Page 67 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘Yes – sort of,’ Nas replies.

‘Well?’

‘Marie has been in contact with Leo’s publicist’s former assistant?—’

‘Ser’s former assistant?’

‘Yes. How many publicists does Leo have?’

‘Sorry – continue.’

‘Anyway,’ she says, clearly irritated, ‘the former assistant said that right before they left, Ser had them working on a list of celebrities to match Leo with.’

‘And by “match” you mean…?’

‘A short-term fake relationship for publicity purposes.’

‘Oh, wow,’ I say, my hand flying to my mouth.

‘Exactly.’

‘And?’

‘And Franzia was on it.’

‘Franzia was on the list?!’

‘Poppy, are you intentionally being dim, or are you just messing with me?’

‘Sorry – I’m absorbing this new information. It’s not exactly a smoking gun, but itissignificant.’ Something occurs to me. ‘So, why did the assistant leave Ser’s employ? Do you know?’

‘It didn’t come up.’

‘Okay. Keep me posted. We need that smoking gun.’

‘Yep. See ya.’ She ends the call.

Right, so now I’m 99.5 per cent sure that the Lorenzo–Franzia engagement is a publicity stunt. But it’s that other 0.5 per cent that could derail this caseandgravely impact the agency.

‘Come on, Marie,’ I whisper to myself. Then I head back to the sofa, where I’ll have an excellent view of the photoshoot.

Elle

I regard myself in the mirror.

Sylvie has done an amazing job – I barely recognise myself. I’m fortunate to have good skin to start with – Cassie and I both inherited our nana’s peaches-and-cream complexion – but today, it looks like it’s made from porcelain. With faux lashes and gold eyeliner, my hazel eyes really pop, looking more greenish than they usually do; my cheekbones are flushed with a natural-looking blush; my lips look particularly plump, Sylvie taking my natural pink a shade darker; and my hair is artfully tousled.

In its entirety, this look screams ‘recently shagged’ – if only.

‘Thank you, Sylvie. You’ve done a wonderful job,’ I say, still transfixed by my reflection. She beams at me in the mirror.

‘Time to change into your look now, love – such that it is.’ Indeed, Sylvie, indeed. I side-eye the two teeny pieces, then glance towards Leo, who is still in the makeup chair – or rather, standing next to it while the makeup artist touches up his torso. I’d look away but I don’t want to.

He’s wearing eyeliner too, only in a smoky grey that makes his eyes extra smoulder-y, and his hair looks like he’s just stepped out of the shower and run his hands through it. The pièce de resistance is that now he’s shirtless, his tattoos are visible – well,mostare. I recall a small insignia on his left hip that’s currently hidden below his waistband. He has a lot more tattoos now than he did ten years ago, and I like that the ink on both his forearms is monochromatic. It suits him.

It suits him?Understatement of the year, Elle Bliss. Leo Jones is pure, rockstar-calibre sex on legs.

Leo looks over, catching me watching him – perving, more like – and winks again.

---