‘I think they’d work well together as best friends,’ Jodie-or-Marsha agrees.

‘But Willa Tilton isn’t my best friend,’ I say, confused. ‘I’ve never met her. My best friend is called Suze.’

‘She would be your best friend for the camera,’ says Marsha-or-Jodie, as though I’m slightly subnormal. ‘It’s a reality show.’

‘OK,’ I say, still confused. ‘Well, I’ll think about it.’

I take another sip of water, trying to get my head together. Somehow I can’t take any of this seriously. Me? On a reality show? But as I look from Jodie to Marsha (or the other way round), I realize they’re genuine. They wouldn’t give me the time of day unless they meant it.

‘In the meantime, we have the Breakfast Show USA segment,’ says Jodie-or-Marsha, ‘which will be very high profile. Now, do you have an assistant?’

‘No,’ I say, and the two women exchange looks.

‘You might think about getting yourself one,’ says Marsha-or-Jodie.

‘Your life is going to start feeling a little different,’ adds Jodie-or-Marsha.

‘Make sure you have some camera-ready outfits.’

‘Consider getting your teeth whitened.’

‘And you could lose a pound or two.’ Marsha-or-Jodie smiles kindly. ‘Just a thought.’

‘Right.’ My head is whirling. ‘OK. Well … thanks!’

‘It’s a pleasure.’ Jodie-or-Marsha pushes back her chair. ‘Exciting, huh?’

As I’m walking along one of the museum-style corridors with an assistant called Tori (dressed head to toe in Chloé), I hear a little shriek behind me. I turn and see Sage skittering along the corridor, her arms outstretched.

‘Beckeeeeee! I’ve missed youuuuuu!’

I blink in astonishment. Sage is wearing the skimpiest outfit I’ve ever seen. Her bright-blue polka-dot top is basically a bikini top, and her tiny frayed hot pants are more like knickers.

Plus, what does she mean, she’s missed me?

As she throws her arms around me, I inhale the smell of Marc Jacobs Grapefruit and cigarettes.

‘It’s been so long! We have so much to talk about! Are you done here? Where are you going now?’

‘Just home,’ I say. ‘I think they’re organizing me a car.’

‘Noooo! Ride with me!’ She takes out her phone and punches something into it. ‘My driver will take you home, and we can chat.’

‘Becky, are you OK with Sage?’ says Tori. ‘You don’t need a car?’

‘I guess not,’ I say. ‘But thanks.’

‘We’re good now,’ says Sage to the girl who was accompanying her. ‘We’ll see ourselves out. We have to talk!’ Sage hits the button for the lift and links arms with me. ‘You are so hot right now. We’re both hot,’ she adds with satisfaction, as we get in. ‘You know they’re begging me to do Florence Nightingale? Your husband thinks I should take it. But you know, I have a lot of propositions right now. Playboy offered me a gazillion.’ She takes out some gum and offers it to me.

‘Playboy?’

‘I know, right?’ She shrieks with laughter. ‘I need to hit the gym if I’m doing that.’

I blink in surprise. She’s doing it? I can’t believe Luke or Aran want Sage to do Playboy.