maybe something vaguely resembling a natural fiber in there somewhere, but I’m not going to share that detail with Jilly. If she thinks my suit is high-end wool, I’m gonna let her. “Yup. Gaberdine.”
“Nothing like the real thing, is there? Why wear some dreadful man-made material when you can wrap yourself in a little luxury?”
I shoot her a sideways look. “Sure.”
Sebastian pushes the glass door to the building open for us to enter through, where we’re met by a thoroughly bored looking receptionist. She can’t be a lot older than eighteen, with heavy eye makeup and false lashes that reach above her eyebrows. Her hair is tied so tightly on the top of her head, she looks like a pineapple.
“’Allo. Welcome to Upfront Productions. ‘Ow can I ’elp you today?” she asks in her broad accent, the nametag on her lapel telling us her name is Shaznaay with two a’s.
Despite her dull monotone and the fact she barely bothers to look our way, I want her to keep talking. That accent is freaking fantastic!
“We’re here to see Heather McCabe,” Sebastian replies, his own accent sounding super hoity toity in comparison with Shaznaay’s with two a’s.
“Awigh’. Sign in, will yaaaaa?” The last syllable is stretched so long, I wonder when it’s going to end. She points at a screen, and we enter our details.
“Can I get you anyfink?” she asks with a heavy sigh that tells us getting us “anyfink” is the very last thing she’d want to do for us. “Tea, coffee, a glass a wa’er?”
I smile at her. I could listen to her butcher the English language all day.
“No, I think we’re all quite all right, thank you,” Sebastian replies. “Unless one of you would like something?” he asks us.
“No, no,” Jilly replies, and I shake my head.
“In that case, take a sea’ n’all. ‘Evver’ll be ‘ere soon enough. It’s no’ a big place, ‘ere. Know wha’ I mean?”
I gawp at her before I snap out of it. I’ve got absolutely no clue what she’s saying. All I know is I want her to keep talking.
“How big is the place, exactly?” I ask as the others sit down.
“I dunno, do I?” she says with a shrug. “Big enough for about twen’y of us, innit.”
“Gosh. Okay,” I reply.
“Emma? Come and sit down with us,” Sebastian suggests, and I take a seat on the firm couch next to Jilly.
“Is she a Cockney?” I whisper.
Jilly looks over at the receptionist. “I have absolutely no idea, but she does need to do something about that truly dreadful hair of hers. It looks like something died of fright on top of her head.”
I stifle a giggle. I had enough bitchiness as a contestant on Dating Mr. Darcy to last me a lifetime, but I’ve got to admit Jilly’s description is quite funny.
“Oi!”
Startled, we look up at Shaznaay with two a’s. She’s holding a phone in her hand and looking at us.
“’Evver’s on ‘er way down. She’ll be ‘ere in a mo’.”
“Thank you,” Sebastian replies.
“A mo'?” I ask Jilly.
“A moment,” she explains.
“Got it.”
Literally a “mo” later, a tall woman with dark brown shoulder-length hair dressed in a bright red suit strides through a door behind the reception desk, making a beeline for us. “Sebastian Huntington-Ross, as I live and breathe.” She wraps her arms around him and pulls him in for a hug. “My God, you look hot. And you smell divine. You do not change, do you?”
“Always the charmer,” he replies as he steps out of her grasp.
Jilly extends her hand. “Heather. Good to see you again. Jilly Fotherington, Sebastian’s lawyer.”
“I remember you. Tough negotiator, if I recall correctly.”
“I do what’s best for my clients,” she replies.
Heather turns to me. “And I know who you are. You’re Emma Brady. The little contestant that could.”
What the heck does that mean?
“Err, hi,” I say insipidly.
“Well,” she says as she claps her hands together, “let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Follow me.” She strides away, past Shaznaay with two a’s and her pineapple—or dead furry animal, depending on whether you subscribe to Jilly’s grizzly metaphor or mine—through an open-plan office, and into a brightly lit boardroom. “Take a seat,” she instructs as she closes the door behind us. “I assume Shaznaay offered you refreshments?”
“She did,” Sebastian replies.
“Good, good. Now.” Still standing, Heather slaps her hands down heavily on the table, and I elevate in my chair. “I’m coming straight to the point. The idea of following you on your journey to save your house