Page 110 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘Phase thr?—?’

His eyebrows raise suggestively.

‘Oh, I like phase three already. And phases one and two,’ I add, thinking of the bath and dinner. My appetite has now returned, and I cut into my steak.

I love being married to Tristan. He’s my soft place to land on nights like this. My thoughtful, clever, super-hot soft place to land.

33

POPPY

I get to the agency before 8a.m. but I’m still the last to arrive for our PR-the-hell-out-of-this-mess meeting.

Paloma has commandeered my favourite meeting room, even wheeling in a rarely used whiteboard, which she has already covered with writing and sticky notes. Nasrin is seated at the table glowering at her tablet, and Marie is standing by the window taking a drag of an unlit cigarette. If we were in a movie, we’d call this the war room.

‘Oh good, you’re here,’ says Paloma, looking my way fleetingly. As I enter, she scribbles something on a sticky-note, then affixes it to the whiteboard. She stands back to regard the board, then swaps the position of two sticky notes.

I walk around the table, distributing the takeaway coffees I got from the café downstairs: a skim flat white for Paloma, a mocha for Nasrin, and a long black with three sugars for Marie.

‘Poppy, you’re a gem,’ says Paloma before taking a sip.

I’m not sure I’m agem. Surely, it’s expected that when you’ve landed the agency in hot water and your colleagues come in for an early meeting, you bring coffee –andpastries. I set a paper bag brimming with croissants in the middle of the table and tearit open, releasing the most delicious aroma. I take one and after prying my cappuccino from the carry tray one-handed, I take a seat next to Nasrin.

‘Hey,’ I say quietly, ‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’ She sips her mocha and grunts softly. ‘You were right; I should have spoken to you first. It’sourcase and I messed up. Forgive me?’

I look her way and the corner of her mouth twitches.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I promise not to tell anyone you accepted my apology.’

She smothers a grin and, head shaking, takes another sip of her coffee. ‘Dag,’ she says, lobbing an Aussie-ism at me.

‘Muppet,’ I quip back and we snigger together, collegial again.

Paloma checks the time on her phone and calls the meeting to order, but Marie stays put until Paloma shoos her towards the table with a whiteboard marker.

‘All right,’ Marie protests. She sits opposite me, rolling her eyes in Paloma’s direction. But I’m already on shaky ground with this case and I need Paloma’s help, so I don’t join in. Marie flattens her lips, judging me silently. That’s fine – I’d rather be in her bad books than Paloma’s.

I’m taking in the contents of the whiteboard when Saskia, typically graceful and unflustered, enters less-than-gracefully and extremely flustered. ‘Soz,’ she says to the room. ‘Total mare getting into Richmond this morning.’

Shit, what is Saskia doing here? When we spoke yesterday, Paloma made no mention of Saskia attending this meeting.

Panicked, I wonder if I have time to pop downstairs and buy her an oat-milk latte.

But I don’t. With a nod towards Saskia, who opens her planner, her pen poised to take notes, Paloma kicks off the meeting again. For twenty-five minutes, she walks us througha comprehensive and well-thought-out PR plan, using the whiteboard as a (surprisingly) useful visual aid.

She ends by pressing the cap onto the marker with a click. ‘Questions?’

‘Poppy,’ says Saskia, angling towards me, ‘do you think the client will agree to this?’

When Paloma asked if there were any questions, I figured she meant for her, so I’m caught a little off-guard.WillElle go for this? From my experience of Elle, sheavoidsthe spotlight. This plan will require the exact opposite from her –andLeo.

‘It’s possible,’ I say carefully. It’s a very clever plan – open, honest, appealing to the public’s empathy, their love of romance… I’m just not sure how appealing it will be to my client, even if it is the only way she and Leo can be together without damaging their respective careers. It’s a big ask.

Paloma cocks a hip and crosses her arms, pinning me with an intense look.

‘It’s a brilliant plan,’ I blurt, hoping to appease her.

‘Well, yes,’ she replies immodestly. ‘I’m not just here to organise congratulatory gifts for our clients, Poppy.’

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