Free Talk to Me by Jules Wake Page B

She wasn’t renowned for her subtlety. ‘Just do the standard-nice-girl fob-off, “you’re-far-too-good-for-me-and-I-just-want-to-be-fair-to-you.”’
    She looked at me quizzically.
    I heaved a big sigh. ‘Do you want me to do it?’ It was the only way to stop her upsetting him or so I thought.
    ‘Would you? You’re so much better at that sort of thing.’
    I rolled my eyes. She was the one that wrote press releases about magical lipsticks staying put for forty-eight hours, when everyone knew they’d never pass the ‘one swig of a Bacardi Breezer’ test.
    We went over to her desk and plonking myself in her chair, I started typing.
    ‘Should it be, “Hi Peter” or “Dear Peter”?’
    ‘Try “Oy Weirdo”. Works for me.’
    ‘Ever considered a career in the diplomatic corps?’ My sarcasm was wasted.
    Emily looked blank. ‘I couldn’t give a toss. We just need to get rid of him.’
    I blinked at the casual ‘we’ but let it go. It was easier for me to get on and compose a gentle but firm rejection email explaining that ‘I’ wasn’t ready for a relationship just at the moment.
    Emily tutted and tossed her head throughout. Every time I asked her opinion she pursed her mouth. Half an hour later, after much negotiation, I had an email that we were satisfied with. Emily pressed the magic ‘send’ button.
    ‘Happy now?’ she asked.
    God, she could be a pain. If we weren’t sharing a flat, I would have stuffed the keyboard down her throat. Instead I went back to my cold hot chocolate and a curt voicemail message. My usually mild-mannered boss, Max, was pissed off. Where was I? Thanks to Emily I was five minutes late for a client meeting.
    By lunchtime I’d eaten my home-made sarnie. In fact it had gone before eleven. I needed something else; something nutritious and filling like a pack of Marks & Spencer’s Percy Pigs.
    I set out down Oxford Street with good intentions, but the minute I got to Marks my stomach took charge, making outrageous demands and before I knew it my basket had mysteriously been filled with essentials like feta stuffed olives, pastrami bagel chips, and chocolate-covered peanuts.
    If I hadn’t been so absorbed in my Percy Pigs I might have been paying more attention as I shouldered my way through the damp crowds, dodging umbrella spokes on the way back to the office. Someone rushing by shoved me sharply and glancing up I caught a fleeting impression of glasses mended with electrical tape. Whipping my head around, I tried to get a second look but whoever it was had vanished in the flow of people undulating around me. Bloody Emily and her emails. Now I had Peter on the brain … and a wet neck, as I barged into an umbrella knocking a torrent of water down my collar.
    I planned to sneak into the office hiding the telltale bag under my coat to avoid the universal chorus of ‘I wish you’d said that you were going’. I needn’t have worried – my entrance went completely unnoticed. An excited crowd was gathered around Emily’s desk. Had some major coup in the beauty world happened while I was out?
    ‘What’s all the excitement?’ I asked, as Helene, a junior on Emily’s team, bustled by importantly.
    ‘Miranda Baker has just said she’d do it,’ she gushed. ‘It’s a real coup.’
    The mind boggled. Just what was it that Miranda had agreed to do? The ex-star of one of those teen soaps, she was one of those irritating minor celebrities who popped up everywhere and pretty much did everything.
    ‘Do what?’ I asked.
    ‘Miranda has agreed to wear our dress at the premiere of the new James Bond film,’ burbled Helene. ‘We’re so chuffed. It’s amazing.’
    I glanced quickly at her. What dress? What premiere?
    I hadn’t heard anything about this before. I glanced over at Emily’s blonde head, pennies dropping at speed.
    ‘For the Luscious Lips launch by any chance?’ I asked.
    ‘That’s right. It was Emily’s idea. Isn’t it amazing? We’re having an amazing