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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2017
Copyright © Lindsey Kelk 2017
Cover illustration © Bree Leman
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Lindsey Kelk asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008236816
Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008236830
Version 2017-07-24
âAngela?â
I looked up from a swamp of unfinished magazine pages to see my assistant loitering in the doorway.
âCici?â
âYou told me to let you know when it was seven,â she replied, tossing her icy long blonde hair over her shoulder. âBecause you canât use a clock like normal people.â
âItâs seven already?â I said with a groan, sweeping all the pages up into a messy pile in front of my computer screen. I ran a hot hand over my forehead, into my own hair. My dirty blonde, very messy, and past-the-help-of-dry-shampoo hair.
âSee how the big hand is on the twelve and the little hand is on the seven?â Cici replied slowly, pointing to the massive clock on my office wall. âThat means seven oâclock. Ninety minutes after you stopped paying me, for anyone who might be taking notice of that kind of thing. Not HR, obviously, since they went home hours ago.â
âShit,â I muttered. âIâm going to be late.â
Turning off my computer, I grabbed my Marc Jacobs satchel from the new coat stand Iâd bought for my office. All that was missing now was a fold-out bed and a potted plant then Iâd never need to go home. I paused for a second, wondering whether or not I could fit one in the corner. Maybe if I moved the coat stand â¦
Cici shrugged, her face perfectly even. I couldnât decide whether she looked so expressionless because sheâd had really great Botox, or because she genuinely didnât give a shit. In my heart, I hoped for the former, but after years of working together, my head assured me it was the latter.
âYou should go home,â I told her as I stuffed myself into my jacket, the sleeves of the cropped cashmere jumper Iâd nicked from the fashion cupboard bunching up around my armpits. âThanks for staying late, I really appreciate it.â
âYeah, whatever.â Cici didnât do âgratefulâ unless it came with a hashtag. âIâm leaving now, I have a date.â
âMe too,â I muttered. Casting a quick look in the mirror on top of my filing cabinet, I grimaced at my wayward eyeliner and sad, sallow skin. Had I been outside at all today? âAnd weâre totally going to miss our reservation.â
âBut â youâre married?â she replied, looking confused.
âYou can still go on dates when youâre married,â I explained, licking my ring finger and swiping at my undereyes while Cici gagged in the corner. âItâs not forbidden.â
She looked at me, completely scandalized. âDoes Alex know?â
âThe date is with Alex,â I sighed as I gave up on my face. Iâd fix it on the subway. âHeâs leaving tomorrow.â
âOh.â She frowned, clearly disappointed at the loss of potential drama. âWhatever.â
âOK, great, see you in the morning,â I said, flying out the door as fast as my high heels would carry me. Which wasnât really all that fast, if I was being entirely honest.
âIâm sorry,â I shouted, the front door hitting the hallway wall with a bang. âWe had to pull a feature and I had to write a replacement and I lost track of time. Just let me get changed and we can leave andââ
âOr we could stay in?â