Page 117 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘You know,’ he says, leaning close and murmuring in my ear, ‘you look super sexy wearing my clothes.’

My lips curl up despite myself and I gaze back at him flirtatiously. And why not? If he can flirt with me, I can flirt right back.

Unfortunately, my mind has other ideas, homing in on the question I asked myself at the bathroom mirror: are we back in love?

Poppy

It’s not often that a secret client and their love interest come to the agency. You’d think that we were matching Miley with Harry with the amount of interest my colleagues show when Elle and Leo arrive. George especially! His efforts at surreptitious gawking stick out like dogs’ balls (as my dinky-di dad would say).

Anita is the exception, but then, she’s a pro. Even if theywereMiley and Harry – ‘Harley’? – she’d greet them the same way: as if they’repeople. Fancy that!

She guides them over to me and Nasrin and heads back to reception after both decline a beverage – although Elle looks like she could do with a hit of caffeine. They both do.

I rush through introductions and lead them out of the line of prying eyes into the conference room – the roomwithoutthe whiteboard that’s covered in their personal details. No need to share how the sausage is made – or, rather, the HEAs.

‘So,’ says Nasrin, kicking us off. ‘First off, just want to say I’m amassivefan,’ she tells Leo.

The professional that I am, I resist the urge to roll my eyes, flick her under the table, and say, ‘For fuck’s sake, Nas!’

He offers her a guarded smile. ‘Uh, thanks.’

‘Now,’ I say to redirect his attention. ‘I understand Elle filled you in on who we are and how we’re connected to… well,you.’

He nods and takes her hand, and they share a glance laden with affection. And from this brief exchange, Iknow. A match has been made. Typically, I’d be rejoicing, but we’re so far from being out of the proverbial woods, we could build a log cabin from where we’re sitting.

‘Good,’ I say, and their eyes return to me, both sets wary but tempered with hope. It’s now up to me to instil confidence that Paloma’s plan – theagency’splan – will work.

‘Here’s what we’re going to do.’

35

ELLE

Just as Poppy says, ‘Here’s what we’re going to do,’ the door opens and in walks a striking raven-haired woman.

‘Hello, I’m Paloma Martinez-Pérez,’ she says, shaking our hands in turn, ‘head of client relations. Thank you for coming in.’

I look over at Poppy, who seems momentarily startled. ‘Right, so, Paloma has been working with me and Nasrin to solve your predicament,’ she explains.

‘Yes,’ says Paloma as she sits at the head of the table, ‘and we’re thinking we should lean into the long-lost lovers angle, dip into your past, post some old photographs, do an interview or two… all of which will be to gain sympathy from the public before we promote your joint collection.’

With every strategy she presents, every word out of her mouth, my nervousness intensifies. The last thing I want is for our past relationship to become fodder for the press, especially the tabloids.

‘What do you thi?—’

Two sharp knocks interrupt Paloma and a twenty-something woman with a bright-green fauxhawk pops her head in the door.

‘Yes?’ says Paloma.

‘Sorry to disturb you, but I think you’ll want to see this,’ she says. From her accent, I’d say she’s a Dubliner.

She enters the room and reaches for the remote in the centre of the table, pressing a button and turning towards a screen that descends from the ceiling. Seconds later, a television studio appears onscreen, a familiar pair of morning television hosts sitting upright on their custom sofa and looking at the camera.

‘And as promised,’ says Lydia Torrent, a plastic smile on her plastic face, both framed by her blonde helmet of hair, ‘we’re joined by supermodel, Franzia, who has an update on her love life. Welcome, Franzia.’

The image freezes. ‘Before we watch the interview,’ says the woman with the green fauxhawk, ‘just a heads up that Franzia has been all over socials for the past hour. Apparently, after she left Lorenzo’s shop, she live-streamed her Uber ride to the studio and is saying that you’ – she looks straight at me – ‘are an interloper in her engagement to you,’ she says, looking at Leo.

Leo and I exchange a worried look and I feel the swell of nausea. How likely is it that the agency’s plan has accounted for a supermodel going on a social media rampage?

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