BooksBarbecue
Back Careering Save as PDF
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-One
  25. Chapter Twenty-Two
  26. Chapter Twenty-Three
  27. Chapter Twenty-Four
  28. Chapter Twenty-Five
  29. Chapter Twenty-Six
  30. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-One
  35. Chapter Thirty-Two
  36. Chapter Thirty-Three
  37. Chapter Thirty-Four
  38. Chapter Thirty-Five
  39. Chapter Thirty-Six
  40. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  41. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  42. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  43. Chapter Forty
  44. Chapter Forty-One
  45. Chapter Forty-Two
  46. Chapter Forty-Three
  47. Chapter Forty-Four
  48. Chapter Forty-Five
  49. Chapter Forty-Six
  50. Chapter Forty-Seven
  51. Chapter Forty-Eight
  52. Chapter Forty-Nine
  53. Chapter Fifty
  54. Chapter Fifty-One
  55. Chapter Fifty-Two
  56. Chapter Fifty-Three
  57. Chapter Fifty-Four
  58. Chapter Fifty-Five
  59. Chapter Fifty-Six
  60. Chapter Fifty-Seven
  61. Chapter Fifty-Eight
  62. Chapter Fifty-Nine
  63. Epilogue
  64. Acknowledgements

I’m not an idiot—I know that I’ve been sent to the cupboard because Something Has Happened. But today, I think it might be something good. Rosa left Panache a month ago, leaving Harri as acting editor. The new editor is about to be announced, and it’s going to be Harri. It has to be.

And if Harri is made editor-in-chief, I think she might give me a real job.

Still, it’s a big If, so I start putting one arm through a coat sleeve while rereading the Flair application in my Notes app. I apply for at least eight jobs a week, no matter how much they challenge and stretch the definition of ‘journalism’. Or indeed, ‘paid employment’—so I can copy and paste the final paras, the excited for the opportunitys and the look forward to hearing from you soons. My screen is so knackered I can barely see what I’ve typed any more so it helps to have something I made earlier.

Twenty minutes later, sitting on the bus, I realise just how badly I’ve fucked up.

It occurred to me that the internet in the fashion cupboard can be a little patchy, and I should check to make sure that my Flair application letter is in my Sent folder.

It’s there, all right. Well, half of it.

The other half is a paragraph from a blog post I’ve been working on. One I wasn’t sure I was ready to publish.

The sound that emerges from my throat is something between a death rattle and a moo. Sweating under my coat, I read the words I’d written, furiously in the dark, a couple of nights ago, as Sam Strong snored beside me. ‘There’s an art to the hate fuck. You have to go all in. It’s not just about releasing your inhibitions—you’re dissolving them, in your acid rage. I didn’t know my pussy could grip a cock so tightly, as though I was trying to break it, until I’d completely let go of the notion that I was trying to make him fall in love with me. I know he’s a bad man. Does hate fucking make me a bad feminist? Maybe. Does it make me come? In a way I didn’t even know I was capable of. I’m embarrassed to admit to the number of times I’ve cried over S— but the orgasms are making me so much wetter than any tears could.’

Those words are preceded by these: ‘Here are the ways in which I’ve demonstrated strong attention to detail.’

Chapter Two

Something Has Happened

Harri