Read Online Construct a Couple by Talli Roland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Talli Roland
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction
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entertaining. My cheeks tinge red as I recall Jeremy’s eyes staring down and the solid weight of his body on mine, and another thrill of desire hits me. Given the energy expended in bed last night, I guess I shouldn’t be too concerned about his health!
He did still look exhausted this morning, though, barely opening his eyes as I crept around getting ready for work. That’s to be expected after everything he’s been through in the past few weeks, I guess. A little R&R and perhaps some more sexual healing (Dad’s favourite song, ergh), and Jeremy will be his old self in no time.
In fact, he’s so keen to get back to normal we’ve even made plans to meet up with Kirsty and Tim tonight at our local pub, The Prince Regent. It’s been ages since we’ve all been out together, and with Kirsty taking off soon . . . Sighing, I tell myself not to think about that. I just want to enjoy the time we have left.
Post-sex glow aside, it’s impossible not to be excited this morning: there’s only one more client to ring, and then I can present Jonas with my additional research! My smile widens as I trot through the quiet newsroom and over to Fact Check Row.
“You need to finish that feature by five today,” Gregor says as I approach. “Shouldn’t be a problem, right? We’ve certainly given you plenty of time – you won’t have that luxury after this week.”
His burst my bubble and I turn to face him reluctantly. God, does the man ever leave? Clad in the same beige ensemble he’s worn every day since I started, he’s gripping the usual steaming mug of foul-smelling coffee. I wrinkle my nose as he sets it down within breathing distance.
Nodding in response, I flip through my notebook with all the quotes from yesterday, flagging up ones that will work best for the article. I roll my eyes as the project managers praise Top Class for its efficiency, dedication to the job, and low costs. Perfect Julia, of course.
A shot of jealousy goes through me, and I can’t help wondering if Jeremy ever compares the two of us. I mean, she’s gorgeous: tall, blonde . . . beautiful in an icy Scandinavian way, not to mention a successful businesswoman everyone’s raving about. On the other hand, I still fit into Zara kids’ clothing, my hair is the colour of wet sand, and while I might be on the way up, I’m a lowly fact-checker. Jeremy and Julia – their names sound horrendously cute – were together for almost two years, while I’ve still got to beat that. Sure, Julia cheated on him, but. . . . well, my past isn’t glorious, either.
I gulp, remembering my disastrous stint last year as an undercover reporter for Beauty Bits, a website run by The Daily Planet , Britain’s biggest tabloid. I’d been working as a cosmetic surgery receptionist at the time, pitching articles to anything with ink. When Jeremy walked in requesting a full-body makeover, I’d known right away I had a stellar story: a heartbroken man willing to go to such lengths to meet the woman of his dreams. The tabloid editor had jumped at the idea, requesting I go undercover to gain ‘intimate access’ to Jeremy. Unfortunately, everything came crashing down when Jeremy’s first operation resulted in a stroke . . . and he discovered I was the one writing the column.
We managed to put all that behind us – somehow. In fact, it’s so far behind us we don’t even talk about it. Why would we? The past is supposed to be forgotten, right? What’s that saying . . . those who live in the past are destined to make the same mistakes – or something along those lines. The only way to really move forward is to focus on the present.
And right now, my present means talking to the one remaining Top Class client.
I glance at the clock: just past nine, and the start of business hours. Grabbing the PR’s list, I punch in the final number.
“Bob Properties, Bob speaking.” A brusque voice comes through the receiver.
What an original company name, I giggle to
He did still look exhausted this morning, though, barely opening his eyes as I crept around getting ready for work. That’s to be expected after everything he’s been through in the past few weeks, I guess. A little R&R and perhaps some more sexual healing (Dad’s favourite song, ergh), and Jeremy will be his old self in no time.
In fact, he’s so keen to get back to normal we’ve even made plans to meet up with Kirsty and Tim tonight at our local pub, The Prince Regent. It’s been ages since we’ve all been out together, and with Kirsty taking off soon . . . Sighing, I tell myself not to think about that. I just want to enjoy the time we have left.
Post-sex glow aside, it’s impossible not to be excited this morning: there’s only one more client to ring, and then I can present Jonas with my additional research! My smile widens as I trot through the quiet newsroom and over to Fact Check Row.
“You need to finish that feature by five today,” Gregor says as I approach. “Shouldn’t be a problem, right? We’ve certainly given you plenty of time – you won’t have that luxury after this week.”
His burst my bubble and I turn to face him reluctantly. God, does the man ever leave? Clad in the same beige ensemble he’s worn every day since I started, he’s gripping the usual steaming mug of foul-smelling coffee. I wrinkle my nose as he sets it down within breathing distance.
Nodding in response, I flip through my notebook with all the quotes from yesterday, flagging up ones that will work best for the article. I roll my eyes as the project managers praise Top Class for its efficiency, dedication to the job, and low costs. Perfect Julia, of course.
A shot of jealousy goes through me, and I can’t help wondering if Jeremy ever compares the two of us. I mean, she’s gorgeous: tall, blonde . . . beautiful in an icy Scandinavian way, not to mention a successful businesswoman everyone’s raving about. On the other hand, I still fit into Zara kids’ clothing, my hair is the colour of wet sand, and while I might be on the way up, I’m a lowly fact-checker. Jeremy and Julia – their names sound horrendously cute – were together for almost two years, while I’ve still got to beat that. Sure, Julia cheated on him, but. . . . well, my past isn’t glorious, either.
I gulp, remembering my disastrous stint last year as an undercover reporter for Beauty Bits, a website run by The Daily Planet , Britain’s biggest tabloid. I’d been working as a cosmetic surgery receptionist at the time, pitching articles to anything with ink. When Jeremy walked in requesting a full-body makeover, I’d known right away I had a stellar story: a heartbroken man willing to go to such lengths to meet the woman of his dreams. The tabloid editor had jumped at the idea, requesting I go undercover to gain ‘intimate access’ to Jeremy. Unfortunately, everything came crashing down when Jeremy’s first operation resulted in a stroke . . . and he discovered I was the one writing the column.
We managed to put all that behind us – somehow. In fact, it’s so far behind us we don’t even talk about it. Why would we? The past is supposed to be forgotten, right? What’s that saying . . . those who live in the past are destined to make the same mistakes – or something along those lines. The only way to really move forward is to focus on the present.
And right now, my present means talking to the one remaining Top Class client.
I glance at the clock: just past nine, and the start of business hours. Grabbing the PR’s list, I punch in the final number.
“Bob Properties, Bob speaking.” A brusque voice comes through the receiver.
What an original company name, I giggle to
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