Chapter 6
6
POPPY
‘How do I look?’ George does a spin, then looks at me expectantly.
‘Like someone who will fit right in at Nouveau ,’ I reply – and I’m not just saying that. As he does every day, George looks a million dollars.
He beams immodestly, then scans my outfit. ‘You too, Poppy. Très chic.’
‘What, this old thing?’ I quip, regarding my navy and turquoise wrap dress – Diana von Furstenberg-ish and quite the departure from my typical shift dress – and matching turquoise Lorenzos. ‘Don’t forget, I was once a fashion journalist,’ I say, lifting my eyes to meet his.
‘Oh, Poppy, this case is going to be brilliant fun!’ He grins at me, gleeful.
But he needs to get this out of his system, because once we get to Nouveau , I want him on his very best behaviour – and focussed on our case. This isn’t an excursion.
‘Where are you two off to then?’ asks Nasrin as she approaches. ‘A wedding or something?’
It’s not unusual for us to be invited to a client’s wedding, but they’re rarely on a Wednesday. Besides, we look chic but we’re hardly in wedding attire.
‘Today’s Poppy’s first day at Nouveau Life and I’m tagging along,’ replies George. ‘By invitation, of course,’ he adds.
‘’ Course – you definitely didn’t invite yourself,’ she teases.
‘You’re just jealous,’ says George knowingly.
‘Well, yeah – obvs.’ Nasrin breaks into a grin.
Something I’ve long admired about Nas: what you see is what you get. She’s always upfront, never coy, and she won’t blow smoke up your arse just to make you feel better about yourself (as my dinky-di dad would say). Her clients love Nasrin’s special brand of pragmatic, no-nonsense matchmaking.
‘Bring me back some goodies, eh?’ she asks.
‘Why do you think I brought that with me?’ he asks, pointing to a small roller bag by his desk.
How did I miss that?
‘George Michael Robertson,’ I say, channelling my gran (no one messes with my gran), ‘you are absolutely not taking that into Nouveau .’ I prop my hands on my hips so he knows how serious I am (as in: totally).
‘But—’
‘No.’
He’s about to protest a second time when a voice rings out across the office.
‘Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but are you three planning on joining us for the staff meeting?’
Oh, crap, it’s Paloma. I am never late for staff meetings – I pride myself on being punctual.
‘Coming!’ we chorus, hustling through the door and pulling our chairs up to the large conference table.
‘Poppy, let’s start with you, shall we?’ says Saskia with an amused half-smile.
Somewhat flustered – also very unlike me – it takes a second for my brain to switch into briefing mode. But then it does, and the words flow through me as if I were reading them from a teleprompter.
After the meeting, as I’m crossing to my desk, my phone rings. It’s Olivia, the older of Tristan’s cousins. I slide into my chair and answer.
‘Hi, Olivia.’
‘Hello, Poppy, how are you?’ she asks cheerfully, as if she’s just called for a chat. Only Olivia has never actually called me before – messaged, yes, but never a phone call.
‘I’m good. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
I can tell she’s beating around the bush.
‘So, what’s up?’ I prod.
‘Umm…’ The heavy sigh that follows immediately triggers my concern.
‘Are you okay? Is Evie okay?’ I ask rapid-fire.
‘Yes, no, we’re both fine. Well, I mean, it is Evie, but she’s not hurt or in danger or anything. And now that I’ve got you, I don’t know if I should say anything. Sorry, I shouldn’t have called. But as soon as she told me, I thought of you because it’s about this guy she’s been dating.’
‘Ah, okay. But you don’t want to betray her trust?’
‘Exactly,’ she says with another sigh. ‘Bloody Tyler .’ She says his name the way most people say the word ‘sewerage’. And it must be early days in their relationship, as Evie’s never mentioned him before.
‘It is a tricky one, other people’s relationships.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘But do you think you could… you know, talk to her?’
‘If I reach out to Evie out of the blue, there’s every chance she might resent me for meddling – and you for telling me to.’
Giving romantic advice to family or close friends can be a minefield – besties included. There have been several times over the years when Shaz has been annoyed by my advice – even when she asked for it.
