by Hannah Doyle
Just My Type copyright © 2019 Hannah Doyle
The right of Hannah Doyle to be identified as the Author of the Works has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published as an Ebook by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP in 2019
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
Cover illustration © Adrian Valencia
eISBN 978 1 4722 6007 9
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise for Hannah Doyle
About the Book
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
About the Author
Author photo © Antonia Doyle
Hannah Doyle is a celebrity journalist who used to spend her time interviewing stars and swanning around fancy parties. The closest she gets to a canapé these days is half a stolen sausage during teatime with her toddler twins. She lives in Yorkshire with her family and writes books. She loves books! JUST MY TYPE is her second novel – her first novel, THE YEAR OF SAYING YES, was published in 2017.
Catch Hannah on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook @byHannahDoyle.
Join Hannah online!
Twitter: @byHannahDoyle
Instagram: @byHannahDoyle
Facebook: @byHannahDoyle
Praise for Hannah Doyle
‘Hannah’s writing makes me laugh and laugh and LAUGH . . . I am officially a fan girl’ Lucy Vine
‘Move over Bridget Jones there’s a new girl in town!’ Goodreads reviewer on The Year of Saying Yes
‘A hilarious read’ Bella
‘Ultimate beach read’ Reveal
‘Omg there is a new Bridget Jones in town!’ Claire Loves To Read
‘Loved it’ Lisa Dickenson
The most excellent and humorous book I have read in a very long time . . . watch out Lindsey Kelk, someone is toppling you (5 star review) - Dreaming With Open Eyes
I loved loved this book, it was fun, hilarious and witty. I loved Izzy and her escapades (5 star review) - Escapades of a Bookworm
SO good, so hilarious, so light-hearted and full of laugh-out-loud moments (5 star review) - On My Bookshelf
A bundle of laughs from the very first page . . . even someone with no sense of humour wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from laughing out loud at Izzy’s shenanigans (5 star review) - The Book Magnet
Anyone who is a fan of Lindsey Kelk and Jane Costello’s earlier books will love The Year of Saying Yes - Rea’s Book Reviews
4% in, I was already laughing out loud and snorting . . . the other 96% just kept getting better - The Writing Garnet
A hilarious, light hearted read - BrizzleLass Books
A breath of fresh air, that made me laugh and smile the whole way through . . . I will be telling anyone who will listen to me, just how great this story really is - Kelly’s Book Corner
A fabulous and fun read - By The Letter Book Reviews
Hannah Doyle’s witty writing had me hook, line and sinker as I couldn’t help but laugh out loud . . . such an entertaining read- Shaz’s Book Blog
I highly encourage everyone to pick this story (say yes to it!) and be inspired by it, to laugh with (at) Izzy, and basically have a great time - Alba In Bookland
About the Book
Meet Jasmine.
- The quirky/cool photographer to a superstar blogger
- She’s going on a date with a SUPER hot guy on the London Eye tonight
- Best friend Mila is her wifey for life
- This millennial is #LivingHerBestLife
But fast-forward a few hours, and the reality isn’t quite so picture perfect. Jasmine hates her stuck-up blogger boss. She can barely afford rent in her stupid London flat. Her best friend seems to have all her sh*t together. Oh, and that date she was so excited about? She got dumped. On the London Eye. In the middle of a thunderstorm. With a bunch of tourists watching. . .
Best friend Mila decides that Jasmine needs a new ‘type on paper’, because Jasmine’s current criteria is so off that her dating history is one long line-up of fools. So Mila challenges Jasmine to look once, if not twice, at the guys who wouldn’t normally fit her ‘type’. With nothing to lose, Jasmine accepts. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll surprise herself.
For Olly
Acknowledgements
Hi! Hello there! Thanks a million to YOU for reading Just My Type, you absolute legend. I really hope you’ve enjoyed it. It is glorious to see your photos of my books online so please do tag me into your reading adventures on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter @byHannahDoyle. Just to warn you though, if you read the book on holiday and post a beachy scene, you bet your ass I’ll be on the next flight out to join you.
But before I start packing my suitcase, I would like to give enormous thanks to the fantastic team at Headline for bringing Just My Type into being, in particular the impeccable Jess Whitlum-Cooper for steering this ship to safe shores. You are my queen. Also to Sara Adams and Christina Demosthenous for your help and encouragement along the way, and to my brilliant agent Amanda Preston for being such an incredible cheerleader.
To the fantastic book bloggers out there, like my girl Kaisha at The Writing Garnet, thank you for your overwhelming support. You guys absolutely rock.
To my husband, my mum and my dad, thank you for giving me the time to write this book. To my glorious friends, thank you for being such champs, especially Gareth Iwan Jones and the introduction to shoot loot! To the real life Jon and Paul, dreams can come true. You’re welcome.
