THE FASHION EDITOR possessed the gaze of an experienced predator—a glimmer that blended seduction with calculation—and she knew exactly how to use it. She had taken advantage of that when Saul crossed the tea room accompanied by Francis Bishop. Meggie, attentive to details like any good journalist, noticed the exact moment Diana gave him an almost imperceptible wink, a gesture so brief it could have gone unnoticed, yet one that carried the seed of a silent challenge. As soon as he left the tea house, Diana closed her eyes, tilted her head slightly, and inhaled with pleasure.
Her comment was loaded with intention.
— Knize Ten... I adore Saul's perfume. It's unmistakable.
Meggie raised an eyebrow, pretending indifference.
— I don't know the brand, — she replied casually, as if trying to extinguish the glow of a name that had suddenly gained importance.
Diana smiled triumphantly.
— Knize is a classic institution in men's fashion, my dear. The brand reached its peak between the two World Wars. It's where Marlene Dietrich had her custom-made trousers tailored. A symbol of elegance, tradition... and power.
— Just another sign of Saul's refined taste, — the American commented, trying to conceal a pang of jealousy beneath a calm voice.
Diana leaned slightly over the table, her pearl necklace clinking softly against the porcelain.
— Everything about Saul is sophisticated. I'm sure you've already noticed that. Especially after last night's dinner, haven't you? — she teased, as though tossing out bait and watching the fish struggle.
Meggie took a deep breath before answering.
— He's a gentleman. He taught me about gastronomy, about wine... — she said, her eyes drifting toward memories she might have preferred not to reveal.
Diana noticed the pause and, with the precision of someone who knew exactly when to strike, continued.
— Food pairings, right? Did he tell you about perfect matches? Foie gras with Sauternes, oysters with champagne?
— Apparently you attended the same class, — Meggie replied, her tone balancing between irony and disdain.
Diana laughed softly, displaying perfect teeth.
— I've passed that course countless times, darling. By the third date, if you make it that far, he'll introduce you to classical music. A little tip: Saul's favorite composer is Bach.
— Thank you for the advice, — Meggie replied, returning the sarcasm with elegance as she took the last sip of her coffee.
— I want you to know that I support your relationship with him, — Diana continued, shaping a smile that looked rehearsed in front of a mirror. — If you ever need advice, you can come to me. Journalists know how to keep secrets, too.
Meggie forced a discreet smile.
— I'll keep that in mind.
Diana crossed her legs and leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with false innocence.
— But before that, I need a tiny favor, — she said, pinching her thumb and index finger together to illustrate the size of the "small" request.
Meggie sighed, already anticipating the trap.
— Tell me what it is. If it's within my reach... — she replied, silently adding: So that's what all this sudden friendliness is about?
— I want to do a feature on Jessyca, — the editor explained. — Something light, about casual fashion. What she wears when she's not on the runway, you know? I heard you secured an exclusive interview, and I don't want to interfere, of course, but I'd love it if you could send her a few questions by email... and, if possible, get some photos of her in everyday life. No makeup, no daring productions. That natural beauty readers love.
— Can I write and sign the article myself? — Meggie asked, surprised as she sensed the opportunity shining between the lines.
— Of course, — Diana replied with carefully measured sweetness,— but you'll need your boss's permission. I imagine he won't mind lending you to me... just a little.
Meggie rested an elbow on the table, studying the proposal cautiously.
— I'll talk to him. I'll try to do the article.
Diana raised an eyebrow mischievously.
— I wonder what he was discussing with the big boss a little while ago? — she asked, changing the subject abruptly.
— I haven't the slightest idea, — Meggie replied, keeping her tone neutral.
— There was a huge fight during yesterday's editorial meeting... because of you, — the editor revealed, savoring every word.
— Because of me? Why? — Meggie reacted, raising her left eyebrow, her voice heavy with disbelief.
— Mick never informed Francis Bishop about your hiring. The director was caught completely off guard when he discovered that you, Saul's new assistant, were part of the international jet set. No boss likes feeling like a fool, —Diana said, dramatizing the statement with an expression of false sympathy.
— Really? — Meggie murmured, trying to hide her discomfort.
— I bet Mick's head is going to roll, — Diana continued. — And honestly, I think Saul is being considered for the position.
— Why do you think that? — Meggie asked, even though she knew any answer would come poisoned.
— Yesterday, Francis asked Saul to report directly to him, bypassing Mick and even the editor-in-chief. If that isn't a sign of promotion, I don't know what is, — Diana concluded, leaning back with satisfaction.
Before Meggie could react, her phone vibrated on the table. The newsroom number flashed across the screen.
She answered, trying to sound calm.
— Are you two discussing fashion? — Saul's voice asked sarcastically from the other end of the line.
— Diana is giving me a lesson about... — Meggie replied, looking at the editor and whispering: — What's the name of his perfume again?
— Knize Ten, — Diana answered with a triumphant smile.
— About Knize Ten, — Meggie finished into the phone, emphasizing the name with irony.
Saul's response came sharp and immediate.
— I need to speak with you before the editorial meeting. I think you've paid far too high a price to be here, Meggie.
She swallowed hard.
— Could you be more specific?
— Why did you buy yourself an assistant's position at The Sunny... when you could have been an editor in New York? — he asked directly, without softening the blow.
Meggie felt her blood turn cold.
— In five minutes, you'll have your answer. Goodbye.
She hung up.
For a moment, she remained motionless, the phone still in her hand, her face pale, her eyes filled with an uneasiness she could not hide.
Diana finished the last sip of her tea and delicately set down the cup.
— I need to get back as well, — she said, rising with practiced elegance. — Good luck, darling. It looks like you're going to need it.