Free Ruined by LP Lovell Page A

around the house.” Lilly promises.
    “Sugar, I don’t get hung over. At least not like you do. I mean, you just don’t hold back babe. You are a balls to the wall fucking mess.” Theo tells her.
    “Hey, I had to hose her down.” Hugo says pointing at me. “Shit doesn’t get much more disgusting than that.”
    “Piss off!” I say as loudly as my pounding head will allow. They both laugh like the smug bastards they are.
    “Dude, she tried to jump me, whilst still covered in her own vomit.” Theo says through his laughter. “I mean, I’ve seen her in some states, and never said no, but that was whole new levels.”
    “Fuck you.” Lilly mumbles, her face buried in my back somewhere. “Don’t you two have somewhere to be?”
    They do eventually leave us to our pitiful states, going out to do some man shit. Apparently Theo is organising, as he and Lilly are leaving for a month long business trip in two days. He has offices in Paris and Rome. She’s going as his legal aid, but well, we all know why she’s really going. He can’t be without her for a whole month. It’s so cute. Right now though, Lilly couldn’t care less what is happening.
    “We’re going to lay here and die for a bit, and then we’re going to order pizza.” She mumbles into my back, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
    I close my eyes against the pounding in my head. I don’t think I’ve ever had a hang over this brutal.
     
    I still don’t feel great on Monday morning. I had totally forgotten that Alex was supposed to be coming over last night. I had to cancel last minute for fear that he might take one look at me and run away screaming. So now, I’m sitting at my desk, pretending to look at my computer as my vision blurs a little. My boss is in mega bitch mode today, which is not helping. I work for a fashion magazine, and as cliché as The Devil Wears Prada is, my life isn’t dissimilar. I swear the woman just knows how much I hate this materialistic, shallow bullshit, so she rams it down my throat even more.
    I got this job because I have an impressive CV and what she called a ‘bullet proof’ attitude. Looking at the other people who work here, that’s not hard. I once saw Sarah, the receptionist actually cry because one of the editorial assistants said she looked like she had put on weight. Seriously? This is the shit I have to put up with. I just need to keep my head down, make editor within a few years, and then bugger off and get a proper editor’s position, for a magazine that writes something useful.
    “Molly!” Diane’s voice screeches from her office. Her voice is like nails being dragged down a chalk board. I steel myself and get up from my desk which is stationed in a small entry office, just off hers.
    “Yes.” I say through gritted teeth. She looks up from her desk, watching me over the rims of her glasses, which are perched on the end of her nose. She has a severe black bob, with a fringe that sits just above her eyebrows. She always wears bright red lipstick, and a sharp suit, usually with a pencil skirt, and she would never ever leave her house without a pair of six inch heels on. She’s the definition of fashionista.
    “Well come in child, don’t just stand there.” She barks. It used to annoy me that she called me child. I mean, she can’t be much older than forty herself, although I have no doubt the woman is a hard core Botox junky. Or maybe she just doesn’t smile…or frown. Who knows? Now though, I’m used to it.
    She has some photos arranged in front of her. “Jean Luc is going to be here this afternoon.” She says without looking up at me. “This is his new collection.” She makes a sweeping gesture across the photos. All I can see is a lot of bright colours and weird materials. I mean really? A bright yellow pleather dress. This cannot be the cutting edge of fashion. It reminds me of those stupid abstract paintings that people pay millions for. It’s not cool in its simplicity,