The Secret to Falling in Love

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‘Oh goodness, no, I don’t expect that. I’ll be ages with Mrs Monagan. Last time, I was there the whole night! Listen, we can get back in touch on Tinder and arrange to meet up again soon.’ I didn’t even wait for a response before throwing twenty quid down on the table and leaving. On my way out I texted Gemma:

Thanks, MRS MONAGAN ;) – disaster!

Whilst my phone was out, I deleted the Tinder app, and relief washed over me.

Chapter Six (#ulink_7467b2cc-1d3b-5af3-bb85-ee3078b2dc3b)

‘Happy Friday!’ Simon perched on the edge of my desk, grinning.

‘Why are you so excitable this early in the morning? Are there not laws against that?’ His round beaming face reddened and he looked like he might burst if he didn’t spit out whatever it was he wanted to say.

‘Well, you know how your article went down pretty well?’ he said. I nodded, unable to stop a smile spreading across my face. It had attracted quite a bit of attention in the couple of days since it was published. I’d seen a few tweets about it and one of my favourite bloggers had written about technology and the demise of social interaction, inspired by my piece.

‘Yeah, so?’ I played it cool.

‘Loose Women have it up for discussion on their show this afternoon. It’s like you’re a superstar,’ he said, beaming. ‘In fact, if you could sign this month’s cover for your best work friend, that would be great.’ He smirked and pushed a copy of NorthStyle in my face.

‘What? No way!’ I blushed, batting it away. I was in complete shock.

‘Well done, kid. I just hope you haven’t put too many people off technology or Dee will have my column cut.’ He winked and walked off, leaving me standing there in a daze. I couldn’t believe it. I hoped Dee would let me watch Loose Women later that morning. I was pretty sure that this would be the first time our magazine had featured on a TV show, which had to earn me a brownie point or two. Instinctively, I picked up my phone and opened WhatsApp: ‘Who can make after-work champers this eve? Need to celebrate.’

As I hit send, my office phone rang. ‘Hello, Melissa at NorthStyle magazine, how can I help?’ I chirped.

‘Melissa, come to my office now, please.’ Dee, disregarding the use of pleasantries, hung up without awaiting a reply.

It was the first time in a while, or ever in fact, that I’d felt excited about going into Dee’s office. I knocked firmly on the wooden door. ‘Come in,’ she shouted flatly. I walked in more surely than I ever had before. ‘Ah, Melissa, take a seat.’ Her tone became silvery as she gestured to the leather chair opposite, and I sat obediently. I looked up and met her gaze. ‘Well, I’m not sure if you heard, but did you know your article has been a bit of a hit?’ Her facial expression remained blank. I couldn’t tell if it was because of her Botox or because she was really forcing herself to offer me a compliment.

‘Oh, er . . .’ I stumbled, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of Dee’s praise.

‘I’m talking nationwide discussions, global even, if you take into account social media,’ she continued before I could string together a response. Dee had a knack of asking rhetorical questions that really did come across as genuine enquiries. It didn’t matter; I was sensing excitement and I wanted to revel in that. ‘. . . and even Loose Women