Who’s That Girl?: A laugh-out-loud sparky romcom!. Mhairi McFarlane
was difficult. Elliot Owen was a star, and being an arsehole was a clear perk. That was what was nagging at Edie throughout their confrontation. Not that she wasn’t well within her rights to sound off, but that they weren’t on an even footing when it came to losing your rag. He could be mardy, she was expected to keep her cool in the face of complete unreason. She was supposed to sweet-talk, wheedle and cajole, and in her ire at the Heather delay, she’d lost sight of the mission.
She didn’t see a way out of calling Richard back and copping to this mistake. Richard’s disgust and disappointment with her, she couldn’t handle. She couldn’t lose another friend. One of the very few real ones.
There was a possible plan B. Could she bear to try it? It was a vile prospect but on balance, the marginally less vile of the two. She vacillated. She stared at the New Voicemail, as her heart thumped.
Even though it was unlikely to do any good, she’d have to at least try to see if there was a chance of rescue. Richard would surely demand she tried anyway.
With lead in her shoes and a stomach full of ball bearings, she walked back down the street to Elliot’s house, and rang the bell again. Her nerves now had nothing to do with his fame, though it hardly helped.
One of the problems of meeting celebs was knowing that you’d comb over every stupid thing you said afterwards, even if they’d not remember you five seconds later. It was certain she was going to have the full Gollum body cringe whenever Elliot Owen’s name came up. This might be an even worse cringe than ‘Charlack’.
He opened the door, leaned on the door frame and peered at her, inscrutable apart from the sullen set of his mouth.
Edie cleared her throat.
‘Hello again. Er, OK, that didn’t go quite how I planned. How about this. I write some draft copy and you see if you like it. We do a few interviews but you keep the topics to things you’re comfortable with. We’ll see how we go.’
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