Page 105 of Shout Out To My Ex

It was the top of the list for when we made it big. Now that may never happen, which is probably why my envy is mounting by the second.

‘Hello, madam, how may I help you today?’

I turn in the direction of the voice and it’s Linda, who I met last time I was here. Her warm expression cools in an instant.

‘I’d like to speak to Le— Lorenzo,’ I say, skipping niceties.

‘Ellie, isn’t it?’

I bristle, even though it’s close to ‘Elle’ and I only met her that one time, but I’m probably reacting to the hint of condescension rather than her getting my name wrong.

‘I’m sorry, but Lorenzo is not to be disturbed.’

Well, he’s about to be disturbed, perturbed, and very possibly incensed if I can just get past this bastion of polite officiousness.

‘Thank you, Linda, but I’m positive he’ll want to see me.’

Before she can reply, I turn on my orange heels and march purposefully towards the bottom of the staircase at the back of the shop. She clip-clops rapidly behind me, calling, ‘Ellie, Ellie, please.’

Ignoring her, I take the stairs two at a time, hearing her dainty stilettos running up behind me. When I reach Leo’s workroom two storeys up, I’m out of breath and a sheen of sweat slicks my skin.

‘Elle,’ says Leo, leaping off a stool by one of the workbenches.

‘I’m so sorry, Lorenzo, she pushed past me and?—’

Linda is laying it on a little thick – I didn’t even touch her.

‘It’s all right, Linda, thank you,’ he says to her.

She purses her lips again, shaking her lustrous blonde mane with annoyed arrogance, then retreats, her footsteps echoing up the staircase.

‘That was quite the entrance,’ says Leo. I meet his eye and his gaze sweeps the length of me, taking in my appearance. ‘And quite the outfit.’

‘Long story.’

His eyes lift and we stare at each other, a dozen emotions playing across his face and just as many coursing through me.

‘It’s all my fault,’ I say, right as he says, ‘I’m sorry about before.’

‘You go,’ he says, interrupting my offer for him to go first. We share an uneasy laugh. ‘You go,’ he says again, his voice soft.

For the umpteenth time today, I have no idea how to articulate what’s going on inside my head –ormy heart.

‘You could start with the outfit,’ he offers, uncannily reading my mind again.

‘Decoy,’ I reply. ‘To trick the paps.’

He nods, obviously impressed. ‘Do you think you shook ’em?’

‘Who’s to say? I suppose we’ll know in an hour.’

‘Yeah, good point.’

‘I’m assuming you saw the latest photos then?’

He nods. ‘I reckon Taylor Swift would kill for this much publicity.’

We share another gentle laugh, which helps ease my nerves. But I still have no idea what I want to say to this man – besides explaining that I’m the reason we’re in this mess.

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