Page 39 of The One That I Want

She gets up and starts to leave. ‘You look especially gorge today, by the way,’ she says.

‘Oh, thank you,’ I reply with a tight smile.

She sends another appraising look my way and leaves, and I slump against my chair. I’m meeting with the first of my ‘Dating Horrors of London’ dates tonight. Poppy set it up.

Teeming with nerves this morning, I took extra care with my appearance, even curling my hair with barrel tongs. But perhaps looking ‘especially gorge’ is the wrong approach when meeting someone I (almost definitely) won’t like and (probably) will never see again.

Wonderful – the bloody roaring is back. I press my palms to my ears but that just makes it worse.

‘Grets, have you got five?’

Perfect timing, Luca, I think with a metaphoric roll of my eyes. He leans against the doorframe, hands in his trouser pockets, as if he’s posing for one of his photoshoots. I once told Tiggy that his likeness should be carved out of marble and placed in a piazza somewhere, and she laughed at me for a full minute.

‘Sure, what’s up?’ Even if I could concentrate on editing this article, constant interruptions aren’t helping.

‘Actually, it’ll be more like twenty,’ he says, feigning sheepishness.

I lace my fingers together and prop my elbows on the desk, looking at him expectantly.

‘I’m in the middle of a photoshoot and I need you to come to the studio with me. Just a second set of eyes on something. I honestly can’t decide, and my team are locked in a dead heat.’

‘Wait, are you asking me to consult on afashion-related matter?’

He pushes off the doorframe and swaggers into my office, bringing with him the scent of Italian sunshine that accompanies him wherever he goes. The scent stirs remnants of my crush, but I quash the flicker of attraction before it takes hold.

‘Yes,’ he says, his brow furrowed. ‘Does that seem odd to you?’

‘Just that you never have before,’ I reply coolly.

‘An egregious oversight on my part,’ he says, throwing up his hands theatrically. He really does like to play into the Italian stereotype. ‘You’re as stylish as anyone else atNouveau– more so than many, asyouhave a certainje ne sais quoi. Like today. Look at you – just stunning.’

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. If he continues heaping praise on me – and looking at me like that – that flicker may turn into a roaring fire.

‘Doyou have time? I know you’re mad busy, but your vote will be the decider. We’re at three-all and it’s one of the rare occasions in which I’m torn and can’t make the call. Pretty please?’

Clocking his pleading look, I give my nethers a firm talking-to –No, you don’t want the sexy scoundrel!– and stretch my mouth into a professional smile. ‘Happy to cast the deciding vote,’ I say, standing and stepping out from behind my desk.

‘Brilliant. You’re a star, Grets.’ He leads the way out of my office, turning towards the lifts. ‘And after work – you, me, and cocktails. My treat as a thank you,’ he tosses over his shoulder.

I fall into step beside him, realising that Luca has ostensibly asked me out – not on a date, as such, but it’s rare we get together outside of work and if we do, it’s never just the two of us. If this were several months ago, I would have cancelled on Marcus the fitness fanatic, then obsessed all afternoon about how to act around Luca and what to say to him.

Well, I’m no longerthatGreta.

‘Sorry, Luca, I can’t tonight. I have a date,’ I say with great delight.

There’s a slight hitch in his stride and he gazes down at me, his expression showing a mix of disappointment and shock with a smidge of ‘I’m impressed’. It’s hard not to be insulted by the ‘shock’ part, but I do my best.

‘So,that’swhy you look particularly glam today. Who’s the lucky fellow then?’

We’ve stopped in front of the lifts and as much as I’d like to change the subject, there’s no escaping Luca’s brazen curiosity. I lift my chin and channel Poppy, giving Luca as enigmatic a smile as I can muster.

‘Oh, you wouldn’t know him,’ I say with a slight shrug of one shoulder.

11

GRETA

I know instantly Marcus isn’t for me: overbearing aftershave, too-tight dress shirt, and slicked back, eighties-banker-style hair. Definitely not my type.

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