Construct a Couple by Talli Roland Read Free Book Online

things to focus on. Things like Helen’s article! Shame I couldn’t share my news with Jeremy. When I popped by after leaving Kirsty’s, he was sound asleep. After all his exhaustion of the past little while, I was hardly going to wake him.
    Carefully positioning myself on the plastic chair, I wrinkle my nose at the noxious odour rising from Gregor’s mug. He doesn’t seem bothered, but given the man’s nasal issues, a skunk could let ‘er rip without him taking notice. As if reading my mind, he releases a giant sniff, glaring over like I’ve interrupted his private time. 
     “Hiya!” Lizzie plops down beside me, her hair scraped back in a Croydon facelift (the ponytail is fastened so tightly, it pulls the scalp, too). Today, she’s wearing a lacy skirt, leggings, and a form-fitting yellow cardigan with funky pearl buttons.  Funny, I’d never imagined someone with her vibrant personality sticking it out here for two years – not that she makes a habit of spending more time in the newsroom than required. She swoops in, puts her head down, and works hard, then leaves at five on the dot.
    “Has The Whale been by yet?” she whispers, getting out her pen and notepad.
    “Please don’t call him that,” Gregor hisses, eyes still glued to his monitor.
    “The Whale?” I ask, brow furrowed. Who the hell is The Whale?
    “You know. Jonas.” Lizzie glances around as if his mammalian bulk will emerge from the dingy newsroom corners.
    Gregor heaves a long-suffering sigh. “How many times must I tell you, the Biblical reference is to Jonah, not Jonas! And you call yourself a fact checker. You’re sullying the profession.” He sniffs, and Lizzie and I start giggling.
    Serious journalists do not giggle , I remind myself, straightening my spine. I’m on an important mission today: getting a quote from the Top Class CEO, and maybe even talking to a few clients.  I call up the company’s website on my computer, clicking on the ‘Corporate Team’ link.
    Leaning forward, I squint at the small type. Who the hell designed this site? The narrow black font is stylish but fiendishly difficult to read. Looks like the CEO’s first name is Julia – super cool it’s a female – and the surname is . . . Adams?
    Julia Adams? My mouth drops open as I stare at the letters on the screen. That name is branded on my brain, smouldering every time I think of it. As far as I’m concerned, Julia Adams out-Satans Satan, and if I could wish for one superpower, it’d be to banish her from the face of the earth. Already my insides are curdling with anger.
    Relax, I tell myself. It might not be the same person; there must be hundreds of Julia Adamses living in London. Clicking onto the name, I hold my breath as a photo pops up of a beautiful blonde with sculpted cheekbones. Clad in a severely tailored pinstripe trouser suit and standing with hands on hips, she looks every inch the capable CEO of a successful company; a person whose confident expression says she could conquer the world with one hand tied behind her back.
    Gritting my teeth, I stare into the icy blue eyes of the woman who cheated on my boyfriend with his best friend and business partner, practically forcing him to give up half the company he worked hard to build.
    This is the woman who damaged Jeremy’s self-confidence so badly, he resorted to surgery.
    The CEO of Top Class Construction is none other than Julia, Jeremy’s ex-girlfriend.
    The lick of anger inside becomes a bonfire as I take in her smiling image. God, how unfair Jeremy’s working like mad at a charity while her company rakes in the dough.
    Looking at the photo makes me want to kill someone, so I navigate back to the company’s home page, breathing through my nose to ‘oxygenate’ the brain, like Mom told me to do when ‘negativity threatens to overwhelm me’. After a few intakes of Gregor’s B.O., though, I’m feeling more negative than ever.
    Okay. Well. I’m a professional, right? I can’t let