When in Rome... Read Online Free PDF Page B

shopping? Call me!
    What is it with blasts from the past? First I see Mike, and now Candy, who I haven’t seen for . . . well, it must be around two years if not more. I’m not sure why we lost touch really, although I think it has something to do with the fact that Candy was always telling me that I should dump Mike and I never did. I would continually cry on her shoulder when he failed to come back from some party or left me in a club while he went on somewhere, and I think she just got frustrated with me. I suppose Mike leaving me was just the final straw. I didn’t know she was still in touch with him, but I guess he was her friend first, so it isn’t that surprising. More to the point, this means that Mike’s been talking to her about me. He’s obviously been thinking about me loads. Maybe I’m looking better than I realize at the moment. I take out my compact to check myself out. One spot, deftly covered with a blob of Touch Eclat. Some faint crow’s-feet appearing under my eyes, but only visible when I smile. No, I’m in okay shape. I’ll need to be if I’m seeing Candy next week—Candy works on a smart fashion magazine and believes very strongly in grooming. She thinks nothing of going to the gym for an hour a day and dedicating Sunday afternoons to polishing her shoes. I’m sure she means well, it’s just that after half an hour with her, I usually feel like Waynetta the Slob. I put a note in my diary to get a manicure early next week.
    GUY JACKSON: Georgie, have you finished the questionnaire for Pensions Bulletin? Nigel and I are discussing our strategic plans for this business unit and he tells me that your report will be ready by 3pm. We have an exciting new project I want to discuss with you, so look forward to seeing the questionnaire.
    Regards.
    Shit. Shit and double shit. I haven’t even started the questionnaire, unless you count my ramblings this morning, which I’ve deleted anyway, and I’ve got exactly ten minutes before Guy’s going to be expecting an amazing in-depth report. I dig out the newsletter for inspiration.
    Ping!Another e-mail.
    MIKE MARSHALL: Hi gorgeous. Thinking about me?
    I hit Reply, type “No,” and send it back. After all, I’m not thinking about him. I may have been thinking about his hand resting on mine and his come-to-bed eyes on my way back to the office, and I may even have planned what I will wear next time I see him (heels, definitely; something quite fitted), but right now I’m thinking about pensions. Honest.
    I open up a new document, and purposefully write “Pensions Bulletin—your views” along the top, then center and bold the words for good measure.
    Ping!
    MIKE MARSHALL: What do you mean “no”? You left just as things were getting interesting. I’ve certainly been thinking about you . . .
    He’s been thinking about me? Mike has been thinking about me? I flush with excitement. It’s worked! My “make him realize what he’s been missing” strategy has worked! He’s obviously realized that success is all very well, but it’s nothing compared with the love of a good woman.
    I’m about to type back a flirtatious e-mail when I remember the note Mike left me: “Sorry gorgeous. You’re too good for me. I need some time to get myself sorted out. Please don’t hate me.” If he thinks he’s going to get back into my good books (let alone anything else) with one lunch, he’s got another think coming. Plus, I simply don’t have time for this now. I am a busy executive, and Mike will simply have to deal with that.
    GEORGIE BEAUCHAMP: I mean that I am too busy to think about people who should be doing some work and not pestering me.
    I turn back to my report:
    Your views are of the utmost importance to Leary. Please take a few moments to fill in this questionnaire to ensure that your needs, now and in the future, are met by us.
    Ping!
    MIKE MARSHALL: So you would be thinking about me if you weren’t so busy?
    GEORGIE BEAUCHAMP: Too busy to know. Now leave me alone.
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