Page 102 of The One That I Want

I hope you have a lovely day. Let me know if you’re coming to TDG and I’ll save your favourite table for you.Xx

Despite everything, it brings a smile to my face. I reply:

Thanks. Bit of a sticky situation here this morning. Not sure I’ll make it.

Three dancing dots, then:

Sorry to hear that. Will let you know about tomorrow night.

Thanks. *smiley face*

At least I have dinner with Ewan to look forward to.

I should probably head to Anjali’s office so I’m there when she arrives. I close my laptop and tuck it under my arm, then cast my eyes about my office. If the absolute worst does happen, this could be my last day atNouveau. Even though that’s not likely – Ihopeit isn’t – tears prick my eyes. I’ve given so much of myself to this magazine, and I have so much more I want to do here.

Oh, Bex, what have you done?

Bex looks small and frightened when Anjali outlines what we’ve discovered.

We’re in the boardroom with me, Anjali, and Amelia Windsor (sans sunglasses) on one side of the large table and Bex on the other, visibly on the verge of tears. I fight the urge to run around and give her a hug.

‘Well, what do you have to say for yourself?’ barks Amelia Windsor.

Bex bursts into tears, burying her face in her hands, and I have to grip my chair with both hands so I don’t leap up to administer that hug. I glance to my left at Anjali, and she meets my eye, shaking her head slowly. We’re both feeling it – disappointment as well as betrayal. We trusted her, webelievedin her.

‘Tears are not appropriate,’ Amelia Windsor continues. ‘You’re only crying because you got caught.’

Bex lifts her tear-stained face. ‘No, I…’ she stammers.

‘You what?’

‘I just… It was a mistake.’

‘Amistake?’ asks Amelia Windsor, loading the word with incredulity and scorn.

Bex nods, her lower lip quivering, then looks right at me.

‘I’m so sorry, Greta. I was out with a friend of mine who works atPanache. Well, we’re sort of friends – I don’t really see her much these days. Anyway, we were at a bar, and I’d had a few drinks and it was stupid of me, but I wanted to show off to her, so I bragged about our advice column. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. Actually, I completely forgot about it, but the next day, her editor called me and said she might have a spot for me on her team – and not as an assistant editor but as aneditor, which was really flattering. And then she put me on the spot and asked if I had any ideas I could bring toPanacheand the only thing that came to mind was “Disasters of Dating”. It all just snowballed from there.’

Bex punctuates her rambling monologue with a loud sob, which echoes throughout the room, bounces off the glass wall, and reverberates in my ears, making me even more unsettled.

She betrayed us for a job atPanache? One that probably never existed in the first place, if my knowledge of the editor in question is any indication. She isn’t known for her professional ethics.

Looking past Bex, I see a group of onlookers outside the conference room, boldly staring at us through the glass. I suppose it was a misstep to conduct this meeting where everyone could watch it play out, but perhaps it was a deliberate move by (the terrifying) Amelia Windsor. At least Taj and Lisa work on a different floor.

Anjali notices the onlookers too. She rises, strides around the desk, throws open the door, and bellows, ‘Back to work, everyone!’ like an angry school principal. I’ve never heard her shout like that, but it’s only the third most alarming aspect of this meeting after Bex’s sobbing and Amelia Windsor’s callous interrogation techniques.

There’s a chanceI’llbe in that hotseat after Bex is dismissed and I gulp, swallowing the lump in my throat.

‘Rebecca,’ says Amelia Windsor evenly, and to her credit, Bex meets her eye. ‘Your paltry excuse may have explained thefirstindiscretion on your part, but not the second. You actively entertained being poached by a competitor to the detriment ofNouveau.’

Bex licks her lips. ‘I’m so,sosorry. It just all got away from me.’

‘So, this has nothing to do with your resentment over Poppy Dean being brought on?’ Amelia Windsor asks pointedly.

My head snaps towards her. This is new information to me – it must have been in the emails Bex exchanged withPanache. Which means Amelia Windsor has read them, something I couldn’t bring myself to do. No wonder she’s called the Thatcher of the magazine world – iron fist indeed.

‘You have nothing to say about that?’

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