Read Online A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger by Lucy Robinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lucy Robinson
Ads: Link
been an angel over the last couple of weeks since Mum had released me from home. He’d cooked endless meals, which, though consistently
terrible, had not once featured value bread or Nutella. He’d hauled me in and out of my wheelchair (‘The Tank’, he’d named it), helped me swing around on my crutches once I was upright, and had thrown himself into helping with my fledgling company, First Date Aid, with heart-warming enthusiasm.
His contribution to the business had been unexpected. He’d spent August flyering the entire city and recently, completely unprompted, he’d spent a week on the phone negotiating with self-important sales executives for cheap ad space. I’d watched him, sprawled across my sofa in a pair of jogging bottoms, haggling away, and marvelled. Who would have known there was a businessman in Samuel Bowes? The jobs that Sam normally took to tide him over as a resting actor were as unchallenging as possible. Mostly he worked for promo companies as a host for posh events because he was gorgeous and made older ladies feel young and special. He regularly badgered me to get him on clinical trials at Salutech, which he viewed (alarmingly) as money for nothing. ‘I mean, basically I just take some drugs, answer some questions and then live or die,’ he told me. ‘What’s not to love?’ Recently I’d managed to get him on a trial for a concentration-enhancing product and he’d been thrilled. ‘I’m being paid to take speed!’ I’d heard him chuckle to Yvonne.
It was with good reason that I’d written off Sam as a potential businessman.
And yet, thanks to him, First Date Aid was now everywhere, even the
Scotsman
. He’d somehow got me a brilliant feature and the emails had flooded in ever since. I was now the proud manager of no less than sixty-eight
hopeless daters. Sixty-eight clients! Only three weeks after the business had been launched!
For what he’d done I was prepared to eat as many of Sam’s mangled omelettes and potato slops as was necessary. The business was all that was keeping me from complete insanity. ‘Those look like perfect healthy carbs to me,’ I told him. ‘Bowes, I don’t think you’ll ever know how grateful I am. For the food, the help with First Date Aid, everything.’ I opened up a dialogue box to start my client Joanna’s reply to poor old pant-jizzing Iain.
‘Feels like the least I can do,’ Sam said, after a second. ‘I know I’m a bit of a thorn in your side, Chas. Messy, you know. All those girls. Crap with rent.’
I looked up at him, surprised. I’d had no idea that Sam possessed self-awareness.
‘And besides,’ he added, ‘I’m enjoying it. It’s been good to have something to do.’
He turned abruptly and I felt a little moment of melancholy on his behalf. Of
course
it was nice for him to have something to get his teeth into. The Fringe Festival had passed us by for yet another summer, with its shouty actors getting drunk all over the Royal Mile, and he hadn’t had so much as an audition in two years. Had I not started up First Date Aid I would have gone completely, totally, utterly mad, so I could only imagine what it was like for him to have years pass without a whiff of acting work. As he scraped the omelette off the bottom of the pan, I willed some director out there to give him a break.
I turned back to my screen and, without thought or preparation, started writing Joanna’s reply to Iain. It never
ceased to amaze me how easy the banter was: I just put hand to keyboard and out it came. Of course, it was years of email and messenger flirtation with John that had landed me with this talent, but I was trying my best to forget that John existed.
Oh, Iain. I do understand how urgently you want me. You’re only human … Careful, though. I could have the physique of a Cornish pasty. How would you feel about that? If you’re willing to take the chance, I can meet you next week on Wednesday. We can meet in a slutty bar if you like, so
terrible, had not once featured value bread or Nutella. He’d hauled me in and out of my wheelchair (‘The Tank’, he’d named it), helped me swing around on my crutches once I was upright, and had thrown himself into helping with my fledgling company, First Date Aid, with heart-warming enthusiasm.
His contribution to the business had been unexpected. He’d spent August flyering the entire city and recently, completely unprompted, he’d spent a week on the phone negotiating with self-important sales executives for cheap ad space. I’d watched him, sprawled across my sofa in a pair of jogging bottoms, haggling away, and marvelled. Who would have known there was a businessman in Samuel Bowes? The jobs that Sam normally took to tide him over as a resting actor were as unchallenging as possible. Mostly he worked for promo companies as a host for posh events because he was gorgeous and made older ladies feel young and special. He regularly badgered me to get him on clinical trials at Salutech, which he viewed (alarmingly) as money for nothing. ‘I mean, basically I just take some drugs, answer some questions and then live or die,’ he told me. ‘What’s not to love?’ Recently I’d managed to get him on a trial for a concentration-enhancing product and he’d been thrilled. ‘I’m being paid to take speed!’ I’d heard him chuckle to Yvonne.
It was with good reason that I’d written off Sam as a potential businessman.
And yet, thanks to him, First Date Aid was now everywhere, even the
Scotsman
. He’d somehow got me a brilliant feature and the emails had flooded in ever since. I was now the proud manager of no less than sixty-eight
hopeless daters. Sixty-eight clients! Only three weeks after the business had been launched!
For what he’d done I was prepared to eat as many of Sam’s mangled omelettes and potato slops as was necessary. The business was all that was keeping me from complete insanity. ‘Those look like perfect healthy carbs to me,’ I told him. ‘Bowes, I don’t think you’ll ever know how grateful I am. For the food, the help with First Date Aid, everything.’ I opened up a dialogue box to start my client Joanna’s reply to poor old pant-jizzing Iain.
‘Feels like the least I can do,’ Sam said, after a second. ‘I know I’m a bit of a thorn in your side, Chas. Messy, you know. All those girls. Crap with rent.’
I looked up at him, surprised. I’d had no idea that Sam possessed self-awareness.
‘And besides,’ he added, ‘I’m enjoying it. It’s been good to have something to do.’
He turned abruptly and I felt a little moment of melancholy on his behalf. Of
course
it was nice for him to have something to get his teeth into. The Fringe Festival had passed us by for yet another summer, with its shouty actors getting drunk all over the Royal Mile, and he hadn’t had so much as an audition in two years. Had I not started up First Date Aid I would have gone completely, totally, utterly mad, so I could only imagine what it was like for him to have years pass without a whiff of acting work. As he scraped the omelette off the bottom of the pan, I willed some director out there to give him a break.
I turned back to my screen and, without thought or preparation, started writing Joanna’s reply to Iain. It never
ceased to amaze me how easy the banter was: I just put hand to keyboard and out it came. Of course, it was years of email and messenger flirtation with John that had landed me with this talent, but I was trying my best to forget that John existed.
Oh, Iain. I do understand how urgently you want me. You’re only human … Careful, though. I could have the physique of a Cornish pasty. How would you feel about that? If you’re willing to take the chance, I can meet you next week on Wednesday. We can meet in a slutty bar if you like, so
Similar Books
