by Patricia Mar
STUCK ON YOU
Patricia Mar
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Table of Contents
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About Stuck On You
At last, it’s the day of the interview, and Sara absolutely must get the job. It’s two years since she graduated, and she’s had little success in her career or her personal life. Much to her dismay she is desperately late, teetering on her heels, soaking wet and out of breath by the time she arrives at the offices of Inside Look magazine.
Things are going from bad to worse and when the receptionist tells her the job has already been given to someone else, Sara tries to slip away without being noticed. But she finds herself stuck in the lift with none other than the dazzling model Daniel Gant. After being thrown together by chance, Sara can't believe it when Daniel wants to see her again. Is her luck beginning to change?
Contents
Cover
Welcome Page
About Stuck On You
Chapter 1: Tentacles and Rubber Dinghies
Chapter 2: Go to the Mattresses
Chapter 3: The Bermuda Triangle
Chapter 4: Ommm Ommm
Chapter 5: The Merry Wives
Chapter 6: Tuxedo and Crisps
Chapter 7: Am I Awake Or Do I Dream?
Chapter 8: You Can’t Fight Destiny
Chapter 9: You Won’t Have My Scalp
Chapter 10: Hello Spank!
Chapter 11: Cinderella and Prince Charming
Chapter 12: A lot, Everything, Too Much!
Chapter 13: Desdemona
Chapter 14: A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes…
Chapter 15: Playing With Fire
Chapter 16: Cream and Bath Towels
Chapter 17: Dinner for Two
Chapter 18: Mark Your Territory
Chapter 19: Lassie Come Home!
Chapter 20: Memories
Chapter 21: The Rainbow Trout
Chapter 22: Clark Kent
Chapter 23: News and Words
Chapter 24: There’s Never a Fire When You Need One
Chapter 25: A Setback
Chapter 26: Marco Who?
Chapter 27: Surprise!
Chapter 28: Miss Marple Investigates
Chapter 29: The Investigation Continues
Epilogue: What Goes Around Comes Around
Thanks
About Patricia Mar
Become an Aria Addict
Copyright
Chapter 1
Tentacles and Rubber Dinghies
How many damn hands did he have?
Not even the giant octopus in that old B-movie had this many tentacles. Sara tried to work out how best to break free from that lascivious embrace: should she deal him a mortal blow to his manhood, or play the contortionist and duck under his arm? And, urgh! those lips that kept trying to kiss her – they were like two wet rubber dinghies!
Yuck! Get off!
At exactly what point could she class this as going beyond getting a little over friendly and feel justified in fighting back?
She ought to have realised that he wasn’t her type when she first clapped eyes on that unnerving mole set proudly beside his aquiline nose, which by rights should have set an alarm bell as loud as Big Ben in her head to warn her that this blind date was doomed to be another failure. She would certainly be complaining to her friend Lia who had set it up, possibly emphasising her words with a series of kicks up the backside.
Sara put her hands on the chest of Marco, or whatever the hell he was called, and pushed him away, glaring at him furiously with her piercing grey eyes – if she concentrated hard enough, maybe she could actually incinerate him.
Hands on hips, her long hair flowing down her back, she stood immobile for a moment, then took a deep breath and pursed her lips.
“Get your paws off me!”
Thank God they were no longer in his car, a rusty old jalopy that should have been another warning about this Latin loser.
“What kind of girl do you think I am?”
She stepped back – not out of fear of him, but out of fear that she might punch him if she didn’’t.
“I’m sorry, Sara,” Marco began to stutter. “I thought you…”
“You thought I what?”
Ok, maybe she was going over the top a bit. Before long, heads would probably start poking out of windows in this quiet street in Rome’s exclusive Parioli district, but she didn’t care. Let them watch!
“I thought you liked me!”
Yeah, right… Just because I was nice to you and listened to you talking rubbish all night over a plate of sushi – which I hate, by the way – you thought I liked you so much that our tongues were destined to meet?
Obviously, she didn’t say it out loud, though she did wonder why she was sparing him the cruel truth. It was her conscience which answered her when she saw the mole trembling on a face which was now as pasty looking as a bowl of blancmange, and the pleading eyes which made Marco look like a baby in a nappy advert. A couple more seconds and there would be tears glistening on his cheeks.
“Marco, look – let’s just call it a night, ok?”
Forever, she added mentally, to underline the concept in her memory.
“But I want to see you again.”
With his army polo neck, perfectly cut black trousers and doe eyes, he was moving closer again.
God, no… What exactly was it that he hadn’t he understood?
“We’re not right for each other. I’m sure you’ll find the girl for you.” One who loves sushi and all your blah blah blah…
Marco looked at his feet.
“They all say that. What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing, we’re just not right for each other. These things happen, it’s not the end of the world.” She walked over and gave him a fraternal pat on the back, perhaps a little too energetically. Subconsciously she still wanted to punch his lights out.
“Good luck, Marco.”
