The Morning After the Night Before: Love & Lust in the city that never sleeps! Read Free Page B

Tori into a slightly more upright and appropriate position without causing offence.
    â€˜Nice to meet you,’ Harry hedged, unwilling to give away too much. ‘So this is your party?’
    â€˜My flatmate’s actually. She’s just out of a dreadful job.’
    â€˜Do you always celebrate employment changes?’
    â€˜This one we do. Izzy’s been miserable for months. Lousy job, lousy new boss. She’s well out of it.’
    Lousy?
    â€˜Maybe a job is what you make it,’ Harry defended.
    â€˜She made that one long enough.’ Tori pouted prettily. ‘You can’t polish a turd.’
    To have his entire career aspiration and management expertise summarily written off stung. Like a bitch.
    â€˜Would you like a drink, Harry?’ Poppy offered, though he wasn’t sure how she thought he would manage a glass with both hands full of busty, wriggling woman.
    â€˜I’d love one,’ he said. ‘And I wouldn’t mind meeting your flatmate. Congratulate her on her…new-found freedom.’
    Drag her back to the firm kicking and screaming, if necessary.
    â€˜Conveniently they’re in the same place. Izzy’s hiding in the kitchen.’
    Hiding? That wasn’t the woman he knew. Isadora Dean was always the centre of attention in any space. Laughing and shaking back her dark blond mop and generally being delightful to her adoring audience.
    And thoroughly distracting to him.
    She should have been in her element at a party that was all about her.
    He set Tori to her feet and she happily took him by his loosened tie and led him through the crowd to the kitchen.
    â€˜Izzy,’ she gushed dramatically, entering with him and Poppy in tow. ‘A man without a drink is a tragedy not to be borne.’
    The woman in question emerged from behind the fridge door, a warm smile on her face, and turned automatically to the sink full of ice and beer. But the smile died the moment she saw who stood in her kitchen.
    â€˜What the bloody hell are you doing here?’
    â€˜Izzy!’ Poppy’s shock could have been for the language as much as the tone.
    â€˜Dean.’ He nodded, cautiously.
    â€˜What is he doing here? ’ she hissed again, as if he weren’t in the room. Kind of desperately.
    â€˜He’s a guest…’ Tory squinted, then twisted to look at him. ‘Isn’t he?’
    â€˜He’s my boss!’ Dean sputtered.
    Tori dropped his tie and it fell, flaccid, against his suit. Both women turned on him and there was a surprising amount of unity in the three angry female faces now facing him.
    â€˜ Ex -boss,’ he reminded her. Though hopefully not for long. He thrust his hand out to finish the introductions Poppy had started. ‘Harry Mitchell.’
    â€˜You’re really him?’ Poppy squeaked.
    â€˜But you’re gorgeous,’ Tori helpfully contributed. ‘I imagined you hideous and old.’
    Dean’s face flamed. ‘Tori! Bad enough you’ve been giving him a lap dance—’
    She rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t know, Iz. Obviously.’
    Dean reached for her glass and clutched it, white-knuckled, like a weapon. ‘Why are you here?’
    â€˜To see you.’
    â€˜I hope you’re not planning on begging her to come back.’ Poppy laughed. ‘You could have saved yourself the tube fare.’
    Begging. Cajoling. Bribing. Little Miss Potty-Mouth had suddenly become Britain’s most wanted. As galling as that was.
    â€˜There was an email circulating, inviting all staff.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m staff.’
    â€˜You’re not staff, you’re my supervisor,’ Dean pointed out. He took a shred of comfort from her use of the present tense.
    â€˜Management weren’t excluded,’ he thrust. As if staff communiques usually came with small print.
    â€˜So, now even my party invites are sub-standard?’ she parried. ‘Common