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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
Copyright © Aimée Duffy 2013
Cover Photographs © shutterstock.com
Aimée Duffy 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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Ebook Edition © August 2013 ISBN: 9780007540280
Version 2014-09-24
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Tonightâs a tequila night, screw the lime mixer.
Shey Lopez grinned at Georgiaâs email to her and their other roommate, Eloisa. No doubt about it, the week had dragged and she was up for something stronger than their usual pitcher of frozen margaritas.
She hit reply to all and got typing.
Iâm in.
Jude Graham chose that second to clear his throat at the door to her office. She fought back a scowl at her boss and hit CTRL & E without glancing at the screen. The high-maintenance bitch looked flustered, which was ironic since heâd barely lifted a finger all week. His whole me editor, you do what I tell you attitude got on her nerves. If Storm wasnât the best fashion magazine in New York, sheâd be out of there faster than Jude could buff his fingernails. And, going by the way that they shined, he was a pro.
âWhat can I do for you, Jude?â Surely he could tell the saccharine tone of her voice was false. Then again, being false was one of Judeâs many talents.
âI need those proofs for the Gianni article by the end of the day.â
Sheyâs smile slipped. Heâd given her the paperwork less than an hour ago and it was already way past three. The guy was a nightmare, too busy wrapped up in another argument with his husband to care about his job. She couldnât wait for the day she cranked up enough experience to leapfrog over his ass and be the editor, not the assistant.
âThereâs only two hours left and I have other work to do,â she said, sounding calm, even though her heart rate increased with trepidation. Still, she was playing over all the insults she could think of in her mind.
He scowled, or tried to. The botox didnât leave much room for changes in his expression. âThereâs more than one smart-assed girl in this building who would kill for your position. If the article isnât on my desk at five, you can kiss your job goodbye.â
With that and more flourish than a prom queen, he left. Shey was tempted to launch her stapler at the empty doorway, but resisted. Everything good in life came with a price, or so she told herself. Her dream job should have a downside, it was only the natural balance of things. That little bitch Jude was what she had to suffer to get to the top, and she would suffer him and do it with a smile.
Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath. And then another. Her yoga instructor would be proud.
With her head cleared, she got her focus back in the game. Jude would have his article on the desk by four forty-five. She could do this. And later, when her head was frazzled and her fingers ached, sheâd go out with her girls and drink the well dry.
Opening a new email, she sent another message to Georgia and Eloisa.
The bitch is at it again. Make mine doubles.
After hitting send, she got to work.
***
With half an hour to spare, Shey was relieved her speedy fingers and dedication meant sheâd get to see Judeâs jaw drop. Three read-throughs later and the article was as polished as she could make it, but she wasnât kidding herself that it would be enough. Little bitch, or LB as most of the office staff called him, was pernickety and thorough. One mistake or missing word and heâd come down on her so hard that some would think sheâd made an attempt on his husbandâs life.