had evidently been gnawed, shredded and frazzled into near oblivion by a family of starving rodents.
Jenny had flipped both items out of her bag with a triumphant smile and a flourish â tada! â and a comment that sheâd got these at the market yesterday. Turned out she also had some flimsy thong panties packed in that bag, which was just a little too convenient when you thought about it.
Oh my, this so-called Best Friend would have some mega serious explaining to do as soon as they got a moment together.
And then she took one look at those shorts and said forget it, she wasnât wearing those even if you paid her. Jenny had said shorts hadnât she, not a flipping G-string. Jenny did not seem to understand her so she repeated it three times, flipping G-string, flipping G-string, flipping G-string, just to make sure, though unfortunately she still had no idea what she sounded like.
But she could only guess it wasnât spot on from the way those two Judases were biting their lips and scrunching up their faces trying not to laugh but failing mostly.
Finally Jenny clicked about the G-string but said how much fabric could you expect for a 70 per cent discount, or was it 80 she couldnât remember, and beggars canât be choosers or something idiotic like that, and Sandra should be thankful she had at least something to cover the bare essentials rather than have to walk around in that silly T-shirt with her buns showing at the back for everyone to gawk at.
Naturally, such utter tosh from Jenny did not amuse her in the slightest and in a last effort at modesty, she growled that she wasnât a bloody beach bimbo. She was a career woman, she said, at least she was in that past life which was receding at the speed of light, but she still had a bit of her pride left even if it wasnât much and she just couldnât be seen like that in public. That was non-negotiable . She emphasised that last term, pretending for a moment she was back at a business table having it out with a tough client.
By then, however, Jenny was on the floor in stitches, which had no doubt something to do with how the words had just come out of her mouth. She was quite miffed by this and started a tirade about friendship etiquette except this time Yaouen stopped her in her tracks with one of his dark and brooding looks. And he said there was nothing to be ashamed of and yes she could â be seen like that in public that is â and he would appreciate it if she stopped behaving like a baby, for there were portentous things brewing that weighed far more in the overall scheme of things than the size of her garments.
Now that really infuriated her, because hadnât he just waltzed into her perfectly good life â correction, her perfect life â and made a complete mess of it in less time than it takes to say âdrop that business skirtâ? And so she was screwed in more senses than one because there was no way she could just pick up the threads and breeze back into Markâs arms or her office in Globalscope. Not speaking the way she did she couldnât. And certainly not feeling the way she did.
She had a totally unhealthy crush on Yaouen, she could see. The sort of crush that turns your heart to jelly and your brain to goo. Perhaps addiction was a better word. Christ, was it what she was â addicted to him? Maybe. Probably. Almost certainly.
Which left her where? Even if she could fix her comic-book English and zip over to France, how the hell could she see through any kind of deal in Toulouse? She could not even begin to imagine not spending her entire business meets fantasising about his smooth tongue and great hip moves. Damn it. Her concentration was shot. And with that gone, so would her credibility and dreams of professional glory.
Anyway, what was the point of even thinking about France? The suave bastard probably wouldnât let her go there in the first place. No, she just
Jenny had flipped both items out of her bag with a triumphant smile and a flourish â tada! â and a comment that sheâd got these at the market yesterday. Turned out she also had some flimsy thong panties packed in that bag, which was just a little too convenient when you thought about it.
Oh my, this so-called Best Friend would have some mega serious explaining to do as soon as they got a moment together.
And then she took one look at those shorts and said forget it, she wasnât wearing those even if you paid her. Jenny had said shorts hadnât she, not a flipping G-string. Jenny did not seem to understand her so she repeated it three times, flipping G-string, flipping G-string, flipping G-string, just to make sure, though unfortunately she still had no idea what she sounded like.
But she could only guess it wasnât spot on from the way those two Judases were biting their lips and scrunching up their faces trying not to laugh but failing mostly.
Finally Jenny clicked about the G-string but said how much fabric could you expect for a 70 per cent discount, or was it 80 she couldnât remember, and beggars canât be choosers or something idiotic like that, and Sandra should be thankful she had at least something to cover the bare essentials rather than have to walk around in that silly T-shirt with her buns showing at the back for everyone to gawk at.
Naturally, such utter tosh from Jenny did not amuse her in the slightest and in a last effort at modesty, she growled that she wasnât a bloody beach bimbo. She was a career woman, she said, at least she was in that past life which was receding at the speed of light, but she still had a bit of her pride left even if it wasnât much and she just couldnât be seen like that in public. That was non-negotiable . She emphasised that last term, pretending for a moment she was back at a business table having it out with a tough client.
By then, however, Jenny was on the floor in stitches, which had no doubt something to do with how the words had just come out of her mouth. She was quite miffed by this and started a tirade about friendship etiquette except this time Yaouen stopped her in her tracks with one of his dark and brooding looks. And he said there was nothing to be ashamed of and yes she could â be seen like that in public that is â and he would appreciate it if she stopped behaving like a baby, for there were portentous things brewing that weighed far more in the overall scheme of things than the size of her garments.
Now that really infuriated her, because hadnât he just waltzed into her perfectly good life â correction, her perfect life â and made a complete mess of it in less time than it takes to say âdrop that business skirtâ? And so she was screwed in more senses than one because there was no way she could just pick up the threads and breeze back into Markâs arms or her office in Globalscope. Not speaking the way she did she couldnât. And certainly not feeling the way she did.
She had a totally unhealthy crush on Yaouen, she could see. The sort of crush that turns your heart to jelly and your brain to goo. Perhaps addiction was a better word. Christ, was it what she was â addicted to him? Maybe. Probably. Almost certainly.
Which left her where? Even if she could fix her comic-book English and zip over to France, how the hell could she see through any kind of deal in Toulouse? She could not even begin to imagine not spending her entire business meets fantasising about his smooth tongue and great hip moves. Damn it. Her concentration was shot. And with that gone, so would her credibility and dreams of professional glory.
Anyway, what was the point of even thinking about France? The suave bastard probably wouldnât let her go there in the first place. No, she just
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