Page 35 of The One That I Want

She nods.

‘I know Anjali only brought you intoNouveau Lifefor me – to help find me a partner. It’s glaringly obvious.’

‘I gathered you knew.’

‘Really? Oh no! Do you think Anjali does?’

‘At the moment, no. I think she’s too excited to see that you’ve figured it out.’

‘Well, there’s that at least. Oh, Poppy, I’mmortified. Anjali – the woman I admire most in the world – thinks I’m such a sad case, she had to engage you.’

‘Hey, I don’t see it that way. She cares about you and she wants you to be happy. That’s all this is.’

‘I suppose,’ I admit. ‘That’s the other reason I haven’t said anything – I know she means well. Are you going to tell her that I know?’

As I await Poppy’s reply, I suck in a deep breath and hold it. The thought of all this being out in the open is equal parts relief and humiliation, so I’m not sure which answer I want.

‘I don’t think we need to. At least, not right away.’

‘Really? But I thought you’d— Actually, I don’t know what I thought.’

‘I meant it when I said your case was my top priority and I’ll do everything in my power to make you a match – either with Harrison, or someone else.’

‘And them?’ I ask, grimacing at the folder.

‘Well, if you don’t want to reveal to Anjali that you’re in the know…’

‘Right.’

‘How about this? You go out with two or three of these men,’ she says, lightly tapping the folder, ‘write about the dates, and once the series is established, we switch gears and you meet your real potential matches?’

‘That sounds exhausting.’

‘But doable?’ she asks with raised brows.

‘But doable, yes.’

‘And look at it this way: there’s a lot to be said for kissing frogs when you’re dating. It helps narrow down what you want in a partner, especially the non-negotiables.’

‘Such asnotbeing a misogynist who essentially wants a housekeeper and thrice-weekly sex,’ I say, referring to Michael.

Poppy laughs again. ‘Exactly.’

‘Poppy?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I am not going out with Michael. Not even a little bit.’

She smiles. ‘Consider him struck from the list.’

I sit back against my chair and reach for my nearly empty coffee cup, taking a sip. My face screws up as I swallow – it’s gone cold.

‘Excuse me, are you Greta?’ a young woman asks. She’s wearing a forest-green apron with The Daily Grind’s logo embroidered on it and is holding two takeaway cups.

‘Er, yes, I am.’

‘These are for you,’ she says setting the cups on the table.

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