LITMIR.BIZ

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Dedication

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Keep Reading …

       About the Author

       Also by Bella Osborne

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

      Regan knew it was going to be a bad day when she awoke to find she was using a half-eaten kebab as a pillow.

      ‘You’re going to be late again,’ said Jarvis, giving her shoulder a poke.

      Regan opened a bleary eye and tried to focus it on the alarm clock. ‘I’ve got loads of time.’ She harrumphed and pulled the duvet over her head. The work do the previous night had been dull so she’d drunk more than she intended to.

      ‘But I thought you were taking Cleo to the airport?’

      ‘Shiiiiiiit!’ Regan got out of bed so fast she forgot to put her feet down, and instead tumbled to the floor face first. Jarvis guffawed. ‘Ow! That bloody hurt.’ She jumped up and thrust her face up to the mirror. ‘Shit. I’ve got a carpet burn on my nose.’ She gave it a rub and removed a piece of lettuce from her cheek.

      ‘Remember you’re picking Cleo up from her studio and not the apartment.’

      ‘I know.’ Regan hadn’t remembered this, but being reminded by Jarvis was a daily irritant. She began picking things up and flinging them in all directions. ‘Shittity shittington …’

      ‘Regan, please don’t leave the apartment in a state,’ said Jarvis, adjusting his tie. She was doing a passable impression of the Tasmanian Devil as she tried to decide what she needed to do first. ‘I hate coming home to a mess.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Perhaps we need to have another discussion about this later. Hmm?’ A bra sailed past his ear.

      ‘Pants,’ said Regan, decisively. Pants were always a good starting point. She began pulling underwear from her top drawer. ‘No, actually I need a wee first.’ And she dashed off to the bathroom, taking a clean pair of pants and yesterday’s clothes with her in the hope she could get dressed whilst sitting on the loo to save some time.

      ‘You really should allow more time,’ said Jarvis, with a tut. Regan gave him a sarcastic smile and shut the bathroom door. Jarvis was lovely, but he could be a pompous arse sometimes. It didn’t help that he was frequently correct.

      Right now she needed to accomplish as many things simultaneously as possible. She could brush her teeth sitting down too. The Lean Methodology expert at work would be proud, she thought, as she snatched up her toothbrush.

      ‘Bye then. We’ll talk later, all right?’ Jarvis called through the bathroom door, his voice overflowing with exasperation.

      ‘Oh kweee,’ mumbled Regan. It was the best she could do with a mouthful of toothbrush and one leg in her pants.

      She heard the front door bang shut and relaxed a little. It was like living with her dad rather than her boyfriend. She surveyed the bathroom floor, strewn with an assortment of her clothes, a couple of towels and the oozing toothpaste tube. She’d just have to make sure she was home before Jarvis. She couldn’t stand another lecture on her slovenly ways, but she didn’t have time to sort it out now.

      A few minutes later she was hurtling across Brighton in her battered Fiesta shouting obscenities at anyone in her way, which was essentially everyone. A quick check in the rear-view mirror reminded her that she hadn’t brushed her hair – she resembled a one-colour version of Cruella De Vil.

      There was nowhere to park at Cleo’s studio, as usual, so she abandoned the car in the middle of the road and sprinted up to the door. She banged hard until Cleo appeared. ‘Come in. I’ve been calling you,’ said Cleo, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

      Regan frisked herself as she stepped inside. ‘Shit. I forgot my mobile. Sorry, Cleo.’

      Cleo gave her a forgiving look. ‘It’s fine. I told you an hour earlier than I needed anyway because I knew you’d be late.’

      Regan was going to protest, but a quick glance at where her watch should be, followed by a squint at the clock on the studio wall, told her Cleo was absolutely right to have done this. ‘Sneaky – but good call.’

      Regan was notorious for being late. She tried not to be, but she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that timekeeping simply wasn’t

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