… uh…”
I realize it’s not round my neck, so I check the top of my handbag, but it’s not there, either. It’s not on the chairs in the waiting area, nor does it appear to be on the floor. I can practicallyhearRyan rolling his eyes as I look around frantically.
“Excuse me, Harper Jenkins?”
I turn to see the receptionist tapping the counter. I must have forgotten to take it in the first place.
I scurry over and grab it with an apologetic smile. “Whoops! Thanks so much!”
“Great,” Celia says dryly, “let’s go.”
Blushing, I follow them toward the elevator, my stomach fluttering. I take a deep breath and remind myself that this is my chance to work with real journalists—and that if I work hard enough, maybe there will be a job for me at the end of the summer. I want thatso badly.
The lift doors ping open and I shuffle in behind aloof, uptight Ryan.
Ireallyhope he’s right and they’re not going to make us work together.
With any luck, I won’t have anything to do with him.
CHAPTER THREE
After Mimi and I return to our desks, I reluctantly start trawling through my emails, replying to contacts at various PR companies—I accept an invitation for a screening of an upcoming romantic comedy, but decline one for an animation about a cello-playing octopus, and read through a press release about a footballer who’s launching a range of colorful children’s football boots.
I hear the journalists filing out of Meeting Room Three and look up to see Ryan walking out at the back of the group. I quickly duck my head behind my screen.
We may technically work on separate publications, but it hasn’t been easy avoiding him in an open-plan office since he got the job atThe Correspondencea little over a year ago. When Cosmo moved over toNarrative,someone on his team was promoted to features editor, and they hired Ryan to fill the empty reporter spot.
When I first saw him lurking about the place last year and realized with horror that he’d left the business magazine I’d last heard he worked at, I made itveryclear that it would be better for us to pretend we’d never met before. When I accidentally caught his eye as I strolled past his desk during his first week, he noticeably straightened and looked as though he might say something, but I quickly looked away as though I didn’t recognize him.
Just seeing Ryan Jansson puts me in a bad mood. I hate that he has that effect on me after all this time.
A reminder suddenly pops up on my screen that I am due at Claridge’s for a press junket in half an hour.
Bollocks.I forgot.
As I’m rushing past his office, Cosmo wearily calls out, “Where are you off to this time, Harper?” and I’m forced to poke my head round his door.
“Press junket for the new Isabella Blossom film.”
“I always thought Bella Blossom sounds like an air freshener,” he remarks, wrinkling his nose in disapproval.
I force a laugh. “I probably won’t mention that in our interview.”
“No.” He strokes his chin. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she? She did thatVoguephotoshoot.”
“Yep, she’s due in a few weeks.”
“She’s a big name these days—a big Hollywood draw. She’d make a good candidate for the magazine, actually.”
