Build a Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

has morphed into permanent.
    Peter comes
behind the reception desk and pulls me against him. “So, how’s the
writing lark today?”
    I swallow; I
was hoping to get him off to dinner without having to answer that.
So much excitement is coursing through me, I feel like I’m about to
burst. But as much as I’m dying to tell Peter about my potential
professional coup – my shot at the big time – it’s definitely
better if he’s in the dark. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt
him.
    Peter’s always
moaning how he’s just as experienced as any of those big-name
doctors on Botox or Bust , so on the teeny, tiny, miniscule
chance someone did find out, this could only be good for his
reputation as a surgeon.
    I smile up at
him, picturing his grateful, admiring gaze if the details ever did
get revealed.
    “Thank you,
Serenity,” he would croon, leaning down to kiss me in front of a
packed waiting room, all filled with royalty and B (no, A) list
celebs awaiting his expertise. “Thank you for elevating me and my
clinic to such heights. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
    “I’d better
push off,” Peter says now, thankfully not noticing my lack of
response. “Got to be at The Ivy in a half hour.”
    “Have fun,” I
say, although fun is the last thing anyone could have at The Ivy.
The food is to die for, but the atmosphere is so stiff and formal.
Peter took me there once when we first started going out. I dropped
a fork, and from the look on the waiter’s face, you’d think I’d
castrated Prince William.
    While Peter
fiddles with the lock on the door, I shove Jeremy’s file with his
phone number into my bag. Outside on the busy street, Peter flags
down a cab then kisses me quickly and climbs in.
    I hurry down
the pavement. I can’t wait to be home, have a look over Jeremy’s
file, then conjure up a plan to meet and start his transformation.
Lucky man!
    Smitty comes
running when I enter the flat, gives me a foul look when he notices
Peter’s not with me, and stalks off again. God, you’d think the
fact that I rescued him from a filthy life in a London skip would
entitle me to something . But ever since Peter’s taken on the
cat as his own personal pedigree project – even naming him after
Jurgen Schmidt, a German doctor who pioneered eyelash transplant
surgery or whatever – Smitty barely deigns to look in my
direction.
    I grab Jeremy’s
file and dump my bag on the floor, then plop down on the sofa.
Leafing through his consultation form, my eyes pop when I notice
Jeremy’s ticked almost everything. I can’t help looking to see if
there’s anything related to the penile area. Nothing. Hmm, must
mean he is fairly well endowed – guess sex isn’t the reason
he hasn’t found someone. For a second, I can’t help picturing him
in bed, his green eyes staring down into mine . . .
    I flip back to
the front of the document, tapping my pen against it as I try to
come up with a reason to meet. I could say we need more
information, but that could be easily solved over the phone – and
there’s more than enough personal details in front of me. Anyway, I
need something to start a lasting relationship with my subject.
Pride shoots through me and I sit up straight. My subject .
Finally!
    How about a
special fashion service from the clinic? New clothes to match your
new nose? I glance down at my boring outfit. Um, no. Not exactly
believable, given my obvious lack of fashion credentials. But maybe
something similar; something that would let me into Jeremy’s world
and justify a bit of prying – all to help him, of course. Maybe . .
. a life advisory service? Transforma Life: creating a new life to
match the new you.
    Yes – that’s
it. We could do a little fashion, like Leza suggested, but I’d also
get the chance to delve into Jeremy’s past, work on his
personality, and make him into my ideal man. My readers’ ideal man, that is. This life advisory thing is inspired, if I do
say so myself.
    To celebrate,