The Disastrous Love Lives of the Delaney Family

2.4 Elizabeth Penrose

Walking into the office this morning, I instantly think about turning around and going home. Normally, I prefer minimal conversation first thing in the morning; I like walking into peace and quiet so I can focus my brain on what needs to be done, but this morning at just after seven-thirty in the morning, I entered hell.

Ollie and JoJo are sitting together near her desk, gossiping about their dates from last night. I try not to pay any attention to them, but it's thoroughly difficult when they're using their outside voice and not their inside voice. The conversation vaguely goes-

Ollie: "How was your date?"

JoJo: "Surprisingly good. How was yours?"

Ollie: "I don't think we're compatible. Just as I was thinking 'I'm so glad she's not one of those girls who has to take pictures of her dinner', she took out her phone and took a picture of her dinner. Good morning, Léa."

I wave over at the pair, not bothering to look over as I start my morning routine. "Morning, yes. Good, to be confirmed."

Ollie and JoJo ignore me as I power on my laptop and set about designing the drinks menu. After our tasting session yesterday, we all agreed that Cherry Blossom, Tom Collins, Sazerac and Espresso Martini were the four drinks of choice. The disappointment of not having Bees Knees was hard to overcome, but I've slept on it since and I still think that Ollie and JoJo have no taste in cocktails. It's a travesty. 

Looking through the template gallery for the party project, I choose a design that I think suits the brief; it's a simple off-white background with a gold border and green watercolour leaves in opposite corners, the iconic Vogue font taking pride of place. Now and then I look at the proof copy of the invitations to make sure that my menu is consistent with the overall aesthetic, and for the most part, it looks like the same person had created both suites. I type out the names of the cocktail in gold lettering, with the main ingredients in smaller black font underneath. It's nothing complicated, just clean and simple. Understated.

"Good morning," a bright voice practically sings. Forcing my eyes off the template page in front of me, I look over to the source of the sound and see Portia Roquefort darkening the doorway. She and I were at university together until Portia dropped out at the start of our second year to take up an internship at Vogue. Since then, she's climbed the greasy pole and is now one of Lavinia's go-to underlings. Portia doesn't bother to look at JoJo, and apart from a fleeting glance in my direction, her whole focus is on Ollie. Typical. "Hello, Ollie. My name is Portia Roquefort, Senior Editor here at Vogue. Lavinia has asked me to come and occupy you for the day."

Ollie instinctively narrows his eyes at Portia. "Did she?" Portia nods, her blonde curls bouncing against her shoulders in a cartoonish way. Ollie winces. "Well, while I'm sure that's an offer I shouldn't turn down, unfortunately, I cannot leave my partner in crime to do all the work."

Ollie points in my direction. It's too late to dive under the desk and avoid Portia's scrutiny because a split second later, her beady eyes are on me, and she does not like what she sees. I always had the sense she didn't like me, a suspicion confirmed last year when she made a play for Anderson Martin, renowned photographer and my quasi-boyfriend. We had been casually dating and were on the verge of making it official when Portia demanded that he accompany her on a photoshoot in Greece. They came back engaged. And I don't mean that in a metaphorical sense. I mean it in the literal sense. They came back engaged, with a ginormous diamond and cringey engagement photos as proof that it was not a tasteless joke. Anderson didn't bother to break it off with me himself. No, I had to endure the public embarrassment of Portia waving her hand in my face in front of the entire office an hour after their flight landed. Talk about being blindsided.