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Book 2
The last slither of setting sunlight peeks it's head over the dark horizon as I stand in the street outside my house, setting the sky above in beautiful ripples of smokey grey, dark purple and fiery orange. It's an enchanting sight, but I can't seem to tear my eyes from the sleek, black Mercedes that has just pulled up in front of me.
As I gawp like an open-mouthed fool, a man steps out of the driver's side. For a second my breath catches in my throat, thinking that it could be Logan Norse - my mesmerisingly good-looking (if undeniably impertinent and arrogant) boss. But then I catch sight of the chauffeur's cap and the double breasted, shining silver buttoned jacket, and my heart allows itself to resume its normal pace. Of course I should have known that Norse would never drive himself anywhere, let alone come and pick me up to take me to the airport personally.
Book 3
The hot, sweet steam that rises from the fresh cup of tea clenched between my fingers, helps clear my blocked, swollen sinuses a little. I gaze down at the wooden kitchen table top through burning, blurry eyes, my vision fuzzy and distorted through the last of the tears I've been crying for God knows how long.
As I begin to finally regain my senses and awareness, I realise with a shock that this must be at least the fifth cup of tea my housemate, Gina, has patiently made for me, and that while I've been sat here, weeping and drinking slurpily, the morning sun has fully risen and now shines in at me through the small kitchen window, illuminating what I can only imagine to be my very mascara-streaked, puffy and unattractive face. What a wretched state I must look - and all over an obnoxious, ass-hole of a man.
The last slither of setting sunlight peeks it's head over the dark horizon as I stand in the street outside my house, setting the sky above in beautiful ripples of smokey grey, dark purple and fiery orange. It's an enchanting sight, but I can't seem to tear my eyes from the sleek, black Mercedes that has just pulled up in front of me.
As I gawp like an open-mouthed fool, a man steps out of the driver's side. For a second my breath catches in my throat, thinking that it could be Logan Norse - my mesmerisingly good-looking (if undeniably impertinent and arrogant) boss. But then I catch sight of the chauffeur's cap and the double breasted, shining silver buttoned jacket, and my heart allows itself to resume its normal pace. Of course I should have known that Norse would never drive himself anywhere, let alone come and pick me up to take me to the airport personally.
Book 3
The hot, sweet steam that rises from the fresh cup of tea clenched between my fingers, helps clear my blocked, swollen sinuses a little. I gaze down at the wooden kitchen table top through burning, blurry eyes, my vision fuzzy and distorted through the last of the tears I've been crying for God knows how long.
As I begin to finally regain my senses and awareness, I realise with a shock that this must be at least the fifth cup of tea my housemate, Gina, has patiently made for me, and that while I've been sat here, weeping and drinking slurpily, the morning sun has fully risen and now shines in at me through the small kitchen window, illuminating what I can only imagine to be my very mascara-streaked, puffy and unattractive face. What a wretched state I must look - and all over an obnoxious, ass-hole of a man.
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