And finally an extra special smush-in-advance to those of you who take the time to review Just My Type on Amazon and Goodreads. Reviews means so much to authors and really do make the world of difference. You da best!
H x
CHAPTER ONE
A slow clap for my current situation wouldn’t go amiss. Problem number one: There’s a butt right up in my face. It is peachy and perfectly formed. Problem number two: S
aid cut-from-marble ass belongs to my employer. I’m at work right now! Insert crying face emoji here please! The sad truth is that, even though I don’t work as Kim Kardashian’s iPhone, or in any other profession where having a bottom in your face might be deemed the norm, today’s state of affairs isn’t unusual. I’m so well acquainted with my boss’s perky posterior that I could pick it out of a bum line up.
Ooh, who would watch way more cop dramas if bum line ups became a thing? Especially if they starred Jake Gyllenhaal, Prince Harry (just me?) and every single buff boy on Love Island.
Oh my gawd, FOCUS Jasmine!
Adjusting the zoom, I take another shot and watch as those familiar pink cheeks fill my camera screen. In front of me, Violet is staring at her near-naked reflection in a mirror with her hands on her hips. Most normal human beings might feel a tiny bit exposed to be wearing nothing but a paper thong in the middle of a room bathed in natural light, but Violet is categorically not normal. She might not be a human being at all. Just a ridiculously good-looking fembot who says things like ‘hashtag blessed’ – in total sincerity – at the end of most sentences.
‘I need you to bring your A game today Bruce,’ Violet instructs as the spray-tanner casts his professional eye over her flawless figure. ‘Cannes begins tomorrow and I have to look my best.’
Violet is off to the Cannes Film Festival and, as her trusty photographer, I’m going too. Which sounds one bazillion times more exciting and glamorous than it actually will be, I promise you. Firstly, my official role of photographer barely scrapes the surface when it comes to the things I actually do for my boss. Photographer and Professional Dogsbody is a more accurate job title. No doubt that I’ll be racing around the south of France like a wild beast while she lives her best life. Her highlights will be wearing incredible dresses, sipping endless champagne and looking stunning, while mine will probably be eating ten packets of plane peanuts as an emergency dinner in a poky hotel room. But I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Neither of us has been to Cannes before and, if Violet can spare me for an hour or so one day, I might get to explore by myself! Or, whisper it, take some photos for my non-existent portfolio?
A girl can dream.
Violet’s busy telling Bruce all about the thirty-day cleanse she’s just been on. ‘I feel ah-mahhhh-zing. But I just haven’t had the chance to get any sun and I really do not want to look pale in Cannes.’
‘Imagine!’ Bruce shakes his head in horror.
‘I’d like to look like I’ve already had a few days on the Mediterranean. You know, a little Sicily glow? Oh hello, I think we’ve found my next blog post title! Could you write that down, Jasmine?’
Sweet baby Jane. This doesn’t sound like award winning blog content to me, but I pull up Notes on my phone, find the one I’ve titled SHIT VIOLET SAYS and tap in ‘My Sicily Glow.’
‘Maybe you could go for something a little more. . . punchy?’ I suggest, slipping my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. ‘What about “How to slay your spray tan”?’
Violet completely ignores me. She’s too busy getting into all sorts of indelicate positions that I really wish I did not have to see with my eyes. ‘Bend forwards for me babes, legs apart,’ orders Bruce, his Aussie accent conjuring up images of shrimps and barbies and sea for days. In reality, I’m in a hotel in London adding yet more pictures of paper-knickered Violet to my poor old memory card.
The tanning gun whirs into action and Violet squawks as the cold spray hits her, while Bruce regales us with stories of the celebrities he’s bronzed recently. ‘Of course, you are by far my favourite,’ he beams at Violet.
Oh Bruce, you are good.
‘Me, a celebrity?’ She giggles with mock-modesty.
Pregnant pause. She’s waiting for us all to rush in and reassure her that she is, in fact, bigger than Beyoncé.
‘Everyone I meet is always desperate to know what you’re like IRL.’
‘Oh stop!’ But Bruce’s shameless arse kissing continues, giving me the opportunity to have a quick think about tonight. Because guys, I’m going on a date with James later. . . ON THE LONDON EYE! I’ve lived in this city for all of my days and still haven’t been for a ride on the big wheel. I’m super excited because a) James and I are getting on so well right now and b) I’m hoping to take some sweet photos from our capsule. My camera could definitely do with some pictures on it that aren’t all Violet. Violet gets a spray tan. Violet goes for lunch. Violet wears an outfit. Violet’s manicured hand intrudes on my carefully constructed flat-lay. I should try not to complain because working as a photographer for her ridiculously popular blog does (just about) pay my bills. And she is very generous when it comes to handing over things she’s been gifted and doesn’t want. I mean, I’m sure I’ll get tonnes of wear out of those neon yellow shearling earmuffs when the weather takes a turn. All I’m saying is, tonight will be a great chance to flex my photography skills in ways that don’t involve my boss for once.