‘Right, of course,’ Olivia replies glumly.
‘Look, you’re coming over next weekend. See if you can talk her into confiding in me.’
‘Will do.’
‘I’m happy to help in any way I can, Olivia – just as long as it comes from Evie.’
‘Thanks, Poppy. See you then.’ She ends the call.
Now what’s your deal, Tyler? I wonder. He’d better not be messing Evie about, but if his behaviour has prompted Olivia to make an actual phone call, that’s not a good sign.
Greta
‘Deep breaths, Greta,’ I tell myself as I walk the short – and now familiar – path to the coffee shop. The Daily Grind has become my home away from… well, the office. The décor, the foliage… they soothe me. And a soothing atmosphere has become a necessity ever since I learnt about the Ever After Agency and Anjali’s (mad) plan to match me and marry me off.
Yes, I, Greta Davies am hiding . From my job. That I love and am brilliant at.
They get my name right now, at least – the baristas, I mean, not the agency. Monday morning’s coffee – and yesterday’s – had ‘GRETA’ scrawled across the cups in neat block letters. Maybe Ewan said something to them.
Ewan.
Okay, it’s not just the blond wood furnishing and pot plants that make me feel comfortable here, Ewan does too.
I wonder what work he does that he can hang about in a coffee shop, working on his laptop. Well, that’s assuming he’s here when I’m not. He may be like me – simply taking a daily breather from one of the dozens of workplaces within a two-minute walk.
Regardless of what Ewan does for work, he’s becoming the biggest drawcard for The Daily Grind – and that speak volumes considering the calibre of their coffee.
He’s just so easy to talk to, so normal . He also doesn’t know I’m being forced to write a series of articles about dating, so when we talk, it’s about anything else, like his spoodle (half cocker spaniel, half poodle), Remy.
We also talk about travel – mostly his, as I’ve been adding to my travel bucket list for years, but because I’ve focussed on my career, it remains largely unvisited – and books we’ve read – again, mostly books he’s read, as my Tbr list is as long as my bucket list. If the day ever comes that my career isn’t as fulfilling as it is now, you’ll find me holidaying somewhere exotic with a stack of books by my side.
Something especially fun we’ve started doing is hypothesising what different coffee orders say about the person who ordered them.
Yesterday, a bloke ordered English Breakfast tea – no milk – with a shot of espresso. Tea and coffee. Together. In the same cup! When the bloke behind the counter shouted the order to the barista, the barista did a double take. Half the people in the coffee shop did too.
Ewan and I decided he must work for MI6 and that his order was a coded message. We even scoured the rest of the patrons, trying to work out who his contact might be, then fell about laughing when we came up short. Everyone else seemed too non-descript to be a spy – although, I suppose that’s what they want you to think.
And who knew people watching could be so much fun? If The Daily Grind hadn’t become a sort of sanctuary where I can spend an hour or two away from the office to decompress and collect my thoughts, I’d invite Bex to join me. Maybe she could write a What Your Coffee Order Says About You listicle.
I queue up to place my order, scanning for Ewan but, disappointingly, don’t see him. I’ll save him a seat just in case he shows.
When I collect my coffee from the counter, there it is again: ‘GRETA’. By java, I think they’ve got it! Ha-ha. I make my way through the crowd, most of whom seem to be getting takeaways, and find a table at the back next to the window.
I sip my coffee – it’s perfect – and watch the passers-by outside.
‘Am I interrupting? You seem deep in thought.’
I look up, smiling. ‘Hello, you.’ Ewan raises his brows inquiringly, then flicks his eyes towards the chair opposite me. ‘Please – sorry, yes, sit, sit .’
He does, chuckling.
‘That came out like a command, didn’t it?’
‘That’s exactly how I talk to Remy,’ he says, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘So, not working this morning?’ he asks, indicating my still-closed laptop.
‘I will. I’ve got a few decisions to make by the end of the day: articles for the?—’
‘Oh, for the next issue already?’ he asks, interrupting.
‘Actually, for the one after that.’ I laugh gently at his shocked reaction. ‘If I were still working in print, I’d already be planning the December issue.’
