Free Who's That Girl by Alexandra Potter

input?' I suggest.
    'That would be awesome,' he enthuses. 'I'm flying to Brussels tomorrow for an international conference on the latest breakthroughs in cosmetic dentistry, but I'm back the next day.'
    'Great.' I nod, pulling out my BlackBerry and scrolling through my diary. 'What time were you thinking?'
    'Well, I'm pretty busy all day with designers.' Suddenly I get a horrible feeling where this is going. 'How about in the evening? Dinner maybe?'
    I was so hoping he wasn't going to say that.
    'It will give us a chance to get to know each other a bit more.'
    I'm nodding and smiling as he's talking, but I'm flashing back to a few moments ago. Did I imagine it? Did I ?
    'It's important to make sure we're on the same page. Don't you think?'
    He is smiling smoothly at me and automatically I switch on my professional smile, but my mind's all over the place. I wanted this contract more than anything, but now…
    Larry Goldstein is still looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
    'Absolutely. Thursday evening it is, then!' I suddenly hear myself saying. He breaks into a wide smile. 'Excellent!' Picking up his glass of water, he clinks it against mine.
    'That's a date!'
    I smile brightly. I've done it! The contract's mine.
    Oh God.
     
    Chapter Seven
    I wave Larry Goldstein off in a cab and cross the street to where my car's parked. I check the time. Lunch went on for a lot longer than I expected and it's late. I need to get back to the office, tell Bea the good news and —
    'Lottie!'
    A familiar voice behind me interrupts my train of thought and I swing round. No one ever calls me that any more except… Squinting in the bright summer sunshine, I peer down the busy street, past cafes spilling out on to the pavement, people drinking cappuccinos and eating pastries, shoppers laden down with designer bags, a mother with a double buggy and an ageing cocker spaniel…
    ' Nessy !' I break into a grin. 'What are you doing here?'
    'I live here, you idiot,' she counters jovially. 'What are you doing here?'
    Vanessa is my oldest friend. I met her the day I went to London to interview for my first job on the puzzle magazine. She was sitting on a wall, outside the office, smoking a cigarette and looking utterly cool. To a nervous girl just off the National Express coach from Yorkshire and wearing her mother's suit, Vanessa epitomised everything about London. Six foot tall and a platinum blonde, she was twenty-five years old and shared a flat with some friends in Kensington. I was in awe of her.
    I still am a bit. Happily married to Julian, her handsome lawyer husband, she's mum to two adorable children and lives in a big, rambling house in Notting Hill, with a fridge covered in finger paintings and thousands of family photographs cluttering the walls. We lead completely different lives and don't get to see each other as much as we'd like, but we're still incredibly close.
    'I had a business lunch,' I say, gesturing to the restaurant. 'I was just going back to the office.'
    'Bollocks to that.' She frowns, looping her arm through mine. 'Aunty Charlotte is coming back to ours for a cup of tea, isn't she?' She peers into the double buggy, where Ruby, aged three, and Sam, who's just turned one, giggle and gurgle respectively. 'See, that's a yes - in case you needed me to translate,' she says, and I can't help laughing.
    'OK,' I surrender. I know better than to argue with Vanessa. 'But just one cup.'
    'One cup,' she repeats innocently, and grasping the handle of the double buggy and the dog lead with one hand and me with the other, she propels us all down the high street.
    'God, I wish someone would stick their hand up my skirt.'
    I've just spent the last ten minutes telling her all about my weird 'incident' with Larry Goldstein, and to be honest, this wasn't the reaction I was expecting.
    'Vanessa!' I gasp, horrified.
    'Sorry, honey, only joking,' she apologises breezily. 'Well, sort of,' she mutters, furiously blitzing something