Joker in the Pack (Romantic Suspense, Completed, Watty Winner)

Chapter 3

By Saturday, all I wanted to do was crawl under my duvet and turn into the McDonald's breakfast I'd just eaten. Normally, I didn't touch fried food, but today I felt I deserved bonus points just for leaving the house.

The rest of the week hadn't gone well. I'd finished one project, but I hadn't picked up any new jobs to fill the gap in my finances despite hustling online. And I'd barely slept last night because one of my nine remaining clients was an inconsiderate pig. Derek Braithwaite, CEO of DB's Sportswear, figured that in the digital age I should work twenty-four hours a day, so he'd sent over a change request at eleven in the evening. Most likely while he was in the pub, but he'd still expected me to implement it by opening hours the next morning, weekend or not.

And I couldn't afford to lose him, no matter how unpalatable sucking up to him was.

I'd spent Thursday cancelling all the non-essentials—my health club membership, Netflix, those little organic snacks I got delivered every week. Even my fortnightly manicure. Mother had always drummed the importance of having perfect nails into me, but the stress had made me start biting them again.

But the biggest problem was my rent. In London, where a converted broom closet once sold for six figures, even the smallest flat cost four figures a month. And I was tied into my contract for the best part of a year.

Yesterday, I'd raked through my wardrobe and piled anything I could sell onto the couch. The designer dresses Edward bought me to wear to his corporate events could go to a consignment store, but the rest? I'd opened an eBay account and used the app on my phone to list fifty-seven lots.

But selling my excess clothes was a one-off. Once they were gone, they were gone. I still needed to conjure up another two hundred pounds a month from somewhere.

Looking at my beautiful clothes and knowing they wouldn't be there much longer made my chest tighten, and that was followed by the telltale prickle of tears I'd experienced all too often lately. And that feeling was made even worse when I poured myself a glass of wine and decided to stalk Edward on Facebook.

"You did what?" Maddie asked an hour later after I'd sobbed down the phone at her.

"I know, I know. It was stupid."

"No, Liv. Stupid was when Jenny Henderson called you fat in year nine, and we borrowed that frog from the biology lab to put in her locker."

"We?"

"I only did it to help you out. How was I supposed to know the thing would escape from my bag in English and Miss Foster had a phobia of amphibians?"

"But he's changed his status. He's in a relationship with Becki Harris. A relationship! I thought it was a new thing, but from her photos, they've been shagging for over a year."

"Think positive. He cheated on her with the tennis bitch and the Thai masseuse too."

Becki's profile showed a fondness for micro skirts, her eyebrows were habitually drawn on with a felt-tip, and if she didn't have breast implants, someone had certainly got creative with Photoshop. And I already knew she had cellulite from the way Edward's crystal chandelier had glinted off her backside when she legged it out of his dining room.

"I just can't understand what he saw in her. He always said he preferred the natural look."

"He lied about everything else. Why not that?"

Becki listed her occupations as executive assistant and model/actress, but a quick internet search showed her recent projects and they certainly didn't involve Shakespeare.

"But seriously, Maddie—she starred in a film called Wenches vs. Werewolves."

"I don't think Edward and his friends hire their secretaries for their brains."