Read Online Remember My Name by Abbey Clancy - Free Book Online

treated me. We had fun together. We enjoyed each other’s company. He told great stories about the music business, and he laughed at my not-so-great stories about the Princess business, and he listened to my hopes and dreams and never mocked them. He understood how hard it was getting through my days, but he never let me feel sorry for myself—he was sympathetic, but tough, telling me it was just a stage, just a step. That one day, I’d look back and be grateful for the fact that I had real insider knowledge of how the industry worked …
    Somehow, he made it all make sense. Somehow, he made my hellish days with Patty and her cronies feel worthwhile,part of my work ethic. Somehow, he made all my fears and doubts and insecurities disappear—at least for a few hours. A few hours of great conversation that would be followed up with one of those delicious, heart-rate-bumping kisses.
    Those nights with Jack were the absolute highlights of my London life—not that they had much competition.
    And, I reminded myself as I trekked back to Patty with her miraculously un-spat-in coffee, tonight was going to be one of those nights. We’d already arranged it, and I couldn’t wait.
    I just needed to keep my head down, get through the day without killing anyone (including myself), and look forward to spending time with Jack. We were going for dinner at Chico’s, a little Italian place tucked away in the cutest mews street I’d ever seen, and then, if I was lucky, I’d get some of those gourmet kisses for pudding.
    At least that was the kind of pudding that didn’t add inches to my apparently ginormous hips.

Chapter 8
    I half expected someone to spot the difference in me the next day. I thought Patty would notice the glow, and declare I was looking radiant. Instead, she just narrowed her eyes at me and suggested I should start getting more beauty sleep—’like twenty-four hours a day’.
    Huh. So much for my radiant glow, I thought, as I arranged their organic artisanal macadamia nut cookies on a plate. Not that they’d eat them—the whole PR department was on a permanent diet. They just kind of inhaled them, and then spent the rest of the day talking about how guilty it made them feel. If one of them chewed on a chia seed they’d declare themselves full.
    I nipped to the loo while I waited for the coffee to perc, and glanced at myself in the mirror. Hmm. Maybe she had a point—I did look a bit rough round the edges. My hair had a tangle in the back of it the size of Dubai, and my liner had done an unintentional zigzag beneath my left eye. I wasn’t wearing the same clothes as the day before—Jack had booked me a cab home at the crack of dawn to avoid any Walk of Shamescenarios—but I could definitely do with some quality time in the shower.
    Somehow, though, I just couldn’t find it in me to care. I was happy—I was walking on sunshine, as Katrina and her Waves might have said. I was even happier than I’d have been if I’d scoffed all those organic macadamia nut biscuits.
    It had finally happened. After what felt like a month of foreplay, it had finally happened … and boy, had it had been worth the wait.
    Dinner was lovely, even if I did skip the tiramisu—something that would normally have had my mum feeling my forehead with the back of her hand in case I was running a temperature. And after that, we’d gone to this little place in a backstreet in Chelsea that was all dark wood panelling and smelled of brandy and whisky and cigars, even though nobody seemed to be smoking one.
    We’d spent ages talking; just talking and talking and talking—about music, about life, about family and friends and our hopes for the future. Okay, I will admit that he didn’t reveal too much—but it was a nice change to be with a man who wanted to listen as much as he wanted to bang on about himself. He was genuinely interested in me, which took me a while to get used to—I mean, I’m not that interesting, to be honest. At least