As expected, he gapes at me, clearly even more surprised. ‘That’s… Are you pulling my leg?’
‘I promise I’m not. Magazines are meticulously planned in advance, even the fashion. Of course, hot topics always pop up unannounced – like news items and matches, hatches, and dispatches…’
His brows knit together, but it’s obvious the moment he understands I mean marriages, births, and deaths. ‘Ahh, yes.’
‘Fortunately, being online affords us more freedom to cover those unexpected items than the print team has.’
‘Was that a drawcard of being online – the freedom it brings?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say, omitting that I don’t feel particularly ‘free’ now this assignment is hanging over my head.
‘It sounds interesting,’ he says, and I sense he means it. He raises his coffee cup in a faux toast and we both sip.
The coffee is delicious, but it’s hard to enjoy it. Since the moment I woke up – and much of last night – I’ve been obsessing about Poppy Dean coming into the office today. I’m supposed to orient her and introduce her to the team. Then we’ll get to the real reason she’s coming in.
Today is when I find out who my first date is. To say I’m conflicted about it is a colossal understatement. What have I agreed to?
Poppy did offer for me to come into the agency for this part. Apparently, if I wanted, they would put together a slide show of the potential matches, then let me choose. But that felt… well, icky . I’ve avoided dating apps for a reason: I don’t want to find someone as if I’m online shopping for shoes. No, swipe, no, swipe.
Not that I shop for shoes online.
No, if I’m doing this, I am placing everything in Poppy’s hands. That way, when it all goes pear-shaped (as it is bound to do), I can tell Anjali that I tried, and we can shelve this assignment for good.
I realise I’m so deep in thought that conversation has stalled and now Ewan’s watching out the window.
‘Sorry. Bad company this morning,’ I say, and his eyes return to me. ‘I’m in my head.’
‘That’s all right. Can’t expect you to be Graham Norton every day.’
‘Graham Nort— Is it the outfit?’ I say, looking down. ‘Or the beard?’ I run a hand along my jawline.
‘You’re funny, you know that?’
‘Please tell my mum that. Her sense of humour is very… German – so dry. She doesn’t find me remotely funny.’
‘Well, she’s wrong and I’ll be sure to tell her if I ever meet her,’ he says.
He takes another sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on mine over the lid, and something actually pings inside me – that’s the only way to describe it. It was a throw-away comment – much like mine about asking him to tell Mum I’m funny – but that look .
Is Ewan flirting with me?
Oh god, have I got to the point where I can no longer recognise if someone is flirting? Tiggy would know, of course, but she’d also laugh her arse off if I ever asked her about it.
He holds my gaze a little longer, then looks away. Hmm, it does seem like flirting. But we’re friends. Just friends. He’s a nice-looking bloke, I think anyone would agree – especially anyone with a crush on James McAvoy (seriously, it’s uncanny). But I don’t fancy him.
Before I can unpack any of this further, our MI6 agent appears.
‘Ewan, look,’ I stage whisper. ‘Wait!’ As he starts to turn his head, I grab his arm. ‘Don’t make it obvious.’
He shoots me an amused look, then makes a show of turning around so slowly, somewhere in the world, an entire glacier has formed by the time his back is to me.
The man gets to the front of the line and the bloke at the counter shouts, ‘Earl Grey, no milk, shot of espresso.’
‘Ooh, he’s switching it up,’ I say, still using my stage whisper.
‘There’s definitely a hidden meaning in that,’ Ewan says over his shoulder, his lips barely moving.
I hold off as long as I can, but the laughter bubbles up inside me and I giggle. Ewan spins in his seat and we share the joke, our eyes locked.
Just then, my phone chimes with a message, breaking the spell. I check it and it’s Bex:
They’re here. I’ve shown them to your office. Getting tea sorted.
They? Poppy’s early – and she’s brought someone with her. Oh no! It’s not my first date, is it? She wouldn’t. Or would she?
‘Er, so sorry, Ewan, but I’ve got to go!’
I quickly gather my things and head out the door, half-drunk coffee in hand and with the vague awareness that I’ve just been rude to my new friend. But I have something more pressing on my mind.
I’m going to kill Poppy Dean!