‘How can we round off this post?’ Violet’s suddenly back in work mode and interrupting my thoughts. ‘What’s typically Sicilian? Lemons? Maybe I could pose naked with some lemons covering my boobs?’
Cough.
‘Or we could just pop you in a towelling robe and have you sipping a coffee on the balcony over there.’ I wave in the direction of the French windows. ‘It would still have a nice holiday vibe without being too. . . cheesy?’
‘Okay, fine,’ Violet concedes, mildly disgruntled. ‘But ring down to reception first and see if they can send up a bowl of lemons to put on the table next to me. I know you were hoping to leave early for your date tonight but we really must nail these shots first.’
‘Ooh, is this with James?’ Bruce downs tools and practically skips over to the table where I’m scanning through today’s photos on my ancient laptop.
‘Yep. He’s taking me on the London Eye.’
‘Very romantic,’ nods Bruce in approval.
‘Then we’re off to his sister’s wedding in just under two weeks,’ I add, feeling slightly dizzy at the thought of it.
‘So you’ll be meeting his parents for the first time?’
‘Don’t! I’m nervous enough as it is. I’ve spent way too much money on a dress I cannot afford. You know how useless I am at wearing anything other than jeans and a t-shirt! I really want to look the part and it took me ages to find the right one. . .’
‘Sure. The last thing you want is for his dad to be staring at that incredible rack of yours. Imagine if you’d gone for a low-cut number!’
ERMERRRGERRRDDDD.
‘I have gone for a low-cut number. It’s long-sleeved and cuts just below the knee and is the loveliest cornflower blue and OH HOLY SHIT Bruce, it’s got quite a deep plunge. I didn’t think! What am I going to do? Will James’ mum think I’m too slutty for her son? Will his dad talk to my boobs all day long?’
‘Breathe,’ Bruce fans me with a fashion magazine. ‘Firstly, you are the least slutty person I know.’
‘You only know slutty people,’ I hiss.
Bruce thinks about this for a moment.
‘True. Let me rephrase that. You are the opposite of slutty, Jasmine. You are more of an English rose. All pale, interesting and sort of edgy?’
I look down at the scuffed jeans I’m wearing, holes in the knees because they’re that old rather than a fashion statement, and raise an eyebrow. Bruce averts his gaze and forges on. ‘Have you got a picture of the dress?’
I managed a quick changing room selfie on the rare lunch break when I bought it, so I hand my phone over, covering my eyes as I wait for a response.
Bruce starts laughing. Then he takes a look in my direction and is seized by a second fit of giggles. I fold my arms.
‘BRUCE! Why are you laughing at me? Have I chosen the world’s most inappropriate wedding dress? The last time I went to a wedding with a boyfriend, we snuck out the back and drank Blue WKDs with the rest of the underage teenagers there. I ended the night being sick in my bag and
let me tell you, my Tamagotchi did not survive the onslaught. THAT’s how long it’s been! Now I’m a so-called adult and I really don’t know what I’m doing. Am I going to give one of the great uncles a heart attack? James will definitely end it if me and my boobs kill off one of his relatives. Violet and I are flying to France first thing tomorrow for four nights, and when we get back I’ll be so busy that there will be zero time to find a decent replacement. This is a disaster!’
I pause for breath while Bruce wipes the tears from his eyes.
‘Oh honey. This dress is most definitely not inappropriate. When you said it had a deep plunge I was picturing Rihanna at carnival. Heaven knows I’m as keen on a jewel-encrusted bikini and feather crown as the next man. But Jasmine, this is not a deep plunge.’
Bruce zooms into my boob area on the photo and unsuccessfully stifles another smirk.
‘I’m seeing collar bone and the tiniest hint of tit wrapped up together in one badass dress. It is stunning. You are going to look fabulous.’
‘Do you really think so? You’re not just saying that to be nice?’
‘Cross my heart and hope never to tan Chace Crawford.’
I gasp. ‘Your ultimate crush and dream celebrity to tan?’
Violet’s interest has been piqued and she pulls up a seat, carefully stretching her sticky golden limbs out in front of her. ‘Are you guys talking romance? How are things going with James?’
Every now and then, Violet can actually be quite sweet. She’s definitely not the worst boss in the world.
‘We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now.’
‘That must be a personal best for you!’ She snorts.
Can I take that whole not-the-worst-boss-in-the-world comment back pls?
‘What?’ Violet asks, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘You just don’t have a great track record when it comes to men. You either fall head over heels with a guy who ends up dumping you or you find a ridiculous reason to dump them. Didn’t you end things with a guy when you found out that he fell one inch short of your six-foot-minimum requirements?’