I've Got Your Number by Sophie Kinsella Read Free Book Online Page B

know I’ve said some pretty screwy things to Magnus when I’ve been pissed and hormonal. But I would never, ever put them in an email and get his assistant to print it out—
    My head bobs up in realization. Shit! There’s no Violet anymore. No one’s going to print it out and put it on Sam’s desk. He won’t know about it and he won’t reply and Willow will get even more livid. The awful thing is, this thought makes me want to giggle again.
    I wonder if this is a bad day or if she’s always this intense. I can’t resist typing Willow in the search engine, and a whole series of emails pop up. There’s one from yesterday, with the title Are you trying to fuck me or fuck WITH me, Sam? Or CAN’T YOU DECIDE??? and I get another fit of the giggles. Yikes. They must have one of those up and down relationships. Maybe they throw things at each other and shriek and bellow, then have mad passionate sex in the kitchen—
    Beyonce blasts out from the phone, and I nearly drop it as I see Sam Mobile appear on the screen. I have a sudden mad thought that he’s psychic and knows I’ve been spying on his love life.
    No more snooping, I hastily promise myself. No more Willow searches. I count to three—then press answer .
    “Oh, hi there!” I try to sound relaxed and guiltless, like I was just thinking about something else altogether and not at all imagining him screwing his fiancee amid a pile of broken crockery.
    “Did I have an email from Ned Murdoch this morning?” he launches in without so much as a “Hi.”
    “No. I’ve sent all your emails over. Good morning to you too,” I add brightly. “I’m really well, how about you?”
    “I thought you might have missed one.” He completely ignores my little dig. “It’s extremely important.”
    “Well, I’m extremely thorough,” I retort pointedly. “Believe me, everything that’s coming in to this phone, you’re getting. And there wasn’t anything from Ned Murdoch. Someone called Willow just emailed, by the way,” I add casually. “I’ll forward it on. There’s an attachment, which sounded quite important. But obviously I didn’t look at it at all. Or read it or anything.”
    “Hrrrmm.” He gives a kind of noncommittal growl. “So, have you found your ring?”
    “Not yet,” I admit reluctantly. “But I’m sure it’ll turn up.”
    “You should inform your insurers anyway, you know. They sometimes have a time limit for claiming. Colleague of mine got caught out that way.”
    Insurers? Time limits?
    I suddenly feel clammy with guilt. I’ve given this no thought at all. I haven’t checked up on my insurance or the Tavishes’ insurance or anything. Instead, I’ve been standing at a pedestrian crossing, missing my chance to walk, reading other people’s emails and laughing at them. Priorities , Poppy.
    “Right,” I manage at last. “Yes, I knew that. I’m on it.”
    I ring off and stand motionless for a moment, the traffic whizzing in front of me. It’s like he’s pricked my bubble. I have to come clean. It’s the Tavishes’ ring. They should know it’s lost. I’ll have to tell them.
    Hi there! It’s me, the girl you don’t want your son to marry, and, guess what? I’ve lost your priceless family ring!
    I’ll give myself twelve more hours, I abruptly decide, pressing the pedestrian button again. Just in case. Just in case.
    And then I’ll tell them.
    I always thought I might be a dentist. Several of my family are dentists, and it always seemed like a pretty decent career. But then, when I was fifteen, my school sent me on a weeklong work experience placement at the physio unit at our local hospital. All the therapists were so enthusiastic about what they did that focusing only on teeth suddenly felt a bit narrow for me. And I’ve never regretted my decision for a moment. It just suits me, being a physio.
    First Fit Physio Studio is exactly eighteen minutes’ walk from my flat in Balham, past Costa, and next to Greggs, the baker.