The Fashion Police Read Online Free Page B

Australian twang sounded over the phone.
    ‘What are you talking about? I did put them in,’ I replied, taking a swig of wine and holding my glass out for more. 
    ‘Did you activate them? I’m trying to listen to them, but I’m not getting any audio at all.’
    ‘Of course I did.’ 
    ‘Well, they’re not working. You’ll have to go back tomorrow and put some more in.’
    ‘Crapety crap!’ I said, eyeing up Romeo’s full moon as he tossed the salad.
    ‘Let me know when they’re in – oh, and Foxy…I need it done bright and early.’
    ‘Yes, boss.’ I hung up and frowned.
    ‘Problem?’ Romeo asked.
    I didn’t want to get onto the subject of Brad, so I deflected the conversation sharpish. ‘Nope, nothing to worry about. Hey, have you tidied up in here?’ I glanced around the room. My haphazard magazine stack had been arranged in a neat pile on the coffee table. The fluffy cushions on my black leather sofa had been perfectly plumped. My DVDs had been re-stacked in my reclaimed wooden rack – in alphabetical order, no less – and my photos all stood to attention, marching in a perfect, ninety-degree-angled row across the book shelf. ‘You’ll make someone an excellent wife.’
    ‘Well, it’s no use leaving the cleaning up to you. It would never get done. I even tidied up your tool box.’ He nodded his head toward the small case that now closed perfectly, instead of having miscellaneous handles and tools poking out willy-nilly. ‘So, how was your day really?’ Romeo gathered me back into his arms.
    ‘Somewhere in between rubbish and very rubbish.’ Where did I begin? My boss had come on to me on my first day, I had a suspicious-looking mochaccino stain on my passenger seat, I’d just bugged the offices of one of the most famous fashion designers in the world, and a tarantula had tried to eat me. And that didn’t even include the toilet arrangements. God, my life was so doomed.
    ‘That good, huh?’ he asked, his voice full of sympathy.
    ‘Insurance investigation is about as interesting as an Anorak convention.’
    ‘Want me to make it better?’
    ‘Only if you insist.’ I giggled.
    Romeo’s mouth widened into a lazy smile. ‘Hmm, let’s start with your clothes, then.  You’re wet.’ With expert precision, he slipped my T-shirt over my head.
    ‘No kidding.’

3
     
    The following morning I was ripped from my slumber by Romeo licking my foot. I could think of worse ways to wake up, but I’d never really been into toe-licking in a big way.
    ‘Get off!’ I groaned, moving my foot out of reach and sinking back into la-la land.
    A few minutes later he did it again. I sat up and saw Marmalade eyeing me with a naughty expression. Romeo was nowhere to be seen.
    ‘You are gross,’ I said. Marmalade, who seemed quite pleased with that pronouncement, let out an ecstatic purr.
    Getting up, I picked up my ginger fur-ball, carried him into the kitchen, and poured some very stinky kitty biscuits in his bowl. I heaped a teaspoon of coffee into a mug and then added another for luck. I had a weird feeling that today was going to be a very long day.
    After soaking in the shower for ten minutes, I dried my hair and went a bit overboard with some brown eyeliner and mascara. Even though my life seemed to be a bit crappy these days, it didn’t mean I had to look it, right?
    ****
    On my way back to the Fandango building, I realized that I was near Callum Bates’s house so I took a detour, hoping to cross him off my list of files.
    When I pulled up at the address, I shook my head. You couldn’t mistake his house if you tried. It was the only one on the dreary looking street whose front garden looked like a car breaker’s yard. At least the other residents had tried to spruce up their gardens with the odd gnome and hanging basket. I dodged past the dissected car parts and empty vehicle shells that sat abandoned on the drive, arriving at Callum’s lime-green front door with only one drop of oil on