She sat upright. ‘That’sa story you could write.’
I hoped my expression conveyed how ridiculous I thought that statement was. ‘I’m not a journalist.’And I had no desire to be one.
‘No, not an article. Abook.If you pitched an autobiography of Oliver Blake to any publishing house, they would eat it up like peanut M&Ms dipped in crack.’
‘True. But for an autobiography, you kind of need the person to be a willing participant. I think Oliver would rather drink battery acid than give me an exclusive look into his personal life.’ I wandered into the kitchen to make coffee as the idea settled inside me.
The thought of going to my old colleagues, pitching a book like this and seeing the look on my ex’s face sent a thrill running down my spine. More than that, the money would allow me to stay in this flat and, you know… afford groceries. The elation that warmed my chest quickly squashed when reality set in.
I didn’t know Oliver. We’d met twice and we could barely get through a conversation without one of us saying something caustic. His one redeeming quality was his knowledge of Taylor Swift. Was that enough to fully redeem a person?
‘Think about it,’ Rosie said as she hauled herself out from the nest and grabbed her mug of coffee. ‘Now I have to get to work. Do you still have a bag of my stuff here?’
I nodded. ‘In the closet.’
Rosie went off searching for the clothes she’d stashed at mine foremergency drunk nights.
I almost headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day—my usual routine for work—when the dull reminder that I didn’t have anywhere to go pushed me back towards the sofa. Coffee in hand.
My job hunt was going about as well as Rosie’s continued vow not to get drunk when she had work the next day. The difference was that Rosie could fake her hangover away, pouring all her love and attention into the animals that came into the surgery. I couldn’t fake my way to a new job. Especially when I wasn’t exactly going to get a glowing reference from my old boss. Regardless of how justified my behaviour was given the circumstances or how good I was at my job, you make one mistake, and it follows you around forever.
I pulled my phone out of my dressing gown pocket and swiped away the messages from my sister, and typed Oliver’s name into the search bar.
It was a ridiculous idea. Writing a book about Oliver Blake when the man hated being in the spotlight. If he didn’t want to take a taxi home in case someone found out where he lived, I’d bet my left tit that he didn’t want someone writing his life story in a tell-all book for people to read.
9
FALLON
Finding someone who doesn’t want to be found is an arduous task. It became so complicated that I started cursing an imaginary version of Oliver whenever I came to a dead end in my non-stalkerish hunt.
I’d found the numbers of his agents but was met with a resoundingno commentbefore I’d even explained what I was calling for. I’d contacted his football club and received the standard PR jargon response that Oliver was asking for privacy and not to contact them again.
When I thought I’d reached a dead end and was about to give up, an idea popped into my head. Before I lost my nerve, I dialled Rosie, taking a sip of Red Bull.I really need to cut back.I thought as I stared at the empty cans on my coffee table.
‘What do you get when a bad-tempered cockapoo and an obnoxious parrot walk into a vet?’ Rosie’s tone was sharp.
‘Annoyed?’ I hedged.
‘Stitches.’
I winced. ‘Ouch. Are you okay?’
She heaved a sigh. ‘My hand looks like I put it through a shredder, thanks to that green motherfucker.’
‘I assume we're still talking about the parrot, right?’
‘Ugh, what’s up?’
Getting the sense she wanted to change the subject, I moved on to the reason for the call. My stomach lit up with anticipation. The feeling of being right on the cusp of something great made all the energy drinks in my system come fizzing to life.
‘Do you remember the name of George’s store?’
‘You mean Oliver-sexy-as-fuck-Blake’s, drop-dead gorgeous older brother who has been the star of quite a few of my fantasies today?’
My nose scrunched. ‘Ew, and yes.’
‘You’re the one that peed there, don’t you remember?’
