Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2) Read Online Free Page B

pushed the clipboard back at him,
slightly too roughly. "Is that everything?"
    His face was still friendly but there wasn't a scrap of
sympathy in his eyes. He was pleasant and efficient and totally unconcerned by
other people's mistakes. "Thanks, love. You get off, now. We'll sort
it."
    Underwhelmed by his magnanimity, she nodded, unable to bring
herself to politely say goodbye. Still ignoring the blatant spectators she
trudged back up to her flat, and slammed the door as hard as she could.
      Fuck. Fuckity. She ran through a stream of profanity
in her head but it didn't help at all. She dropped her coat on the floor like a
defiant child, but there was nobody here to annoy, and that somehow made it
worse.
    Half past seven. Half past seven in the morning and not a
scrap of a commission to be had.
    She had an article in a regional magazine currently on the
newsstands, and it irked her every time she saw the glossy cover. She'd
invoiced them but they didn't pay out for forty days. She'd sold some very classy
shoes on eBay and taken a heap of second-hand books to a shop which paid out a
desultory amount, but enough for her to buy food.
    This is stupid, and this cannot go on. She padded
through to her bedroom, and grabbed the duvet, before returning to the living
room. She wrapped the duvet around her and sat on the sofa, thinking.
    I am so tired. She rested her chin on her knees and
hugged her legs tightly, curled up like a cat amongst the bedding and cushions.
The morning light was eking its way through the half-open blinds, revealing the
piles of paper by her computer desk. She liked to kid herself that the mess
reflected how much work she was doing.
    What a joke.
    She longed for Kayleigh. Her best friend and previous flat
mate had moved away. Not just away - abroad. The move had changed their
relationship. By phone, they'd argued about Turner, way back at his trial.
Well, not so much about Turner, as about Emily's attitude. Things hadn't been
the same since then.
    It was too hard to maintain a friendship by phone anyway, she told herself, looking at her mobile and deciding not to ring Kayleigh. But
who else was there? Emily started to realise she'd let herself become almost a
recluse. The freelance life wasn't just financial ruin - it was social ruin,
too.
    Now what?
    Well, there's a bottle of cheap red wine in the kitchen
that I've been saving for a special occasion. This is pretty damn special.
    Oh my god. Am I seriously considering drinking at this
time in the morning? Today, acidic Cabernet Sauvignon - tomorrow, cut-price
cider from a two-litre bottle as I sit on a park bench and shout at passers-by.
    She lost track of time as she sat there, gripped by inertia
and gloom, until her phone buzzed her an incoming message and she nearly leapt
off the sofa.
    Turner.
    Oh god, what would he think of her now? She could barely
bring herself to read his message.
    Let's do lunch! Remember that café at the Quays? Midday?
    No, no, no. Not today. Part of her just wanted to be
enfolded into his arms, safe and warm and protected. But the other part of her
- the stronger part, she thought - needed to get herself out of this mess,
first. She'd be damned if she turned into one of those women who moped around,
waiting to be rescued.
    She would do her own rescuing.
    So she texted him back. Sorry. Deadline due today. Won't
be free until late afternoon.
    She pressed send and that seemed to commit her to her new
course of action. She didn't want to lie to him; not more than she had done
already. He believed in her and her work; he said she was a woman worth going
straight for.
    She made herself a deadline, to make her message about
deadlines into truth. She'd find herself a job by this afternoon. Somehow.
     
    * * * *
     
    It's an oldie but a goldie. Turner air-guitared his
way through his house while the Red Hot Chili Peppers made the windows throb.
He was on a cleaning kick, determined to spray, scrub, polish and dance his
house to a state of