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Her first call was Ivy Coulter, introducing herself as Jack’s replacement, and giving her the scoop at the same time. Ivy, of course, was thrilled that the marriage of Isabelle Kane and Erin Porter had gone to hell. She didn’t even try to hide it.

Leigh explained it as she knew it had happened, all the while googling Isabelle and Erin frantically. The internet didn’t know shit, so she was breaking the news, which was a good start at least. Ivy thanked her and hung up.

But not an hour later, Ivy called her back. ‘Hi, Leigh. Vis-à-vis our earlier call, would you like to go to lunch?’

Leigh had a few more calls to make, actually. Ivy wasn’t the only trashy journalist in the world. But this was the job. Schmooze or be schmoozed. If Ivy wanted to do the schmoozing, it might be a good sign.

‘Absolutely. But I’m paying,’ Leigh said.

A company credit card had been given to her this morning, and she was happy to break the seal on that puppy—within limits.

‘As a freelancer with no company account, I accept,’ Ivy replied, delighted.

***

In the light, airy, high-ceiling restaurant, Leigh was picking at a pomegranate salad. She didn’t know if she liked it because she couldn’t seem to pick up a proper forkful. But in a business lunch, Jack always told her to order something that couldn’t cause an issue. Nothing oily, crumbly, greasy, slippery. You couldn’t look professional wrestling with spaghetti. And it had to be easily swallowable in case you had to say something important. So Leigh was chasing pomegranate seeds around the plate with little success.

‘So, you’re in Jack’s office now?’ Ivy said. She was a little younger than Leigh’s twenty-eight and coifed. No millimetre of her had been left to chance.

Leigh felt a little underdressed by comparison. But Leigh would never be that person, and she knew it. It exhausted her just to think of the effort that went into fake eyelashes, never mind the rest of it.

She did simple, presentable. Still, when she was around people like Ivy, it was a bit intimidating. Sometimes, it felt like everyone was getting dressed up for the last days of Rome just to go to the shops.

‘Yes, Jack’s office. My office now, I guess,’ Leigh answered.

‘And you were his PA?’ Ivy asked, forking salad into her mouth.

‘I was his junior,’ Leigh clarified.

Ivy chewed and swallowed. ‘So he’s trained you up in his ways?’

‘He certainly has.’

‘Is what people are saying true? That he had a heart attack?’ Ivy asked.

Leigh felt stuck. He might not like his health problems getting around. ‘It wasn’t… I don’t… Err…’

Ivy smiled and ate more lettuce. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She smiled. ‘You need to get better at lying.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s in the job description, right?’ Ivy smirked.

Leigh decided right then that she really didn’t like this woman. ‘That’s not how I see it,’ Leigh told her.

‘How do you see your client?’ Ivy pressed.

Leigh paused, flummoxed. They’d already talked about that this morning.

‘Look, let me ask a different way,’ Ivy tried. ‘Have youseenthe infamous photo?’

‘No, why?’

‘Because I hear it’s quite damning.’

‘That comes from Isabelle’s team?’ Leigh checked.

‘Yep, spoke to her PR person right after you. She’s using words like “Gold digger.”