Build a Man by Talli Roland Read Free Book Online Page A

ideas,
but all I could find was some mumbo-jumbo about confidence, setting
goals, and getting clarity. Well, duh. I could have figured that
out. Still, the fact that it’s so nebulous gives me leeway to ask
probing questions. Maybe with the help of wine therapy. It could be a valid method. And if it isn’t, it should be.
    “Are you all
right?” Peter’s impatient voice interrupts my thoughts. “I’ve got a
meeting with one of our suppliers this morning. Come on; we need to
be out of here in fifteen minutes.”
    Even Peter’s
stressy attitude can’t bite into my happy place inside – although
that silly inseam definitely can. Ugh! I tug down my pyjama bottoms
for the umpteenth time. “Give me ten minutes.”
    Inside the
bedroom, I throw on the one clean pair of black trousers I have
left and a polyester paisley nightmare of a blouse resembling a
reject from Bozo the Clown’s costume. There’s no time to change
between the clinic and meeting Jeremy tonight, but life coaches are
supposed to be bright and cheery, right? This blouse certainly
meets that criteria.
    “I thought
since last night was a dud, we might head out for dinner this
evening. I’ve got a voucher for a new restaurant in Mayfair.”
Peter’s voice floats into the room.
    Shit. I’ve been
so busy trying to come up with something to convince Jeremy that I
haven’t even considered how to give Peter the slip tonight. He
often stays at the clinic later than me, and as long as I have the
chicken fillet good to go at seven when he returns, he never asks
what I’ve been up to. Tonight of all nights he wants to go out for
dinner?
    “Um . . . !” I
call back, my mind racing as I button the blouse. What to say?
“It’s just” – what’s the one thing Peter has no interest in? –
“I’ve got a special seminar tonight on how to write for tabloids.
You know, making it big in the industry and such.”
    As I await his
response, an uncomfortable feeling circles around my empty tummy
(no time for Jaffa love today, sadly). I know my column isn’t going
to hurt the clinic – it might even do great things for it – but it
feels strange keeping something so big from my boyfriend.
    “Come on,
Serenity.” I can hear Peter’s long-suffering sigh from here. “Not
tabloids again. If you’re really serious, why don’t you focus on a
real paper? The Times or something? Learn the ropes
properly, work your way up. Forget about those silly rags.”
    Instantly my
stomach discomfort morphs into irritation. Peter may think tabloids
are silly rags, but millions of people read and love them. And why
would I ‘work my way up’ at the boring Times when I’ve got a
big break now – without having to pour someone’s coffee for five
years first?
    “Okay, I’m
ready.” I skid across the parquet toward the door, grabbing my coat
from the hooks by the sideboard on the way.
    “You’re wearing that ?” Peter eyes my ensemble as if it’s about to attack.
Given the vibrant colours, I can’t say I blame him. A little
appreciation for getting ready so quickly might be nice, though.
Before I can open my mouth, he heaves another sigh and helps me
into my coat. “Come on, then.”
    Ten minutes
later, we’re in front of the clinic. Peter unlocks the door, and I
scurry behind the desk and boot up the computer. It’s only
eight-fifteen – plenty of time to get started on my life-coaching
questions for Jeremy. Because once he agrees, I’ll need to begin
the counselling session straight away. My first undercover
interview! Then I’ll have all night to craft the column before
sending it off to Leza tomorrow morning.
    God, I haven’t
the slightest clue exactly what I need to be an effective
undercover reporter. I don’t want to blow my cover the first time
out. What kind of equipment do undercover reporters use? Visions of
me taping a wire to my bits – with Jeremy patting me down to make
sure I’m ‘clean’ – filter through my head. Something flutters in