She didn’t give me a chance to respond. She flounced past me into the store. I watched her walk away; head held high. Wisps of pink hair tumbled out of her bun with every step she took.
11
FALLON
Iblinked away the moisture in my eyes—the smell of bleach filling my small bathroom. Tears started to trickle out of the corner of my eyes, and because my head was upside down in the sink, it was dripping down my forehead. I didn’t dare wipe them in case the bleach coating the gloves I wore got in my eyes. Fuck, the last thing I needed was to go blind. It was bad enough I was going back to blonde.
Using my fingers as a comb, I scraped them through my shoulder-length hair as I attempted to distribute the dye evenly.
After my colossal failure to sell the book idea to Oliver, a week passed when I got rejection after rejection, and some of the jobs I’d applied for didn’t even bother writing back. My savings were dwindling faster than the coffee ice cream in my freezer. Paying rent in London without a job was simply not possible. Evenwitha job, it costs an obscene amount of money. The small nest egg of funds I’d saved from my last job would only last for another two months, if that. If onlyone of the publishing companies would give me a chance, I could prove I was a good worker.
But my ex-boss/ex-boyfriend’s mother was a vindictive bitch. Whenever a new job prospect popped up, they would ask me for my previous employer to get a reference. Foolishly, I thought that Vivian might be professional under the circumstances.
When you fuck with a huge Mumma’s boy with severe emotional issues, his mother takes out a personal vendetta against you. If she were in the mafia, Belinda would be at the top.
I was beginning to concede that I would need to start applying for jobs outside of my chosen field. But what kind of person who worked at a high-profile publishing company as a copywriter goes to work in retail? I loved my job. I wanted it back so badly I could scream.
I madeonebad decision. One giant unprofessional mistake in front of everyone I worked with, and now my reputation was ruined. I was the girl that lost it in the company’s car park. I was the freak show they talked about behind my back or directly to my face in some cases. When my pathetic tosser of an ex got promoted—to the position I was about to take over—my life quickly sped off the train tracks, and now I was scrambling to get it back.
If Oliver had agreed to the book, I could have pitched this story to any publisher I wanted, and I’d have a foot in the door again. It would salvage some of the damage to my reputation, but Oliver’s look of pure disdain killed any hope of that happening. This idea would help us both. It wasn’t an entirely selfish endeavour. Notentirely.
Standing upright, nose pinching with the stench, I swirled my bleach-sodden locks into a bun at the base of my neck. Letting the dye sit for twenty minutes.
I pulled off the gloves and threw them away, desperately wiping the tears from my eyes.
‘Fuck.’ I winced, washing my hands in the sink. I wore an oversized t-shirt that saidmischief managedon it. Rosie had bought it for me one year as a birthday present, knowing my love for printed tees and teenage obsession with Harry Potter.
Drops of bleach stained the collar, turning the black material a dusty orange.
My phone buzzed on the counter, ABBA blaring through the speakers. Needing to see a friendly face, I accepted the call, clicking on the video button.
‘It’s been over a week. Where the fuck have you been?’ Rosie demanded.
‘Turn on your camera.’ The next moment Rosie’s face filled the screen. Her blonde hair piled high on her head, and she wore navy scrubs.
She leaned closer to the camera and scrutinised my appearance. ‘What are you doing to your hair?’
I shrugged. ‘Just wanted a change.’
Rosie frowned sceptically. ‘Youlovedthe pink.’
‘And now I’m trying something new. Where are you anyway?’ I couldn’t make out the background.
‘Home.’ Rosie flipped the camera showing the bustling tail of Roxy, who was sniffing her legs like a dog at the airport. She let out a throaty whine, clearly unhappy that her mum was coming home smelling like other animals.
‘How’s she doing?’ I wandered out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, pulling a pre-packed salad from the fridge. The lettuce was wilted, edges turning brown, but it had been on special, so I wasn’t going to complain.
‘A little bit of separation anxiety, but she’s good.’
I heard her coo and pat Roxy, showing the creature a mountain of love and affection, something she was a masterat. Show Rosie a suffering animal, and she would make it her mission to rescue, dote on and love until it transformed into a happy, healthy pet. You put her in a crowd of people, and she turned grouchy.
‘I need to change. Roxy’s freaking out. Talk to me. You’ve been MIA for a week now. I need details on how it went with Oliver.’ Rosie propped the phone up in her bedroom and began undressing.
I sat on a kitchen stool and picked at the sad, shrivelled lettuce. Could this even be called food? It was lettuce with three croutons and a watery dressing.Ugh.
‘I told you how it went.’
‘Noooo, you texted me saying that he said no and didn’t answer any of my follow-up questions. Since then, you’ve told me you’re busy filling out job applications.’
