Читать книгу Fired by Her Fling - Christy McKellen - Страница 10

THREE

The next morning, Lula held her thumping head in her hands as her bus made slow progress towards Covent Garden.

How could she have thought it was a good idea to have such a wild night when she had to go into work this morning and defend herself against King Dong Jez?

Clearly something had snapped in her tiny, overwrought brain.

Not that she exactly regretted her time spent with Tristan.

A warm wave of pleasure swept through her body as she remembered how great he’d tasted, all musky and earthy and sweet. Like salted caramel and strong coffee and sex. Delicious. Her taste buds tingled in response to the sensory memory. He’d smelt amazing too, like fresh linen and spicy shaving gel and cleanness.

If only she could bottle his amazing scent and market it, it’d probably sell out in minutes and make her a fortune. She’d never need to work again.

Not that she did it for the money. Ever since she’d discovered the buzz of pride and sense of accomplishment she got from hosting a radio show she’d been totally focused on getting to where she was today.

She couldn’t have this job snatched away from her now; it would break her heart.

Alighting from the bus, she put her sunglasses on to protect her poor tired eyes against the bright spring sunshine and shoved her way through the crowded shopping streets of Covent Garden.

After some expert ducking and dodging, she made it to the quieter end where the radio station was housed on the top floor of an old converted red-brick warehouse. Climbing the innumerable stairs, she felt her heart thudding against her ribcage in protest at the intense cardio workout. She wanted to go home, put her head under her pillow and blot out the rest of the day, but she knew she had to pull up her big girl pants and face whatever was in store for her today.

There was no running away from this mess.

Her stomach rumbled and flipped over as she walked into the sharply stylish, über contemporary reception area, which always smelled wonderfully of fresh coffee and the amazing Danish pastries that Flora the Receptionist kept strictly for visitors to the station.

She remembered with regret how she hadn’t even had time to grab breakfast after sleeping through her alarm and having to scramble into the shower then throw on the first set of smart clothes that came to hand. There hadn’t even been time for pain relief—she’d desperately rifled through the medicine cupboard only to find she was out of paracetamol—so now she was going to have to sit through her meeting with a churning stomach and a head that felt as if someone was banging a thousand tiny hammers against it.

As she was standing there contemplating her fate, one of the broadcast assistants walked past her into reception carrying what smelled like a hot bacon sandwich and she nearly fell to her knees with need.

‘Claire? I will love you for ever and have your darling babies if you let me buy that from you,’ she gasped, her eyes glued to the potential lifeline in Claire’s hand.

‘Sorry, Lula, no can do.’ Claire smiled apologetically. ‘This is for the Big Cheese that’s here for your meeting. He’s been prowling round the station like a disgruntled tiger since he got here and I daren’t be much longer or he might bite my head off and eat that instead.’

Ugh! This morning got worse and worse. Now it looked as if she was going to have to sit in a room and watch her bad-tempered judge and juror chomp his way through breakfast nectar while her own stomach shrivelled to nothing—right before she was unceremoniously fired.

‘God, he sounds like a monster,’ she muttered, looking at Claire beseechingly, hoping for some little titbit to prepare her for what lay in wait behind the conference room door.

‘He probably just got out of bed the wrong side today,’ Claire said, shrugging one shoulder. She leaned in closer to Lula and dropped her voice. ‘He’s younger than I was expecting and much better-looking.’ From the twinkle in her eye, Lula could tell Claire was a little awestruck.