Game On Read Online Free Page A

fill.
    “So what will you do?”
    “In the interest of not burning any more bridges than necessary, I told Mr. Bartel that I’d take Miss Congeniality as far as Milan. After that, she, like me, is on her own.”
    “That’s awfully good of you, Lyds. You’re clearly more mature than I could have been.”
    “Mature? Darling, don’t you know me at all?” Lydia said with a moue. “I’m going to drop her off in the hands of the master of Italian fashion.”
    “Antonio Ferralusco?” Clara asked in respectful disbelief.
    Lydia smirked.
    “But he’ll eat her alive!”
    “One can hope.”
    “Oh Miss Truelove, you do know how to use your powers for evil.”
    Clara would have envied Lydia for her cool attitude if her friend’s trembling hands hadn’t given her away. Lydia’s world had just been rocked, but she, as always, was a master of composure.
    Clara, by contrast, was a mess. Her stomach was in knots over her morning meeting. She’d no doubt come to the same end and wished Charlie had just fired them all in England instead of dragging them across an ocean for an international execution.
    “Miss Bean, as much as I hate to change the subject, I do believe we’re being ogled,” Lydia said as she chose another canapé from an offered tray.
    “Oh, do tell, Miss Truelove,” Clara replied, giving her head a little shake at the waiter. If she had a high-speed metabolism like Lydia, she’d have gladly inhaled the entire plate of spanakopita puffs. Alas, she had to stop after two or she’d be borrowing clothes from Charlie.
    “They’re standing by the bar but, for heaven’s sake, don’t look over,” she warned, stopping Clara in mid swivel. “They might take it as an invitation. Let them get their testosterone jacked up first. It’s always more amusing when they swagger.”
    Clara loved this game like she loved flu shots. Lydia always got the attention of the savvy international businessman while Clara inevitably attracted the balding comic book enthusiast with back hair, so there was no hiding her sarcasm when she asked, “Anything to make my lady business tingle?”
    “They’re not bad, actually.”
    It took quite a lot to reach Not Bad on The Lydia Scale, but Clara had to take into consideration her friend’s current state of vulnerability, not to mention the four refills of her champagne flute, so she’d have to have a look for herself.
    “Oh bloody hell, Clara, don’t you dare turn around. One of them is practically undressing you with his eyes.”
    “Is he an overweight, hirsute man in a fishnet shirt? Because I’m not travelling that road again.”
    “Eww, no,” Lydia said, horrified. “But do tell.”
    Clara gulped her drink for recall courage. “Portugal. His name was Rodrigo. I was going through a needy stage.”
    Lydia winced and turned her face away. “Stop please.”
    Two more waiters swept by, one with champagne, the other with smoked salmon on toast points. Clara held her glass to Pato—it was oh, so important to know the name of one’s beverage server—for a libation top up but shook her head at the food. Lydia eagerly helped herself.
    “Don’t think I’m up to this tonight, Lyds. I simply can’t imagine trying to play nicey-nice with the locals while my stomach is still in a twist over Biscuit and this pending unemployment situation.”
    “That’s where we differ, darling. I can’t think of better remedy to life’s woes than a rollicking good orgasm.” Lydia popped the second canapé into her mouth without getting a crumb stuck to her lipstick.
    “That’s your remedy for everything.”
    “Because it works, darling. Now be a good sport, drink more bubbly, and let’s have some fun.”
    Clara gave a little shrug and downed her champers. It was the good stuff, not the eau de catpiss Charlie served every year at the holiday party. Pato, in his smart white short-coat and shiny gold nametag, reappeared before the chill of the last swallow left her throat.
    “How do