The Foster Husband Read Online Free PDF Page A

Temple of Doom was actually in India,’ suggested dimwit Leila, known to us all as the Tangent, partly, as demonstrated, for her uncanny ability to hone in on
the least important detail of any discussion, and partly because she insisted on dyeing her skin a ferocious shade of orange. ‘This is, like, Africa?’
    Her starey blue eyes wavered for a moment, as if she was suddenly unsure of herself – maybe this wasn’t Africa after all. Rumour had it she was only kept on by Dean because of her
unfailing ability to score drugs anywhere in the world. And then to take most of them herself. I nodded at her in affirmation – yes, you’re in Africa – and she looked
relieved.
    ‘I know that thanks, Leila,’ snapped Dean, pulling his shirt down over his belly. If you asked me he could afford to miss a meal or two without too much suffering.
    ‘Kate,’ barked our boss Richard, entering the room and slamming his clipboard down on the table so that we all leapt to attention in our seats. ‘Fish heads. Sort it.’
    I nodded, mentally adding it to my ever growing list of things to sort before the show kicked off tomorrow. I would have sorted it earlier if I’d known, but I had lived exclusively on
crisps and hotel sandwiches since I’d arrived, so the local delicacies had passed me by.
    Richard held up his clipboard to the light and squinted at it. ‘Perimeter road closed?’ he barked.
    ‘Yup,’ I promised. ‘Job done. I saw the governor this morning.’
    ‘Good.’ Richard wasn’t one for effusive praise. ‘Damage?’
    ‘Ten VIP passes, personal intro for his daughter to Slender Dee. And we foot the bill for refitting backstage.’
    ‘Yeah, Slender Dee won’t do meet and greets,’ said Dean with unpleasant satisfaction. If ever there was a spanner to be thrown in the works, you could bet that spanner would
have Dean’s fingerprints all over it. The man lived to annoy.
    Richard glared at him. ‘Who the fuck is Slender Dee anyway?’
    Leila looked up, ‘Oh he’s huge here. Huge. He’s, like, a DJ and singer, yeah? Blind. Cancer.’
    ‘He has cancer?’ my assistant producer Sarah asked anxiously. We’d already had to re-do the risk assessment to take on board the fact that he was blind, and I knew she was
worried the insurance wouldn’t cover him for a pre-existing condition.
    ‘No, dude, Cancer, the crab,’ said Leila. ‘It’s, like, his astrological sign? You know, hides in his shell, yeah? Reserved. Doesn’t like the limelight.’
    Dean held up his hands helplessly. ‘I can’t force him, Richard.’
    ‘He is one blind fucking singer,’ snapped Richard. ‘He won’t have a fucking clue where he is anyway – just tell him you’re putting him in a taxi, point him at
the governor for five minutes and then send him on his way.’
    Leila and Dean exchanged pained glances, their standard response when requested to do anything other than gush over celebrities and submit enormous bills to expenses for ‘fruit and
flowers’, which was accepted code for payments made to Leila’s dodgy chemical associates.
    ‘Do it,’ warned Richard, in a voice that silenced all argument. ‘Next.’
    The meeting bored on, and my to-do list grew like a tropical fungus, spreading into the margins of my notepad.
    The new head of marketing had missed his flight and was now stuck in traffic somewhere on the way from the airport. I was fairly relieved by this, as I’d been ignoring his emails for days.
I’d had his predecessor perfectly trained up in how to deal with Production (a combination of bribes, flattery and outright begging), but this new guy was full of unrealistic expectations and
he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
    However, as he wasn’t present, it was easy enough to overrule Caroline, his young and inexperienced deputy. Even Leila managed to put her foot down about a meet and greet with the
sponsors. I felt quite sorry for Caroline in the end, but if Matt Martell didn’t know how to get what