Page 11 of The One That I Want

‘And how do you know Greta?’ Luca asks.

Wait, was there a bit of an edge to his question, or was that my imagination?

‘Just from here. We’re newly minted coffee-shop friends,’ says Ewan, which I think is a perfectly lovely way to describe us.

He flashes me that smile and even though we’ve only had two exchanges, I get the sense that he’s right – we are becoming friends. And if my daily visits to the coffee shop include a brief conversation with Ewan, all the more reason to continue.

‘Right – apologies, but I must dash. Luca, thank you for passing on the message. And Ewan, nice to see you again.’ I give them each a smile, then leave.

Out on the footpath, I congratulate myself for such a grown-up exit. ‘Nicely done, Greta – and now you know Ewan’s name.’

As I walk back to the office, it strikes me that I don’t really have any male friends – colleagues, yes, but a man who is just a friend? None. That is, until today!

I was today years old when I made my first male friend.

I drop my things at my desk, then make my way to Anjali’s office. She was right about the first week after the launch passing in a blur. I can’t believe it’s Friday already.

And I’m thrilled to say, we’re a hit! Readers love us and so doNouveau’s number crunchers, who are pleased with both site traffic and increased advertising revenue. WhenHello Britainmentioned us this morning, our hits quadrupled within minutes.

These are terms I use now: hits and site traffic. Despite having a rather challenging relationship with technology – it drives me bonkers on a regular basis and I’d swear it’s out to get me – I’m having to stretch myself professionally. Not only am I curator of all things editorial, including blog posts, I’m expected to master (at minimum) a foundational understanding of our behind-the-scenes success measures.

I suspect this is why Anjali has called me into her office – to go over the numbers and debrief on the week that was.

‘Come in, Greta. I’d like you to meet Poppy Dean.’

Or perhaps not.

‘Hi, Greta, nice to meet you.’ Poppy is a dark-haired woman of medium height in her thirties, who seems vaguely familiar – or she could just have one of those faces. From her accent, I can tell she’s Australian.

‘Hello, Poppy,’ I say, extending my hand to shake hers. We exchange smiles and when I glance in Anjali’s direction, she’s grinning like a proud mum.

What is this about?I wonder.

‘Let’s sit over here, shall we?’ says Anjali, gesturing towards her sitting area.

Poppy and I settle on the sofa and Anjali sits across from us on an armchair, still wearing that odd expression. It’s like the Anjali look on steroids.

I turn to Poppy. ‘Have we met before?’ I ask. ‘It’s just that you look so familiar.’

‘I don’t think so, but I’ve been intoNouveaubefore – back in March.’

Pieces of the puzzle begin to slot into place. ‘Oh, you co-wrote that piece with Bex – on Elle Bliss and Lorenzo. You’re “P Dean”.’

‘That’s right,’ she says, dipping her chin modestly.

‘So, are you hoping to write forNouveau Life? Is that why you’ve come in?’

We’re already staffedandhave a stable of regular freelancers to draw from, but I’d be willing to hear Poppy’s pitch.

‘Umm, not exactly…’ she replies right as Anjali says, ‘Well, ish…’

Wonderful – this is one of Anjali’s ishes! What on earth is going on?

‘So, what exactly were you thinking?’ I ask them, fixing what I hope is a pleasant smile on my face. Though, I suspect I look more like Pennywise the Clown.

‘Actually, I’d like us to bring Poppy on as a staff writer,’ Anjali replies.

I gaze at her, totally bewildered.Nouveau Lifedoesn’t need a staff writer, which Anjali knows –shehelped me build out my editorial team. I also have complete creative control over the vertical, including hiring decisions, so when Anjali says ‘us’, who exactly is she talking about?

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