Gwen would have rolled her eyes or even raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t want to ruin her mascara that she’d spent all morning refining at reception. Now she had suffered her whole lunch break recording Steffi’s goss, and she needed to get back to work to finish revarnishing her nails. ‘Gives me goose pimples imaging it,’ she agreed.
Friggo parlour was a three-minute, healthy walk from her office - enough to lose fifteen calories by Gwen’s reckoning, so Glamour magazine had headlined. Add one hundred and thirty calories for the avocado and lemon sorbet and ... it was too much to think about. ‘Looks like rain. Do you want a cab?’
Steffi took the hint. ‘My treat, darling. Anyway, Ryan’s going to pick me up in the ... I can’t remember the name, but it’s gold – my colour.’
Gwen glanced at Steffi’s bracelet on her tanned wrist. It looked heavy enough to hamper her virtuosity; maybe Ryan could handle a slow build-up. She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her suede jacket, and patted her dark locks, hoping the grey didn’t show. She slipped out of her seat. ‘I’ll call you next week. It’s been lovely catching up.’
When Gwen got back to the office she called Jameson, the editor. ‘Steffi’s meeting Ryan Gosling at Friggo’s now. I have all the goss.’ She picked up her nail file. ‘Glamour owes me one, darling.’