She was about to add “You’re a nice guy,” but the memory of the tentacles and the rubber dinghy lips came flooding back, so she bit her tongue, smiled and turned around, key in hand, and a few seconds later was walking through the front door of her flat. Goodbye Marco, you and your mole, your bucket of bolts and your sushi.
*
Feet up on the coffee table, Virginia was sprawled on the beige sofa hugging a bowl of popcorn as if it was a dear old friend and giving Sara a strange look. Her green eyes shifted to the clock on the wall near the door and then returned to her.
“Congratulations, Sis, that’s a new record – it’s only nine twenty-five. You managed to get rid of Marco even faster than his predecessor!”
Sara sank down on the couch beside her, grabbed a handful of popcorn, greasy with butter and sprinkled with plenty of salt, and stared at The Man of Steel on the television.
“You watching this again?”
“I like Henry Cavill,” said Virginia, with a shrug.
You’d have struggled to find two more different sisters. Sara was outgoing and curvaceous, with curious, watchful eyes and a mass of soft, curly, dark brown hair, while Virginia was blonde and thin, with hair as straight as spaghetti and an apathetic expression which quickly turned sprightly whenever her eyes happened upon some hunk in a movie or a hot underwear model. Sara was twenty-five, and was once again looking for a job after being laid off during the downsizing of the accounting firm she used to work for. She was the type of girl with what you might call a good head on her shoulders – one of those who doesn’t really care what type of job she has to do to put the bread on the table: she needed to earn money, and she left the idealism to Virginia, who was twenty-two and still had a
head full of dreams.
Sara took another handful of popcorn. “I’m starving!”
“I thought tonight’s teddy bear was taking you out for dinner?”
“And exactly how much of a plate of sushi do you think I ate?”
Virginia passed her the bowl sympathetically before going back to drooling over Henry Cavill like a St Bernard.
Sara finished the popcorn in silence, throwing the occasional glance at the film on the forty inch HD TV. Superheroes weren’t really her thing, though, so she picked up one of the fashion magazines her sister was always buying and began to leaf through it.
As she flicked through the pages, she came upon a photo that made her jaw drop in surprise. “Wow… this guy is pretty well put together!”
Virginia leaned over to look and burst out laughing. “My dear sister, who obviously lives on another planet from the rest of us – that’s the model of the moment. The sexiest, most sought after, most highly paid model in the world, beloved of magazines and designers. And his backside has to be seen to be believed!”
“And I’m believing it, in all its glory!”
His harmonious curves were displayed in black and white, posing on mattresses, sheets and sofas, and what he couldn’t do with a shirt wasn’t worth doing. After studying the photos closely, Sara could have written an article on a thousand and one ways to use a dress shirt without actually putting the damn thing on – and she was pretty sure it would have been a bestseller.
A few minutes later there wasn’t an inch of that body whose geography Sara didn’t now know by heart – and to think, geography had never been one of her favourite subjects at school.
Virginia burst out laughing. “You should see your face – you look like me!”
“After a long period of hibernation, my hormones have just woken up and they seem to be throwing a party. God, this man is perfection!”
“Give me that,” said Virginia, snatching the magazine from her and looking more closely at the photos. “I know, he’s pretty outrageous, isn’t he?”
“He’s a gift to humankind – he deserves a monument!”
“Ha ha! Let’s write to Unesco to ask if they can get him declared world heritage so that we can all have access to him,” proclaimed an excited Virginia. “Or at least get a decent look!”
Sarah laughed and took back the magazine. “And check out those eyes.”
“Actually, I was more interested in…” Virginia pointed, and after a moment’s silence the two sisters burst out laughing.
And after a long discussion of the beauty of the human race – well, one member of it, at least – Virginia and Sara went to bed, ready to dream unforgettable dreams.
Chapter 2
Go to the Mattresses
Could the day possibly have got off to a worse start?
Well, yes, obviously it could have – she hadn’t got her heel stuck in a manhole cover and seen a man sprint athletically to her assistance only to be run over by a passing truck. It hadn’t been quite that bad.
No, it was just plain old bad luck – the type of bad luck that starts with an alarm not going off and the bus getting to the bus stop three minutes early and setting set off without you on board…
Sara continued to stare at her watch, a small gold disk which reminded her of when she had graduated two years earlier from the faculty of ‘Good luck on getting the type of job you’re looking for with this piece of paper’. But the more she looked at the time, the more it seemed as though the bus, which she’d caught half an hour later than she should have, was never going to reach its destination – the road stretched ahead like a nightmare.
And of course, it would have to be today, the day when she had an important job interview. She’d been looking for the right opportunity for weeks, and now perhaps she had found it. Secure employment – not the best maybe, but she could start as a secretary and work her way up. She was bright, a quick learner who’d run an entire office by herself, and she knew how to treat clients and bosses. And she wasn’t bad looking. Okay, she might not be a supermodel, but she was definitely pretty, and with a little hard work she’d make sure they noticed her. If they took her on, she’d shine herself up like a silver tea service, because even if she wasn’t obsessed with fashions and looks, she knew everything about each line of cosmetics thanks to her sister and had become an expert in the field despite herself.
