Who's That Girl


Edie thought she’d found The One… until he told her he was marrying someone else.

And on the day of his wedding, when he kisses her, life really does go pear-shaped …

Labelled as a home-wrecker and office outcast, when her boss offers her the chance to get out of town Edie jumps at it, even though moving back in with her eccentric father and prickly sister isn’t exactly the escape she needs.

When her work throws her into the path of rising star and heartthrob Elliot, Edie is expecting a highly strung diva. But as their unexpected friendship develops, Elliot isn’t the only one in the spotlight …

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Without knowing it, she was sunk. She had picked up the baton from Jack. The journey to ruin starts with a single step.

  • The only thing worse than his pick-up patter is his wine. Have you tried the Pinot Grigio? BLETCH
  • I think you'll find my copy describes it as having a tingle of green plum acidity and a long melony finish, perfect for long afternoons in gardens that turn into evenings
  • Translation: a park-bench session wine, aromas of Listerine mixed with asparagus wee
  • The bouquet could be described as 'insistent'
  • I've actually looked it up for the lols. 'A fruit forward blend of ripe, zesty flavours. Will transport you to Italian vineyards.' Will transport you to A&E, more like.

If this sort of instant familiarity had come from a single male colleague, Edie would have treated it as clear flirting. Obviously. But Jack was Charlotte’s boyfriend and she was sat right there, though, so this couldn’t be flirting. It was G-chat, but not a G-chat-up.

They became messaging mates. Most mornings, Jack found some witticism to kick things off. He was catnip to someone with Edie’s quick wit, and he seemed entranced by her. He had an easy self-confidence, and ran on dryly humorous remarks and giant Americanos.

In the boredom of office life, the ping of a new message from Jack on her screen became inextricably associated with pleasure and reward. Edie was like a lab rat in a scientific experiment, pressing a lever that gave her a nut. To follow the analogy, sooner or later it’d give her an electric shock, and she’d prove the mechanics of addiction by keeping on pressing for another nut.

It was all a bit of fun.

Even when the conversation naturally strayed into slightly more serious, personal topics. Amid the anecdotes, the casual intimacy and larks, she found herself telling him things she hadn’t told anyone in London.

Edie found her spirits dip at home time on a Friday — a funny reversal — realising there’d be no more ‘special chemistry’ chatter until Monday. Eventually, there were text-jokes from Jack at the weekend — saw this, thought of you — and favouriting of her tweets, and explosively she’d even occasionally get the notification he’d Liked an old photo of hers, buried in the archives on Facebook. Truly, the footprint on the windowsill of social media courting.

Jack would sometimes say in front of Charlotte, during the Friday night drinks, that he’d shamelessly distracted Edie at work. Charlotte tutted and chided Jack and apologised to Edie — and then Edie definitely felt a whisper of guilt.

But, why? For conversation that Jack was openly acknowledging in front of his girlfriend that he instigated? If it was anything untoward, it’d be secret, right?

There was enough plausible deniability to park a bus.

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