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Back Because She Loves Me Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. Contents
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Ninteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Epilogue
  48. Letter From the Author
  49. Acknowledgements
  50. About the Author

As I worked on the CV, I felt eyes on me. I looked up and a guy across the cafe looked away quickly. He was younger than me, with a little beard, and was wearing a black beanie hat. There was an iPad on the table in front of him which he now appeared absorbed in.

I returned to my CV and my online portfolio, trying to pick out my best pieces of work so I could link to them from the CV. After about ten minutes, I became aware that the guy in the beanie hat was looking over at me again. As I turned my face towards him he ducked his head so fast it must have hurt his neck.

I hesitated. Who was he? I tried to catch his eye but he swiftly packed up his stuff, almost knocking his chair over in his haste to get out, paying his bill at the counter on the way out.

I stood up, craning to see which way he had gone, but he crossed the road and vanished. I was tempted to go after him, but he’d be long gone by the time I’d paid and got outside. Besides, maybe he was simply interested in my computer.

By the time I’d finished messing around with my CV and was ready to leave, I’d put the incident from my mind.

Heading home, I realised I wasn’t too far from Karen’s place. She still hadn’t told me if she was happy with my work, which meant I still couldn’t invoice her. She wasn’t answering her phone either. I couldn’t afford to let it go, especially not now. I stood on the street for a moment before deciding I would go to see her. It would be embarrassing, but what the hell. I needed the money.

I jumped onto a bus and, fifteen minutes later, found myself standing outside Karen’s place. She lived in a beautiful Georgian conversion on a ludicrously expensive street. The first time I’d visited I’d told myself that, one day, I would live in a place like this. She could certainly afford to pay me my £500.

I rang the buzzer. There was no reply. I sighed. She was most likely out, seeing a client, shopping, lunching or whatever it was she did with her days. Five hundred pounds was nothing to her. Why was she taking so long to pay up? Most likely she couldn’t imagine why anyone would make such a fuss about what to her was a trivial amount. Well, I was going to set her straight. I’d wait here all day if I had to . . .