Page 92 of The One That I Want

Just outside the lift, as the doors close behind us, I gently take her arm.

‘Hey, are you okay?’ I ask.

She shakes her head. ‘Nope, far from it.Nouveau Lifeis about to implode and that’s probably my fault. And if itwasme who let the fox into the henhouse, I’ll likely get the sack. I’m also dating half of London, butno oneis a match, including my perfect-on-paper crush – isn’t that an interesting twist? And for some reason, I decided to dress for a normal workday when clearly this day is anything but normal and everyone else is dressed—’ She stops herself and glances at me in my T-shirt and jeans, then Marie. ‘Well, not likethis,’ she says, indicating her business attire.

She stares at the floor, breathing noisily through her nose. I cannot let her go in there like this.

‘Marie, could you give us a minute?’ I ask.

Marie shrugs and wanders towards a large window that overlooks an atrium. She takes out a cigarette and sucks on it, even though it’s unlit.

Satisfied she can’t hear us, I turn back to Greta.

‘No matter what’s revealed or what the solution to this problem is, you’ve got this, okay? You’re smart and capable,andyou’ve brought a secret weapon.’ I jerk my head in Marie’s direction. ‘Like I said on the phone, if anyone can weed out the mole, it’s Marie. Okay?’

Greta’s cheeks puff out as she exhales a long breath. ‘Okay.’

‘Just remember, you are Greta Davies and you’ve got this.’

She breaks into a smile.

Now, my pep talks are good, but this is a complete one-eighty.

‘What?’ I ask. ‘Did I say something funny?’

‘Just… Tiggy said something similar to me recently. Onlyshesaid, “You’re Greta Fucking Davies,” and then she called me a badass magazine editor.’

‘Well, she’s right. YouareGreta Fucking Daviesanda badass magazine editor. So, let’s get in there and figure this out.’

She nods, and with her head high, she walks towards a large glass-walled conference room. I call for Marie, who trots over, and we follow Greta into the lion’s den. I may have given her a pep talk just now, but I’m expecting this could be brutal.

Greta

Oh my god, there she is. Amelia Windsor. Do not fangirl. Do not fangirl. Do not fangirl.

And in a weird and wonderful twist of fate, she’s also wearing a shift dress, and I send a silent thank you to my previous self. I’m just about to introduce myself to Amelia Windsor (alwaysher full name inside my head), when she looks up from her phone and her mouth falls open.

‘Marie Maillot, you scamp. I didn’t knowyouwere the renowned investigator.’

Marie half coughs, half cackles as Amelia Windsor stands and crosses to Marie, where they exchange four cheek kisses.

‘Let me look at you,’ says Amelia Windsor.

‘How can you seeanything?’ barks Marie in a strong French accent. She snatches the signature dark sunglasses off Amelia Windsor’s head, eliciting a girlish laugh I’d wager no one atNouveauhas ever heard. ‘That’s better,’ she says, giving Amelia Windsor the side-eye. ‘How do you still look this good when I look like an old leather saddle? We’re the same age!’

Amelia Windsor waves her off. ‘Oh, you. First, I wear these day and night,’ she says, taking her glasses back and letting them dangle from her fingers. ‘And you look terrific. Very chic. You always did march to the beat of your own drum,’ she says, appraisingly.

Marie cackles again and Poppy, who is standing next to me, pokes me in the arm. I meet her eye and she gives me a can-you-believe-it? look. No, Poppy, I can’t, and when I look over at Anjali she’s clearly as bamboozled as we are. She shrugs at me with a mystified smile.

‘Right, everyone,’ says Amelia Windsor, ‘I suppose we should get started.’

‘Er, yes,’ says Anjali, taking back control of the meeting. ‘First, thank you, everyone, for giving up your Sunday afternoons.’ She gestures for us to sit, which we do, thenshe introduces Poppy to Amelia Windsor, mentioning that she works for the Ever After Agency as a matchmaker and has come onboard as a consultant.

‘You look familiar,’ she says to Poppy, her infamous icy tone returning. ‘Were you at the Lorenzo show in Paris?’

She eyes Poppy coolly before sliding her sunglasses back into place.

‘Yes. I was there with?—’

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