“Good weekend?” he asks.
“Pretty uneventful,” I reply breezily, taking my seat next to him. “You?”
“Oh, same old.”
We both turn to our screens, equally amused, and I spot Mimi arch her eyebrows at us across the way. She is the only one in the office who knows what happened at the party—we agreed with Isabella not to tell anyone because it would make such a great story for the exclusive she’d already agreed to give me about the baby. Once she’s settled at home, we’ll interview her and can work the drama of the birth into the story. It will have a much bigger impact if we keep the details to ourselves until the piece is published. We were worried the cabdriver might spill the beans, but there’s been no whiff of the story anywhere, so we’re confident he had no idea who Isabella Blossom was.
“Cosmo is going to lose his mind when he reads it,” Ryan had chuckled while we sipped the terrible coffee from the machine in the hospital. “Two of his journalists delivering a world-famous actor’s baby? What a scoop.”
“Remember, this is Cosmo we’re talking about,” I remindedhim. “He’ll probably bump it from the front page for a piece on why bowling is making a comeback among young successful businessmen.”
“You think so little of him?”
“He thinks so little of me.”
“That can’t be true,” he claimed, frowning. “It’s obvious that he doesn’t appreciate celebrity culture in the same way you might, but he must know how lucky he is to have you. You’re one of the best journalists out there.”
“If he thinks so, he has a funny way of showing it. You must have noticed how he treats you compared with how he talks to me,” I sighed, before giving him a suspicious look. “One of the best journalists out there, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always thought so.”
He seemed genuine, but I think he was still high on adrenaline from delivering a baby, so I probably shouldn’t look into it too much.
Still, our bickering and snide remarks have noticeably decreased. We’re almost pleasant to one another. For example, when Dominic comes over from the art desk late Monday morning to consult Ryan about a layout for a piece on village cricket, Ryan examines it with his brow furrowed before turning to me.
“I’m not sure about this lead picture,” he says. “Harper, what do you think?”
I tear my eyes away from a press release about a TV presenter’s new clothing line.
“Sorry?”
“What are your thoughts on this picture?” Ryan asks, gesturing to his screen. “I’m not sure it’s quite right.”
Attempting to hide my shock at being asked, I move closer to his desk to have a look.
“Yeah, I agree with you. I don’t think it should focus on one cricketer bowling.”
“Right.” Ryan nods. “It needs a bit more…”
“Green?” I suggest when he trails off.
“Exactly. We need to see the bigger picture. Set the scene. Give it a bit more of a…”
“An English-country-village feel.”
“Yes!” Ryan beams at me. “Thanks, Harper. That okay, Dominic?”
“No problem,” Dominic says, glancing at the two of us in confusion. He walks away, looking back at us as though trying to work out what just happened.
Later that day, Ryan wanders into the kitchen while I’m making a cup of tea and looks surprised when I add half a sachet of sugar. I catch his expression and roll my eyes.
“I only allow myself sugar in my tea as a treat sometimes,” I explain, although I don’t know why I feel the need to justify it. “Don’t worry, I’m aware of how bad it is for me.”
“Actually, I was confused at you using sugar rather than honey,” he muses, going about making himself a coffee. “I thought you were a fan of honey tea.”
I stare at him. “You… you remember that?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “You were the person who introduced it to me. I’d never had honey in my tea before. I think you said it was your mum who used to make it for you?”
