Love, Lies and Louboutins (Heartbreak Book 2)

by S. M Phillips

  Table of Contents

  Books by S. M Phillips

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgments

  Love, Lies & Louboutin’s

  A Heartbreak Novel

  Book #2

  By S.M Phillips

  Content

  Books by S. M Phillips

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgments

  Books by S. M Phillips

  • Escape Down Under (DOWN UNDER #1)

  • Fallen Down Under (DOWN UNDER #2)

  • Forever Down Under (DOWN UNDER #3)

  • Down Under Complete Trilogy Box Set

  (includes 2 exclusive novellas)

  ~

  • Obsession (OBSESSION #1)

  • Betrayal (OBSESSION #2)

  ~

  • Since You’ve Been Gone

  ~

  • Heartbreak’s A Bitch!

  • Love, Lies & Louboutins

  Copyright 2017 © S.M Phillips. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means such as electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  About The Author

  S.M Phillips is a fun loving mummy of two from Manchester. When she’s not busy writing, you’ll most likely find her head buried deep inside her kindle with a cup of coffee in hand. Talk to her when she’s reading and things could get pretty colourful, pretty fast. Just ask her Hubby.

  She is a lover of chocolate, especially if it has peanut butter inside and she loves a good cocktail or two. She often wonders if she should spend more time buying shoes, like most women, but then she remembers her beautiful never ending TBR list and realises that money can be spent on more important things…

  … BOOKS.

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  Life in Emily Parker’s world is good.

  In fact, right now, it’s beyond good. I’d go as far to say that it’s absolutely fricking amazing with thousands of glitter sprinkles thrown on top.

  It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. Sometimes I can’t help but feel like I’m living someone else’s life. There’s no other possible explanation. Either fate has finally decided to cut me some much-needed slack and play nice, or someone somewhere has secretly slipped me some magic juice. I guess it doesn’t matter at the end of the day because I’m not the type of girl to complain about it. A wise person once told me that you should never look a gift horse in the mouth and this chick really doesn’t want to jinx anything so I’ll be steering well clear of horses for the foreseeable.

  I mean, it’s been what, almost six months since my last drama? Surely that has to be some kind of world record for me. In my head, I can hear Ellen’s people calling to invite me on the show so I can be praised for how I’ve turned my life around.

  Now, wouldn’t that be something to tell the grandkids about? I can just see the headline now: Emily Parker: in love and finally drama free. Could she really have her shit together?

  I think I do, well, with the slight exception of burning my poor delicate little ears every morning on my curling wand. It’s true what they say; beauty doesn’t half come with a price and a multitude of sacrifices, not to mention a shit load of scars from all the trial and error too. I swear that I actually sell a piece of my soul with each strand of hair that I use.

  They never show you any of that though, do they? Oh no, they don’t even bother to stop and show you some kind of walk around either. In reality it’s like a hideous chore, yet it’s always made out to be super quick and easy on those YouTube videos: ‘How to look like Beyoncé in 5 minutes’, or, ‘This contour kit will turn you into a Kardashian’.

  I guess it also doesn’t help me when the videos are like crack – highly addictive and there’s nothing I can bloody do about it. Seriously watch one and you’re hooked. I swear I must have wasted a fair chunk of my life searching for the perfect hairstyle and flawless brows, only to become a pro in mystery egg openings, not to mention that I end up with that ridiculous five-finger family song stuck in my head going around and around on repeat for days on end. And, do you know what? After all that hard graft that’s been put in on my part, I’m still none the bloody wiser.

  Then that leads me to my other little problem of stepping on random upturned plugs in the middle of the night when I have to make a mad dash to the bathroom to pee, because I’m fairly certain that my loveable boyfriend isn’t a fan of golden showers, especially spontaneous ones at three o’clock in the morning.

  I guess it’s safe to say, at the ripe old age of almost thirty, that my bladder’s not what it once was and I haven’t even had any kids battering the shit out of my uterus and weakening my walls. Who wants to bet I’ll be bloody incontinent at forty?

  I suppose we can’t have everything in life though, can we?

  Well, not unless Tom Hardy wakes up one day and realises that I’m the one he needs to be with and finally finds the courage to up and leave everything behind, just so that he can hunt me down and profess his undying love for me. Now that would be the dream.

  I bet Tom wouldn’t leave his stuff lying around on the bedroom floor carelessly to cause me an injury and the Tom of my imagination would definitely be the type to curl my hair for me. There’s no doubt about it. He’d be a gentleman through and through. There’s also a pretty good chance that he’d make sure to pay close attention when curling around my ears, because a man like him would do anything in his
power to prevent his one true love any pain and distress.

  “Emily, have you seen my socks?”

