Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

a loud burp in much the same manner as a newborn baby.
    Imogen looks horrified, and even Craig's eyes widen under their bushy dark eyebrows. 'Better out than in, son!' he opines with a roar of laughter.
    Needless to say I am disgusted with myself, even in my current foggy state of mind. Burping at the dinner table is reserved for when you're five years old or on a stag do. It is not something you do in a dinner meeting with two people you’re in business with. It's just not bloody professional.
    The publishing industry is also a very small world, and I'm sure before the week is out, everyone in it will know that Jamie Newman is a galloping drunkard, with the table manners of a pig.
    Some may argue that this would just make me like every other writer in the world, but that is beside the point.
    I am hugely embarrassed, and want to leave as swiftly as possible.
    Craig has other ideas though, and orders me an Irish whisky - the complete and total bastard that he is.
    I sip this like it’s hot brown poison, until the clock hits 10pm.
    'Well, this has been a lovely evening,' Imogen lies - unless she has a penchant for watching two men get shit-faced over medium rare cow parts. 'But I'm due in the office tomorrow at 8am, so had better be going.'
    I take this as my opportunity to leave as well. 'Yes! I agree. I'd like to go get some sleep as I have to... '
    Dammit!
    I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow! I'm a sodding writer . Craig can quite comfortably keep me here until three in the morning, pumping booze into me, and I have absolutely no excuse to get out of it, other than the fact I'm a total lightweight.
    'No problem, Imogen. It was nice to see you again,' says Craig, a man still capable of being perfectly charming even with a bottle of 15 year old single malt sloshing around in his guts. Bastard!
    He rises elegantly from his seat.
    I try to follow suit, managing to clout my knee on the bottom of the table as I do so. ' Ow ! Fuckery biggins !' I cry in pain. I don't usually borrow any of Laura's curses. It only tends to happen when I'm blind drunk and not feeling all that creative.
    'Are you alright?' Imogen asks.
    'Yes,' I wave off her concern with a limp waggle of my wrist. 'I'll be fine. Absolutely fine. Fiiiiiine .' In an effort to brush off my latest act of drunken clumsiness I throw my arms open wide and move towards her. 'Now, come here and give us a kiss.'
    What?
    Fucking WHAT?
    Did I really just ask my editor - a woman I have only ever known in an entirely professional capacity - to give me a ruddy kiss ? Like we're long lost relatives, or best buddies who won't be seeing each other for a year, because one is travelling in the Orient?
    The faux pas is enormous . A ten story, luxury faux pas, with 24 hour room service. It's the Dorchester Hotel of faux pas.
    I stand there with arms outstretched, ready to give Imogen a sweaty hug and kiss. In my ramshackle, drunken state I look less like a person offering their goodbyes, and more like an extra from The Walking Dead going in for his lunch.
    Poor Imogen doesn't know what the hell to do. I can see it on her face. On the one hand, I'm sure she has no desire to embrace me, if for no other reason than it will bring her closer to my apocalyptic breath. On the other though, I am one of Watermill Publishing's more successful authors, and I'm sure employees of the company are encouraged to be nice to successful authors, no matter how badly they're behaving.
    Self preservation gives way to the desire to keep seeing a paycheck, and Imogen reluctantly moves forward and puts one awkward arm around my shoulder. Her worried face hovers just in front of mine, one cheek proffered in my direction.
    I have to go through with it now, don't I? If I reject her sacrifice, it will just make things ten times worse. I pucker up my lips and go in for a peck on her cheek. Sadly, I'm so bastard drunk, I stumble to the left as I do so, and end up planting the kiss on Imogen's ear. She recoils in