A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story Read Online Free PDF

of the wealthiest and most exclusive areas of London. He looked far too thin to be healthy, like he hadn’t eaten in days, and by the look of his raggedy clothes he was probably also homeless. I tossed a pound coin into his hat and smiled at him as he winked back. There is always someone in a worse off position than oneself and it is very good karma to give. Even if one really doesn’t have it to give. And even though one may well find oneself also busking for food this time next month, when one’s ginormous mortgage becomes due, because one’s boyfriend has turned out to be a lying cheating toe-rag. But one will not dwell on such negative thoughts, but rather one will enjoy the gift of gorgeous weather, on this beautiful British spring day. I smiled to myself, amused, and headed up the steps out of the station.
    I discovered that since leaving sunny bright Kensington, unseen dark clouds had forcefully emerged, and I was met with bucketing bloody rain! I had at least a good five minute trudge to the salon on Sheridan Place with no jacket, no umbrella and four inch high strappy sandals. “Fuckin A!” I shouted to no one in particular and stamped my foot. Which really was not a very good idea, as it landed in a puddle which then splashed dirty street water all the way up my bare tanned toned legs, and the four inch heel of my right shoe lodged itself firmly in-between the paving stones, promptly snapping off as I tried my damnedest to free it. Great! One shall not get emotional nor lose one’s rag in times of adversity, but one shall remain cool calm and collected , I said to myself as I hobbled along with my one four inch heel and one flat shoe ensemble.
    “Look what the cat dragged in,” Portia said with a cynical laugh. She was standing in the doorway to the salon looking insensitively immaculate from head to toe. Her perfect blonde bob looked annoyingly even more radiant today. Her skin looked polished and her eyes all sparkly, as she stood there dressed exquisitely in Gucci’s finest, most probably bought for her by one of her many elderly admirers. She looked me up and down and laughed some more. I stood under the salon canopy with sopping hair clinging to my face and drenched clothes featuring dirty black splash marks, compliments of all the cars that had skidded past me and all the puddles I had landed in, feeling like some bleak vagrant.
    “Oh piss off Portia!” I pushed past her and marched straight into our staff room.
    I, Rebecca Hardy, was one of the most fortunate and enviable beauty therapists in the whole of London. For I actually worked at ‘Pamper Moi’. And with its dedicated clientele consisting entirely of ‘A’ list celebrities and the country’s wealthiest and chicest women, Pamper Moi was without question the most exclusive beauty salon in the whole of the UK. Located in one of London’s most fashionable and privileged districts, movie stars and heiresses alike could wait up to a month for their ‘pamper day’ appointment when they would arrive by chauffeur to have their lithe toned legs waxed to silky perfection, their eyebrows threaded into flawless arcs, their faces re-texturised and nourished and their entire bodies exfoliated with exceptional sea salts to restore and maintain youthfulness, then heavenly massaged by candlelight to sounds of the calming ocean with essential herbal oils. Pamper Moi offered a complete head to toe indulgent service, and was renowned as a pioneer in the beauty industry. We were actually the first to offer the much sought-after risk-free natural herbal peels as an alternative to the chemical ones which most salons still use. “ Natural is the Way ” was our motto, which embodied the fact that every product we used was one hundred per cent natural. We didn’t do Botox and we didn’t do collagen – not that our clients didn’t have those treatments – they just didn’t get them from us. And with its marble floors, vast opaque glass frontage and