Page 2 of The One That I Want

‘Er, Bex, would you mind closing the door?’

‘Sure thing,’ she chirrups.

I skirt around my desk, plop into my chair, and turn on my laptop. Bex remains standing by the door, an inquisitive look on her face.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks.

‘I’m not sure,’ I reply. The roaring has intensified and now my heart is racing. Is this a panic attack? I pick up a notepad from my desk and start fanning myself.

‘It’s going to be brill, I promise,’ she says in a comforting tone.

‘Oh, yes, no doubt.’

I glance her way and she’s still watching me, her brows knitted together. ‘Do you need anything from me? Or the others – they’re already here. Actually, I’ve been here since seven.’

‘Seven?’ I ask with a jolt.

She shrugs. ‘Excitement, I suppose.’

‘Of course – also a big day for you, and well deserved.’ She beams. ‘And thank you for asking, but no, there’s nothing I need.’

Ahh, that must be the reason I’m feeling like this. I’m at a loose end. The launch ofNouveau Life, which has consumedme for months now, has been meticulously planned right down to the tiniest detail. And with every logistical facet having been automated, the site will go live at 10a.m. and dozens of posts will feed out toNouveau’s social media accounts – all without anyone lifting a finger.

And, as I won’t need to start on the weekly blog posts or next month’s issue until this afternoon, for the next hour there is literally nothing for me to do (and I mean that in theliteralsense, not ironically).

I can’t remember the last time I had a full hour without a meeting or a phone call or an email to answer –orwithout an article to write or edit. I’m now positive that’s the reason I’m out of sorts. I’m notbusy. I glance at the time at the bottom of my laptop screen – ugh, still more than an hour to go.

I’d intended to spend the morning clocking the number of hits on the website, reading comments from readers, and graciously accepting congratulatory messages from my colleagues. Anjali has booked a celebratory lunch for theNouveau Lifeteam at Cicchetti, which I am very much looking forward to, but in my current state, I’m not sure I can sit here all morning simplyobserving. Especially if Bex is going to keep staring at me like that.

I slam my laptop shut and stand.

‘Are you going somewhere?’ she asks.

‘Er, yes… coffee!’ I declare as if I’ve suddenly remembered it exists. ‘I think I’ll pop down to the new coffee shop on the corner that everyone’s been raving about.’

‘Did you want company?’ she asks. ‘Or I can run out and get you something.’

‘Actually, if you could stay here and man the desk, so to speak, that would be fab.’

She sends me an odd smile, confusion marring her features, and I scuttle past her, laptop under my arm and my handbag slung over my shoulder.

The ride in the lift feels like it takes an aeon, as does the walk through the lobby, but stepping outsideNouveau, I inhale deeply. Somehow, the smell of exhaust fumes is soothing, as is the thrum of traffic along the Strand.

I’m about to head towards the coffee shop when a silver Mercedes pulls up right in front of me. The back door opens and a long leg wearing a very high red heel stretches out, followed by the rest of Anjali. Terrible timing to execute an escape.

‘Greta!’ she says warmly. ‘Happy launch day!’

‘Thank you.’

She closes the car door and tucks her wavy, black bob behind her left ear. ‘Where are you off to?’ She eyes my laptop, and now I feel foolish for bringing it along.

‘I was just popping out for a coffee,’ I reply, as if my behaviour is perfectly normal.

‘Are you all right?’

Clearly not if everyone keeps asking me that – well, so far it’s only been Bex and Anjali, but still. ‘Er, yes, I think so.’

‘Nerves?’ she asks with a tilt of her head.

---