You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me Read Online Free Page A

‘I interviewed her for Skirt and we really hit it off so she asked me to ghost her memoirs.’
    ‘Oh, she must be quite old if she’s already had a memoir published.’
    ‘She’s twenty-two,’ Max said. ‘Then, after Mand’s autobiography, we wrote a Style Guide and now I’m working on her fourth novel.’
    ‘But I thought you said that you wrote them together?’ It was all very confusing, especially when you’d had too many white-wine spritzers.
    ‘The publisher came up with an idea about a young girl who’s working in a supermarket when she starts dating a footballer, then Mandy and I brainstormed some scenarios, I fleshed it out and three novels later, we’ve sold over a million books. The series has been translated into twenty-three different languages and it’s in development with a film production company,’ Max said proudly. ‘You must have read one of them. Every woman I know has secretly read at least one of them.’
    ‘Look, I don’t read that kind of novel,’ Neve said – and immediately realised how snotty she sounded, if the curl of Max’s top lip was a good indicator. She frantically tried to backtrack. ‘Well, that doesn’t sound very fair; I mean, you do all the work and she gets all the credit and the royalties.’
    ‘Not all the royalties,’ Max demurred. He shook his head. ‘Why don’t you know who she is? Have you just come out from under a large rock?’
    ‘The truth is, I’m not really that interested in celebrities,’ Neve explained carefully. ‘It just all seems rather superficial, and anyway, I have to do a lot of serious reading for my job, so—’
    ‘What is your job?’ Max demanded rather belligerently. ‘I suppose it’s something completely worthy and un superficial, like finding a cure for cancer or solving world hunger.’
    She hadn’t said that he was superficial so there was no need for Max to be quite so snippy. ‘I work at a literary archive,’ Neve informed him coldly. ‘I’m the senior archivist.’
    ‘What? Like a library or something?’
    ‘It’s not the least bit like a library,’ Neve snapped. ‘And safeguarding literary papers for future generations is actually a very worthwhile and rewarding job.’
    ‘If you say so,’ Max said dismissively. ‘Sounds kinda boring to me.’
    Neve was saved from having to tell Max she didn’t appreciate his philistine views on her choice of career by the train pulling into Finsbury Park station.
    As soon as the train came to a halt she was out of her seat and through the doors before they’d even finished opening. She then lurched up the stairs in shoes which had now officially become Instruments of Torture, and would have tried to run down the long tunnel that led to the street if she wasn’t stuck behind a man wheeling a large suitcase behind him.
    It wasn’t long before Max caught up with her, though Neve couldn’t imagine why. If their positions were reversed, she’d have skulked on the platform for several minutes until she was sure he’d gone.
    ‘Is this going to be the pattern for our relationship?’ he asked, body-blocking the Oyster card reader so Neve had to yank him away before somebody intent on swiping their ticket hit him. ‘I say something mildly controversial, you storm off in a huff and then I’m forced to chase after you so I can say I’m sorry?’
    ‘We’re not in a relationship,’ Neve reminded him. She was resolved that this time, she wouldn’t smile or let herself by swayed by Max’s effortless but considerable charm, but God help her, she found herself smiling.
    ‘Fine. You’ve apologised. Again . Isn’t that your bus?’
    They both watched the W7 sail around the corner. ‘Of course, instead of apologising, we could kiss and make up instead?’ Max suggested lightly.
    They were standing in front of the London Underground map, hands shoved into respective pockets. Neve looked up at Max to see if he was joking, because, quite frankly, he had to be joking. Men