Read Online Sweet Temptation by Lucy Diamond - Free Book Online Page B

that evening, where all I could think about was how bloody famished I was.
    Today, I’d had porridge and a banana for breakfast . . . and that delicious doughnut for elevenses. It was all Patrick’s fault: he’d brought them in and he knew how much I loved Krispy Kremes.
    I was just about to be virtuous and say ‘Diet Lunch’ when he got in there first.
    ‘Only I’ve still got such a hangover from last night, and I could murder a bacon sandwich. I don’t know if the Greasy Spoon does much in the way of diet food, but . . .’
    ‘Oh, sod it,’ I said, already imagining a rasher of hot pink bacon and a fat-spattered fried egg. And, while I was at it, thick buttered toast, baked beans, soggy mushrooms and a ketchup mountain. ‘The Greasy Spoon it is.’
    After a scarily calorific fry-up (it was going to take more than the promise of a charm bracelet to get me back into skinny jeans), a frothy cappuccino and two cigarettes, we were back at our desks, and I had a client to meet. Balls.
    ‘Wanna swap?’ Patrick called over. ‘I’ve got fifty-eight-year-old Susan coming in who looks like my old headmistress.’ He squinted at the photo, suddenly nervous. ‘Fuck. I’m actually starting to think it is my old headmistress. Terrifying old dragon, she was. Who’ve you got?’
    ‘A bloke,’ I replied. ‘Joe someone or other.’
    Patrick raised an eyebrow. ‘Is he hot? Email me his photo,’ he said.
    ‘Bad luck,’ I told him. ‘No photo.’
    ‘Hmmm, sounds dodgy already,’ Patrick said. ‘Probably a complete munter. How was he on the phone? Sexy voice?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘We didn’t arrange the booking on the phone, it was all on email.’
    Patrick pulled a face. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘That means a high-pitched, shrieky one, then. God, we’ve got a right pair coming in by the sound of things. Headteacher Dragon, and Shrieky Munter. I definitely need to put those two in our Love Hearts Top Trumps set.’
    In a dull moment one day, in between harassing Brad Pitt on Facebook and Twittering about his new jeans, Patrick had compiled a mock ‘Top Trumps’ game featuring all of our most memorable clients. He’d designed proper cards with their photos on and assigned them points for ‘Sex Appeal’, ‘Fear Factor’, ‘Stalker Potential’ and so on. I was terrified of it ever being discovered, but it was a brilliant way to kill a boring afternoon, pitting Slaphead Bob against False-Teeth Hettie, or what-have-you.
    ‘Well, we’re not swapping,’ I told him now. ‘You do Dragon-Lady, as arranged. The old dears love you. I’ll take the Munter.’
    The buzzer went just then to let us know someone was in reception for us. We worked on the top floor of a dingy Victorian building just off Broad Street, and shared the receptionist (Humour-Bypass Carol) with the rest of the businesses.
    ‘Ooh, someone’s punctual,’ Patrick said, rolling his eyes. He picked up the phone. ‘Hi, sweet-cakes . . .’ (Patrick was surely the only person in the world ever to have called Carol that.) ‘Oh, right, thanks . . . Send her up, then.’ He got to his feet and straightened his Thomas Pink shirt. ‘Okay . . . Enter the Dragon,’ he said theatrically and went to meet her at the lift.
    He brought back a rather jolly-looking silver-haired lady and led her into one of our interview rooms. I could tell by the way she giggled and gazed at him through her lashes that she was already melting in his presence.
    While I waited for the Munter, I answered a few emails and began uploading a new profile for the website.
    Matthew Baines, finance director for large law firm, aged 35. Blimey, Matthew had done well for himself. That was, of course, if ‘finance director’ didn’t translate as ‘the lackey who got sent to deposit cheques at the nearest Barclays’. I’d become an expert at reading between the lines.
    Searching for The One – a soulmate and partner who makes me smile.
    Ah, bless. I had a squiz