Free Katy Carter Wants a Hero by Ruth Saberton Page B

long enough to worry. Selecting a lovely runny Brie, I whack a load on to a cracker, cram it into my mouth and chomp gratefully.
    Chubster? Moi?
    ‘There you are!’ wheezes Julius Millard, standing in the doorway and leering at me. As he speaks he wags a finger. ‘Eating all the Brie, you naughty little minx!’
    Christ! I’m not the only one who’s pissed. Julius advances like the Severn Bore and pins me against the Aga, obviously convinced that I’m totally up for it. Never in the history of the planet has anyone been more mistaken. But I’m in a tricky position, and not just because the Aga is burning a hole in my velvet flares. Do I tell Julius to piss off and risk him giving Ed the promotion out of spite, or do I bite my lip and think of England?
    Actually, isn’t that called prostitution?
    While I’m deliberating and Julius is all but licking his lips, there’s a sudden roar from down the corridor. At least I think it’s a roar, although perhaps it’s a scream. In any case I’m saved because Julius jumps backwards like Skippy.
    ‘What the hell?’ I hear James yell, and then more ominously, ‘Katy!’
    ‘Excuse me!’ I say brightly, ducking under Julius’s arm. ‘I think James needs me.’
    My fiancé is standing in the office doorway, his face absolutely puce with rage because our minimalist box room has been transformed Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen style into Narnia. And I don’t mean lampposts and wardrobes. James’s office is white with paper. Scraps flutter in the stirred air and drift down like home-made ticker tape. The laminate floor is hidden beneath sheets and sheets of paper, James’s Apple Mac is upside down beeping feebly and the Italian leather briefcase looks as though it’s been attacked by Godzilla.
    Right in the middle of all this chaos sits Sasha, chocolate eyes wide and innocent and plumy tail thumping with the joy of having her exile interrupted by so many visitors. I’m not going to point out that maybe she’s been bored and lonely because, quite frankly, I don’t think James will give a damn.
    Hanging from Sasha’s drooling mouth are the remains of a blue file; the blue file that contained the report James has slaved over for weeks. The report that he was going to present to Julius tonight to prove just what an amazing partner he’d make. When I think of the hours that have gone into that report I feel sick, so goodness only knows how James must feel.
    ‘I can explain!’ I say quickly, putting my hand on his arm, but James shakes me off like I’m plague-ridden.
    ‘Don’t bother,’ he hisses.
    ‘But Ollie really helped me and—’
    ‘I said don’t bother!’ James spins on his heel and stalks down the hallway, self-righteous anger dripping from every pore. The bedroom door slams.
    ‘Oh dear!’ says Sophie, so loudly that lost tribes in the Amazon rainforest reach for ear plugs. ‘Was that the Amos and Amos report? Fancy leaving it in such a vulnerable position when it’s so important. My Edward would never have done that.’
    ‘Absolutely not,’ agrees Helena. ‘And I’m sure you would have made certain your dog was well trained, unlike that brute.’
    ‘She’s not a brute,’ snaps Ollie. ‘She was bored.’
    ‘Know how she feels,’ drawls Frankie. ‘Shall I skin up?’
    I want to disappear, wish myself on the moon, anywhere but here.
    Julius Millward peers into the office in confusion.
    ‘Darling,’ gasps Helena gleefully. ‘You’ll never guess what James has done!’
    ‘James didn’t do it,’ I point out. ‘This is my fault.’
    Helena fixes me with a steely glare. ‘The wife of a Millwards executive should support her husband, Katy. Her role is to be his helpmeet.’
    Just as I’m about to tell her to stick the 1950s wife act up her arse, there’s another howl from James. Only this time it’s pain rather than rage.
    ‘My God!’ splutters Julius, as my fiancé ricochets out of the bedroom. ‘Whatever’s going on?’
    It’s a fair