"Hello?" Pt. 2

Arabella

Having woken at an ungodly hour this morning to catch the first flight to London, the lack of sleep was now starting to catch up with me and as one of my former colleagues at Vogue London started rambling on and on about the soon to be released September issue, I could feel myself nodding off. 

Daniel, who I had long lost as people queued to speak with one of the subjects of an article in the prestigious issue, was politely smiling at another guest across the room, looking fresh as a daisy. That bastard couldn't look anything less than perfect even if he tried. Honestly, Daniel Whitaker could go to hell and back via an overgrown hedge and not a hair on his handsome head would be out of place. And that suit! Why did he have to look like a model while I felt completely and utterly like shit? 

Not even my Lela Rose outfit and Alexandre Birman shoes could give me the confidence boost that I so desperately needed right now. Perhaps if I had Daniel at my side, I'd feel more comfortable in my surroundings, but even then that may backfire. While he's looking so handsome, having me on his arm would just drag him down. 

No wonder he was stood on the other side of the room. 

"So, I heard you were engaged!" Penny Steadman, my former colleague, excitedly beamed at me. Without warning, she grabs my left hand and gasps at the ring Daniel had presented me. "Oh, my God! Sophie that's gorgeous!"

I give a weak smile. "Thanks."

"It's green," another colleague of mine commented, turning her nose up at the ring. "I had no idea green diamonds were in this year."

"It's an emerald stone," I find myself explaining even though no one deserved to hear one. "I highly doubt it's 'in' this year. It's a family heirloom and it has sentimental value. Plus, it's in homage to my Irish heritage, seeing as Ireland is called the Emerald Isle."

"How... quaint."

Not wanting to hear any more bitchy comments, I simply give a half-arsed smile and excuse myself from the crowd that was now gathering around me. Fleeing from the women that I had worked with for several years but could hardly tolerate, I started to make my way towards where Daniel was stood. Or that was the plan, until Isabella DiFranco stepped out into my path.

Isabella DiFranco is my enemy, or so she believes herself to be. Professional jealousy meant that she and I never did get along. We had both interned at Vogue when we were both fresh out of university but when a permanent position became vacant, Isabella and I both tried our luck. Unfortunately for Isabella, the job was offered to me and that was the first spark of our rivalry. It intensified slightly more when Isabella took up a position at Elle and then later an editorial role at Tatler. Having 'stolen' the golden interview with Daniel from Tatler, a long time 'target' of Tatler, I could only guess that Isabella was furious with me. 

Except for the fact that she was smiling at me. Albeit sadistically. 

"Sophie," was her simple greeting.