His Brand of Beautiful Read Online Free PDF

about my brand. It leaves the door open.”

    Lily Malone
    Lacy turned and skipped backwards a pace, fists banging her hips. “I swear you’re making this more complicated than it has to be. What happened to Tarzan meets Jane. Jane like Tarzan. Tarzan like Jane. Tarzan drag Jane home by hair. I mean crap , CC. I saw more chemistry last Friday in your lounge‐room than I ever saw in science lab.”
    Christina giggled. “Jane say Tarzan not put toilet seat down.”
    “Cheetah shed too much hair on rug,” Lacy added, and it went on like that until she looked at her watch. “You sound so cool, CC, but you don’t fool me. It’s been four years since Bram. That’s long enough.”
    “Don’t you dare,” Christina said.
    “Dare what?”
    “I know that look. You’re up to something.”
    “I was thinking I could invite Tate to the wedding. You know—to say thanks for how he saved my party.”
    “I already thanked him,” Christina pointed out. “And every time you play Cupid things go pear‐shaped.”
    “Then don’t make me play Cupid,” Lacy said, an edge to her voice. “I mean. I just don’t get it. You pestered him for months when it was only about the brand. Now it’s turned personal you’ve morphed from pitbull into my nanna’s whippet.”
    “I never knew your nan owned a whippet.”
    “It jumps when its squeaky toy squeaks. Don’t change the subject,” Lacy said.
    “Can’t you worry about your own happily ever after? In four more sleeps you morph into my sister‐in‐law. That’s when you can turn into a freaking harpy, no need to start early.” Christina thought she must be getting fitter. She’d just put three full sentences together.
    Lacy checked her watch. “That’s two minutes up, sweetie. Get those little legs moving.”
    Six more minutes of pain . Christina struggled to a trot. At least it helped distract her from thoughts of Tate. He’d filled her head since Friday night. Every time she heard Give Me Shelter she had to retrieve her heart from the ceiling. When she thought about his voice and the way he said I want you , it almost knocked her to her knees.
    All that emotion scared her witless.
    Ahead, Lacy detoured neatly around the queue at the ice‐cream van. Head down, Christina mumbled apologies and bowled straight through. One foot in front of the other.

    ****
I used to love these things , Tate thought, a little later on the same Tuesday night. He watched the AMPRA Conference hum around him, nursed the same pint of Pale Ale and wished the clock above the mantelpiece of the South Sydney Function Centre would hurry the fuck up and get to nine so he could leave.
    More than two‐hundred delegates minced and ponced through the throng of AMPRA closing night drinks, all wearing suits and smartphones like badges of honour, calling it networking. The young man trying to engage Tate in conversation took a delicate sip of Heineken. Judging by the bulge in his eyes it almost went down the wrong way.
    “I’d never even heard of neoliberalism till you spoke today, Mister Newell.”
    “Well it exists, mate,” he responded, trying to remember the guy’s name so he could tell him to call him Tate. The Heineken bottle covered his nametag. Terry ?

    Tate wondered what Christina was doing; thought for the hundredth time about calling her. What would he say? I want you. I don’t want your business; or, I don’t want your business. I want you. He wasn’t sure why but the order seemed important.
    The delegate put his beer bottle down and it let Tate see the name. Trevor Beard from Melbourne .
    “Cause marketing is a mechanism that allows business to make a profit out of society’s social problems and what you said today is that it’s big business that’s the root cause of most of those social problems,” Trevor said with an admiring shake of his head.
    Tate wasn’t sure the guy had him verbatim but he was close enough.
    “Take fast food chains,” Trevor continued, picking up his