Free Build a Man by Talli Roland Page B

called him in the
column – into a modern-day Heathcliff, all tortured and tormented,
and just . . . ugly. I feel weird about that since Jeremy’s really
not bad-looking, but it’s not like people will know it’s him I’m talking about. Writing about James is almost like writing about
a character I’m creating, and for a second I almost forget he
actually is Jeremy.
    An hour later,
I push out of the conference room and over to Leza’s pod.
    “Here.” I hand
her the finished copy and my heart starts thumping again. I think
I’ve done it – I’ve certainly upped the drama and the anguish – but
did I go far enough? For a second, I want my article back again, to
make Jeremy even more pathetic.
    But Leza’s
blood-red lips are curving into a smile. “Now this is what
I’m talking about. Good girl.”
    Relief washes
over me. Thank God.
    “We’ll post it
tomorrow for the launch. Have you given any thought to your first
poll?” she asks. “I’m thinking the nose.”
    “Poll?” I echo,
before remembering she wants to run a poll alongside my column to
have readers choose Jeremy’s new bits. “Um, yes. Nose, for
sure.”
    Leza turns
toward me, tossing back her platinum hair. “You know, I’m
impressed. Most first-time writers here whinge and whine about
integrity, blah blah blah. But you got on board, fast. I like your
writing; I like how you’ve gone straight for the jugular after I
told you what’s what. You could have a future here, after all.”
    “That’s great!”
Happiness gushes through me. I knew I could do it. I knew this could be the start of my career. I push aside the finger of
doubt jabbing my gut – the thing Leza mentioned about integrity.
But that doesn’t apply to me, right? I’m not hurting anyone.
    “If things go
well with the column, we might even consider upping its frequency.”
She thrusts a pointy red fingernail at me. “Just don’t get all
wussy. Remember–”
    “If it bleeds,
it leads,” I finish for her, grinning.
    Leza grins
back, showing off her bleached teeth in all their glory. “Exactly,
Serenity. Exactly.”
     
    Thirty minutes
later, I pull open the door of the clinic, my chest heaving up and
down with the effort of sprinting from the Tube. It’s almost
three-thirty, and I’ve been gone much longer than the few minutes
it would take to medicate Smitty. On the way home, I developed a
story: Smitty was distressed, and I couldn’t leave again until he
calmed down. God knows how a cat in distress behaves, but hopefully
it will get me out of trouble.
    Thankfully the
waiting area is empty, but I hear the low rumble of Peter’s voice
and a high-pitched squeaky one coming from the consulting room, so
I’m assuming Peter’s with either a client or a chipmunk. I head
behind the desk, eyeing the sharpened pencils and neatly capped
pens. Even the envelopes are perfectly piled, edges aligned. Guess
it wasn’t too busy here, then.
    Sinking onto
the stool, I let out a big sigh. Every muscle in my body feels like
after Kirsty and I did a session on the Power Plate: shaken,
stirred, and drained. Thank God I’m on Leza’s good side now, that
she loved my column in the end, and that it will be posted
tomorrow. Determination grips me again as images of the funky
lime-green and bamboo office flash through my head. God, I want to
work there.
    Peter walks
into the reception, a haughty woman trotting on stilettos behind
him. I can’t help smirking at the two stripes of blonde and black
dyed into her fringe. She does resemble a chipmunk.
    “Oh, hello.
You’re back,” he says, with a pointed look at the clock above the
desk.
    “Sorry, Doctor,
it took longer than I thought.” I drop my head to hide my
annoyance. He’s acting like I’m an errant schoolchild returning
late from my lunch hour.
    “Thank you,
Doctor.” Chipmunk puts a hand on his arm, smiling as much as her
frozen face will allow. “You’re a genius. And so lovely, too.”
    Ugh. I
roll my eyes as Peter bids