Read Online Mr. Love: A Romantic Comedy by Sally Mason - Free Book Online
Authors: Sally Mason
Ads: Link
she watches Tommy deletes the pictures she took of him and his little freak show.
“How do you know I didn’t already transfer those to my iPad?” she says as he finishes and throws the phone at her.
“Because you’re too dumb to do that, remember? It was always: Tommy, how do I do this? Tommy, how do I do that? ”
His voice an ugly parody of hers.
Staring at this terrifying stranger she wonders how he gobbled up nice, even-tempered Tom Bennett.
The elevator pings as it reaches her floor.
Jane sprints out expecting Tom to follow her.
But he stays in the elevator and gives her the finger.
“Have a nice life, you boring little bitch.”
The doors close and Jane finds herself shaking and crying as she fumbles with the locks and finally gets herself into her apartment.
The place has never seemed so empty.
She heads for the kitchen, dumps her shoulder bag on the counter and washes her face in the sink, drying herself on a kitchen towel.
The bedroom and its en suite bathroom are a no-fly zone right now.
Jane opens the fridge and finds a bottle of Heineken.
She uncaps it and as she takes a slug she’s a kid for a moment, sitting on the porch on a summer night with her father, a small town sportswriter, listening to hissing old vinyl recordings of Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor and George Carlin, her father allowing her a sip of his favorite beer, the two of them laughing like drains.
She’s almost tempted to call him, her old dad, and cry on his shoulder.
But his heart isn’t good these days and she’ll just freak him out, so she resists the impulse.
These are wounds she’ll have to lick alone.
Jane thinks of Tom and realizes how lucky she was to make that impulsive decision to fly home and surprise him on his birthday.
If she hadn’t she would have married him.
She shudders at the thought of what her life would have become.
Jane chugs back the last of the beer and feels a little of her moxy returning.
She takes her iPad from her bag and powers it up, opening her photo gallery.
And there they are, those disgusting pictures, some impulse getting her to transfer them from her phone while she sat in Starbucks yesterday morning.
See Tom , she says aloud.
I can do it.
Sucker.
Before Jane can talk herself out of it, she creates an anonymous Yahoo email account, finds the addresses of Batton, Barstow and Klinch (the triumvirate of gods who rule over her ex-fiancés law firm) and attaches four of the juiciest pictures of Tom Bennett at his play date.
Jane hesitates for just a moment before she hits send.
“How ’bout them apples, Tommy?” she says out loud, channeling her dear old dad again.
Then she is suddenly exhausted, literally too tired to undress.
Jane falls face down on the couch and just as sleep claims her she thinks of Gordon Rushworth camping in his sister’s living room and she feels an unexpected (and unwanted) sense of kinship.
16
When Jane, feeling bleary and tired after the restless night on her couch, enters the Park Avenue offices of the Jonas Blunt Agency she is confronted by all the staff, led by the imposing figure of her boss himself, standing to applaud her.
Jonas walks over and kisses her on both cheeks, then he puts an arm around her shoulders (she always feels like a child beside him, fitting snugly into his armpit) and says, “Come with me, my conquering hero.”
He leads her past her cubicle to a corner office, the door of which—as he promised—sports a darling little sign saying: JANE COOPER – AGENT .
He pushe s the door open and she sees the desk positioned before a sweeping Midtown vista .
“All yours, darling.”
“Thank you, Jonas.”
“Needless to say, you’ve also nudged yourself up a few notches on the pay scale.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
Jonas slumps on the sofa that occupies a corner of the office.
“Before I leave you to get settled in, let’s have a quick pow -wow about this big fish you’ve
“How do you know I didn’t already transfer those to my iPad?” she says as he finishes and throws the phone at her.
“Because you’re too dumb to do that, remember? It was always: Tommy, how do I do this? Tommy, how do I do that? ”
His voice an ugly parody of hers.
Staring at this terrifying stranger she wonders how he gobbled up nice, even-tempered Tom Bennett.
The elevator pings as it reaches her floor.
Jane sprints out expecting Tom to follow her.
But he stays in the elevator and gives her the finger.
“Have a nice life, you boring little bitch.”
The doors close and Jane finds herself shaking and crying as she fumbles with the locks and finally gets herself into her apartment.
The place has never seemed so empty.
She heads for the kitchen, dumps her shoulder bag on the counter and washes her face in the sink, drying herself on a kitchen towel.
The bedroom and its en suite bathroom are a no-fly zone right now.
Jane opens the fridge and finds a bottle of Heineken.
She uncaps it and as she takes a slug she’s a kid for a moment, sitting on the porch on a summer night with her father, a small town sportswriter, listening to hissing old vinyl recordings of Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor and George Carlin, her father allowing her a sip of his favorite beer, the two of them laughing like drains.
She’s almost tempted to call him, her old dad, and cry on his shoulder.
But his heart isn’t good these days and she’ll just freak him out, so she resists the impulse.
These are wounds she’ll have to lick alone.
Jane thinks of Tom and realizes how lucky she was to make that impulsive decision to fly home and surprise him on his birthday.
If she hadn’t she would have married him.
She shudders at the thought of what her life would have become.
Jane chugs back the last of the beer and feels a little of her moxy returning.
She takes her iPad from her bag and powers it up, opening her photo gallery.
And there they are, those disgusting pictures, some impulse getting her to transfer them from her phone while she sat in Starbucks yesterday morning.
See Tom , she says aloud.
I can do it.
Sucker.
Before Jane can talk herself out of it, she creates an anonymous Yahoo email account, finds the addresses of Batton, Barstow and Klinch (the triumvirate of gods who rule over her ex-fiancés law firm) and attaches four of the juiciest pictures of Tom Bennett at his play date.
Jane hesitates for just a moment before she hits send.
“How ’bout them apples, Tommy?” she says out loud, channeling her dear old dad again.
Then she is suddenly exhausted, literally too tired to undress.
Jane falls face down on the couch and just as sleep claims her she thinks of Gordon Rushworth camping in his sister’s living room and she feels an unexpected (and unwanted) sense of kinship.
16
When Jane, feeling bleary and tired after the restless night on her couch, enters the Park Avenue offices of the Jonas Blunt Agency she is confronted by all the staff, led by the imposing figure of her boss himself, standing to applaud her.
Jonas walks over and kisses her on both cheeks, then he puts an arm around her shoulders (she always feels like a child beside him, fitting snugly into his armpit) and says, “Come with me, my conquering hero.”
He leads her past her cubicle to a corner office, the door of which—as he promised—sports a darling little sign saying: JANE COOPER – AGENT .
He pushe s the door open and she sees the desk positioned before a sweeping Midtown vista .
“All yours, darling.”
“Thank you, Jonas.”
“Needless to say, you’ve also nudged yourself up a few notches on the pay scale.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
Jonas slumps on the sofa that occupies a corner of the office.
“Before I leave you to get settled in, let’s have a quick pow -wow about this big fish you’ve
Similar Books
