Free Survival (Twisted Book 1) by Rebecca Sherwin

nervously and sat opposite her. She was exactly what I expected, although the bright red hair pouring to her shoulders in soft waves surprised me. I expected her to be blonde. I guessed she was in her forties, with a smile that seemed to reach both ears, accessorised with two rows of perfect pearly whites. There was no doubt in my mind that Ms Bertolli could charm the birds out of a tree.
    “How are you?” She asked, her voice chirpy and sweet.
    “Good, thank you.”
    “Great,” she pulled out some paperwork and scanned my CV. “So, why Poise?”
    “I’m a huge fan of the magazine. I had subscribed before I knew the position was open and I couldn’t not go for it. Your company has a great reputation and I’d like to be a part of upholding it.”
    “But you have no experience in this industry,” she popped her glasses on and studied the paper. “Or any industry, really.”
    Round one to Nina? No.
    “I understand that,” I replied. “But I have life experience and intuition that means I’d be an integral part of the team.”
    “Is that so?” She peered over her glasses, but I didn’t respond. “I’m looking for someone with experience. A degree, at least. You’re not a journalist, your clerical skills are limited and I have a perfectly good working coffee machine.”
    “It’s about what is on the paper?” I wasn’t allowing her words to sting. I had no part of me left to hurt. “Someone can be tardy, lazy and rude, but because they’ve got a certificate in a frame on a wall, that makes them worthy?”
    She pursed her lips in an attempt to remain professional, but it looked like a wince. I knew then that I had blown it.
    “We’ll call you if you qualify for the next stage of recruitment.”
    She looked down at the papers again and crossed my name off the list.
    I stood and moved to the door, but rested my hand on the handle and turned to face her.
    “I have nothing to lose. I have no friends, no family, no children. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke and I’m allergic to cats. I won't be rushing off to feed a feline instead of focussing on my career. And I don’t own a passport,” I opened the door as she looked up at me in shock. “But what I do have is fight. That’s all I have. Determination, guts and loyalty. That’s the stuff you can't see by looking at a sheet of paper. That’s the stuff that matters.”
    I left her office with my head held high. I hadn’t lost. I was proud of myself.
    “Miss Jones?” She called, summoning me like the headmistress. I turned to see almost six feet of her standing at her door. “Do not wear the same thing twice in a two week cycle. I don’t tolerate chipped nail polish or unwashed hair. I will not stand for hangovers or needing a day off because your boyfriend stubbed his toe. You have one week to prove yourself to me. One week.”
    She slammed her door and Mocha Lady stared at me, dumbfounded.
    “She’s been recruiting for months. She must see something special in you, Skye.”
    “I burn,” I smiled with triumph. “Like a skillet.”

Fifteen
    Oh, Margarita Monday, what have you done to me?
    July 26 th , 2006.
     
    “Seriously? Michael was hot!”
    I poured us another glass of wine and took a huge mouthful. Mocha Lady a nd I had been friends for two years, although I stopped calling her Mocha Lady when I found out she had a much more exotic name. Penelope Anastas. Her mother, Clarisse, was from the West Indies and her father, Christos, was Greek. It gave her a complexion meant for the camera. She only had to sit by a window for two minutes and she would turn a golden brown. I would have to sit under the sun, soaked in vegetable oil; and even then I’d only turn a painful-looking shade of pink. Penelope was the first person I let into the flat and she had kind of become part of the furniture; we would go back to my place every Monday for a glass of wine before we went out.
    “There are lots of hot guys out there. We had a few dates, he was