Zoe May - How (Not) to Date a Prince

‘Sorry I was late,’ I say to Simon. ‘I met this Norwegian reporter in the lift on my way in. He’s working for The Chronicle .’

‘Oh, they hired a Norwegian guy! To cover the royal wedding?’ Simon asks.

‘Yeah. He was carrying all these brochures on weddings!’ Just thinking about that guy in the lift – Anders – is making me feel a little flushed and giddy all over again, even if I am still mortified about that card. Clearly all this girly wedding stuff is going to my head.

‘That’s interesting,’ Simon muses. ‘Well, we’d better up our game if they’ve got a Norwegian guy on the story!’

‘I guess—' I laugh '—but honestly, I doubt he can be drowning in as much wedding stuff as we are!' I pick up one of the rhinestone-embellished slippers, with a huge dazzling jewel arrangement at the toe. I turn it under the strip lighting and it shimmers. I have to admit it really is quite spectacular.

‘It’s great, isn’t it? All this stuff!’ Simon tears open another bag of macarons.

‘Yeah, it’s cool,’ I reply, placing the shoe back down. I start rifling through the press releases scattered among everything like confetti. ‘But I don’t have a clue where to start.’

Even though my desk is covered in royal wedding stuff, my eyes keep being pulled back to the glittering Cinderella shoes catching the light.

‘Will Holly be wearing these on the day?’ I gesture towards them.

Simon shrugs. ‘Not sure. Shall I find out?’

‘Yeah, if you could, that would be great. We can do a story on that.’

‘No problem.’ Simon picks up one of the shoes and inspects its twinkling form.

‘Well, if you’re doing that, I’ll go and get some coffee,’ I say. ‘Want one?’

‘Yes please,’ Simon replies, with a sweet smile.

‘Milk, sugar?’

‘Milk, three sugars,’ he says absently, as he gazes at the glittering shoe, which is truly captivating.

‘Coming up.’ I leave him to it and make my way across the newsroom towards the canteen. To think it was only a few weeks ago that I was at a White House press conference and now I’m working with some guy I’ve never met before and we’re writing about sparkly stilettos! Perhaps I was too negative in my meeting with Phil yesterday and now, even though I’ve pretty much come around to covering the wedding, he's decided that I’m not fully up to it. I approach his desk.

‘Morning,’ I greet him.

‘Morning, Sam,’ he replies chirpily. He flicks his eyes vaguely in my direction and then continues to study the day’s news agenda open on his screen.

‘So, you hired extra reinforcements? Were you planning on telling me?’ I ask. ‘Because I almost kicked him off Becky’s desk.’

Phil half smiles. ‘I thought you knew.’

‘What? How am I meant to know if you don’t tell me! Sorry, but I’m not subscribed to the psychic newsletter.’

Phil rolls his eyes. ‘I’m busy, Sam. It slipped my mind, okay?’

‘Fine,’ I sigh.

‘Simon will be helping you. You didn’t think I was going to let you cover the royal wedding on your own, did you?’

‘Umm...yes?’

‘You’re good, Sam, but you’re not Superwoman.’

‘This isn’t because I was being negative about it yesterday, is it?’

‘No!’ Phil scoffs. ‘It’s because it’s a big job!’

‘Okay.’ I glance across the office at Simon, who appears to be studiously researching the glass slipper. ‘I’ve never had a sidekick before.’

Phil smirks. ‘A sidekick who you’ve already abandoned. Go and keep him company,’ he says, giving me a pointed look.

‘Actually, I haven’t abandoned him, I was off to get him a coffee, like a good co-reporter.’

Phil pauses for thought. ‘Are you heading to the canteen?’

I nod.

‘I’ll come with you’ he says, pushing his chair back from the desk. ‘Just got out of the news conference and I could do with a pick-me-up.’

‘Okay,’ I reply as Phil grabs his wallet.

We start walking out of the office.

‘You do know Simon’s not your co-reporter, don’t you?’ Phil asks in a hushed voice.

I shoot him a curious glance.

‘I very much want you to take charge on this one,’ he insists. ‘Simon’s good. He comes with good references, but he’s pretty inexperienced.’

‘He looks about my age,’ I comment as we leave the newsroom and approach the lifts.

‘Yeah, but he hasn’t always been a journalist. He did something else for a while. Admin, I think.’ Phil shrugs.

‘Admin?’

‘Yeah,’ Phil says as we wait for the lift. ‘Look, he came from the Weekly Echo , he’s cut his teeth.’

‘Cut his teeth?’ I frown. ‘How long has Simon actually been a journalist?’

‘About a year and a half,’ Phil tells me as the lift doors ping open and we step inside.

‘That’s not long,’ I say, struggling to figure out why Phil would hire someone with relatively little journalism experience to help me on what he keeps insisting is the biggest story of the year.

Phil looks away, pressing the button for the fifteenth floor, where the canteen is based. The doors close and the lift shoots up the shaft.

‘Look, Simon may not be that experienced, but I think having him around might be good for you,’ Phil remarks.

‘How does that work?’

‘Well…you’ll have some male company.’

‘I’ll have some male company?’ I echo, in shock, as the lift arrives at the fifteenth floor.

‘Yes, you two might hit it off,’ Phil says matter-of-factly as we head into the canteen, towards the coffee counter.

‘Two flat whites,’ Phil says to the bored-looking barista.

‘Make that three. Don’t forget Simon,’ I add.

Phil smiles. ‘See, you’re warming to him already.’

‘What the hell?’ I hiss under my breath, although judging by the way the barista’s eyes dart over at us from the coffee machine, she clearly heard.

‘Not too much milk in mine,’ Phil tells her, deliberately ignoring me. I study him, taking in his naughty smile and the stiff way he’s deliberately leaning over the counter instead of facing me.

‘Have I heard this right? You hired Simon because you thought he and I would hit it off, romantically?’

‘No. Yes, yeah, that’s enough. Perfect,’ Phil says to the barista as she pours in the milk. She places the jug of milk down and hands Phil his coffee.

‘Thank you.’ He takes it from her.

‘Stop ignoring me, Phil,’ I sigh.

‘Okay.’ He turns to look at me. ‘Maybe it crossed my mind that you and Simon might hit it off in that way and that he might help you get over your hatred of men. Yes, maybe it did occur to me that you two might have fun covering the royal wedding together and that maybe he could be the Isaac to your Holly! Yes, maybe that did cross my mind.’ Phil holds up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Is that so bad?’

‘Yes, it is!’ I balk, in disbelief, shaking my head in exasperation as the barista pours a slug of milk into mine and Simon’s drinks.

‘The Isaac to my Holly!’ I repeat, dumbstruck.

‘Just trying to help!’ Phil shrugs, wincing after taking a sip of his boiling coffee. ‘I know you work hard and you’re very career-focused, which is obviously great, but there is more to life.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’

‘Sam.’ Phil turns to look at me, fixing me with a serious expression. ‘I’m not messing around. Have you thought about the future? I mean, really thought about it?’

‘What?’ I wrinkle my nose.

‘You can’t be single for ever, for practical reasons alone. What if you had a stroke in the middle of the night, who would call 999?’

I scoff. ‘Phil, I’m twenty-eight.’