Wanting to make a good impression, she’d bought a really smart, understated suit in a creamy shade whose soft curves highlighted her own in all the right places.
The problem was that she was late for her appointment. And that didn’t look good.
She’d kept her face glued to the window all the way, as though she could make the lines of cars open up to let the bus pass, until at some point she had decided to cut short the agony and walk the last few metres. Her interview was supposed to have started over forty minutes ago. Panic!
The bus doors slammed shut behind her, ejecting her gracelessly onto the crowded pavement, and, despite the high heels that she’d put on that morning, she broke into a run.
Sara didn’t really know why she was taking it all so seriously. In the back of her mind she knew that they would never offer her the job. It mattered little that she could speak three languages, had a degree and loved hard work – she just didn’t possess many of the skills the job required. She didn’t have the charisma, the charm or the presence. She didn’t look like one of those secretaries you see in films, always perfect – the ones whose nail polish was never chipped, whose hair looked as though they’d just been to the hairdresser’s, even when they’d just got out of bed, and who had eyelashes so long they could cause a tornado with a simple flutter.
She was simply Sara De Michele, with a cute face and the gift of the gab – the type of girl who would do perfectly well but who was certainly no teacher’s pet – and who had always hated the teacher’s pet. Enterprising, but not exactly Supergirl.
She was out of breath by the time she reached the building which housed Inside Look, the new magazine of fashion, gossip and other stuff of which her sister Virginia was an avid reader.
“And it’s a good thing she is,” Sara thought, as she smartened up the soft curls the hairdryer had tortured into place that morning to make herself look a little less like an early morning lunatic.
Sara had studied her adversary closely and read through all of Virginia’s jealously hoarded back numbers from cover to cover, so she knew plenty about the magazine and the company that published it. She felt ready.
The glass doors, so transparent that they hardly seemed to be there at all, opened and let her through, though to tell the truth her entrance was hardly triumphant – she was still pulling at her suit and breathing slowly through her nose in an attempt to slow down her heartbeat, which was racing after her unexpected little morning run.
She walked over to a large panel upon which were the names of the various companies.
Inside Look – seventh floor.
Like a condemned man, she took a last deep breath and headed toward the lift.
Once inside, she had another quick peek at her watch and shivered in horror – she was an hour late.
The doors opened and she found herself on a landing staring disconsolately at another set of transparent sliding doors. She walked through them and made for the huge, ultra-modern reception desk, behind which sat three girls, who turned as one to stare at her: each of them was engaged in a conversation on a bluetooth headset that made them look like something out of an episode of Star Trek – the three Uhuras.
Starting to feel a little uncomfortable, Sara glanced down at her attire. Maybe it wasn’t quite as stylish as she’d thought. Today’s lessons: choose the jobs you apply for on the basis of your natural inclinations, and buy another alarm clock. Not necessarily in that order.
Girl number three, raven-black sci-fi hair, Chanel No. 5 and Rouge Dior lipstick, looked at Sara as though she were an insect to be crushed. If there was one
thing Sara couldn’t stand it was having somebody look down their nose at her – it brought immediately to mind ‘go to the mattresses’, the expression she’d adopted as her motto after seeing You’ve Got Mail.
“Can I help you?”
And get lost, you insignificant loser, her tone of voice seemed to say.
“My name is Sara De Michele. I have a job interview with Mr Marzi.”
That’s the way – confident, audacious, sure of yourself…
Girl number two, red hair as smooth as a lino floor, an unidentified fragrance and Estée Lauder Rose Tea lipstick smirked sarcastically without raising her eyes from her monitor.
Hmmm, that doesn’t look good.
Girl Number Three stared at her as though she was pleased with what she was about to say. “I’m afraid you’re late. Mr Marzi has finished the interviews for today and he has already selected a candidate.”
Girl number two was still chuckling under her breath, and Sara was about to give her an impromptu make-over when she noticed that the eyes of the three women were suddenly staring at some mysterious object behind her. Something which was obviously moving. The girls looked nothing short of ecstatic, and three dazed expressions took the place of the ridiculous I’ve-made-it-even-if-all-I-do-for-a-living-is-answer-phones arrogance of a moment before.
Sara turned her head too late, just in time to see the back of a very tall man walk out through the door and approach the elevators. She looked back at the three over perfumed airheads who had now turned their glares back to her with the sole intention of getting rid of their unwanted guest.
“Have a nice day.”
Like a firing squad, the three graces had just dismissed her. What sweethearts! Sara had two options: one, fight to see Marzi and do the bloody interview, or, two, leave with her tail between her legs because it was, to be honest, all her fault – being late, the way she looked, everything. What was she even doing there?
She hated giving those three space age hags the satisfaction, but she was a well brought up girl, so she said goodbye – through gritted teeth – and then headed back through the fairy portal, finding herself on the landing just as the lift door closed.