  Matt’s voice filters down the hallway, pulling me out of my thoughts and unfortunately reminding me that Tom Hardy isn’t quite mine, yet, and also alerting me to the fact that I’m now sharing my sacred, personal space with a clutter nutter – come - foot destroying plug abuser. I mean, seriously, how many plugs does one guy even need?

  However, in all fairness he’s my clutter nutter and even though he drives me completely bat-shit crazy at the best of times, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  But… Tom Hardy though. There is absolutely no denying that a man like him could change the dynamic of things and no doubt break up even the happiest of homes with his smouldering looks alone.

  “Emily…” Matt calls out again and I realise I didn’t answer him.

  “Have you checked the drawers?” I shout back with a mouth full of toothpaste and I already know what his answer will be.

  It doesn’t take too long before his head pops around the side of the bathroom door. Jesus, the boy has remarkable timing, I’ll give him that. I mean, hello… there’s nothing sexier than trying to have a civil, somewhat grown-up conversation while you’re brushing your teeth, your hair’s all over the place because you’ve yet to tame it, and let’s not even talk about the dreaded panda eyes and overnight spot cream.

  Recently, I’ve gotten into the habit of making a mad dash to the bathroom when he stays over so that I can get ready first. I won’t lie, it’s a massive for me. Actually, I guess it’s more of a deal breaker. I’ve been so used to my own space and company for so long that over time I’ve become used to getting my shiz together in peace.

  Yes, I am that girl who runs and hides before gradually returning to her hunk of a man looking somewhat half decent once her chore of a transformation from Ogre to barely human is complete.

  This morning however, it seems that I haven’t been so lucky and now thanks to his amazing boyish and super impatient ways I can no longer use the ‘hey, I woke up like this’ line because he’s now stood behind me, taking in all my horrific and pale-faced glory through the reflection of the bathroom mirror, and what’s worse, he now knows it was all lies.

  Now Matthew knows how much of a hormonal pimpled-filled monster I really am. One who hides behind generous amounts of BB Cream and bronzer that I usually slap on before gracing him with my presence in a morning.

  In all honestly, as much as I find him highly attractive, he doesn’t half make me feel physically sick to my stomach at times. How dare he waltz into my bathroom looking all sexy and stuff, yet here I am looking like I’ve been on an all week bender and then some. As much as I’d love to hate him for it, I can’t. He’s so bloody handsome, it’s painful. Even when he gets on my tits, no matter what, I always end up melting a little on the inside. What a bell end.

  “Yeah, I’ve looked and there’s none there.” He says once I’ve had my perverted little fix of his body and finally rest my eyes on his. “Have you even washed anything this week?”

  “Excuse me?” I can’t help but scrunch my face up in utter disgust and disbelief. Surely, I just imagined that horrific, sexist comment which fell so freely from his perfectly plump lips? I must have, because the Matthew that I know, my Matt, wouldn’t dream of getting on my angry side, especially before my morning coffee.

  When he doesn’t say anything else, I take in a deep breath and count to three, then calmly say, “You know, if I didn’t like you as much as I do, I think I’d have to hurt you right now; maybe even kill you for saying something that stupid out loud.” My voice warns him with a playful tone, but I can’t help worrying that deep down underneath my calm exterior, there might actually be a teeny tiny bit of hidden truth hiding within my words. I’m sure I’m just imagining it, but then again look at all the people that eventually lose their shit. People can only take so much and over time, they just pop. He doesn’t help matters when he remains silent as if he no longer has control over his basic bodily functions; instead he just watches me expectantly. I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t creeping me out. Who does that, anyway? Can he not see I’m kind of busy here? “What do you think this is, service with a smile?” I ask.

  “Well…” Matt smiles, fully regaining his bodily functions. Oh no sunshine, we’re not going down that road. Not today. Instead of playing along with him, I automatically cut his dirty thoughts right off.

  “Or better yet, are you trying to tell me that I remind you of Mummy dearest and all I’m good for is wiping your arse?” My eyes stay locked on his as I pray for him to really think about my question before he answers it.

  “God, no.” He scoffs, utterly offended. “That would be so wrong on so many levels.” I try to hold back a giggle while he shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear his mind of some weird and slightly unpleasant thoughts before looking back at me and flashing his wide and wicked smile. “Plus, Parker, I’m perfectly capable of wiping my own arse thank you very much, but I can’t say the same for you once I’m finished with you.” Matt grabs his crotch area for added effect, but it does nothing except remind me that he’s acting like an absolute child.

  “Is that right?” I sigh, not rising to his bait, “because I’m yet to witness it…” I laugh back at him as I watch his deflated reaction in the mirror. “Oh, here we go…” I think to myself as he folds his big strong arms across his bare, manly chest. I swallow hard and all he can do is stare shamelessly back at me, stood in nothing but his super tight-fitting boxers. Talk about a bloody distraction. Why does he have to be so unfair?

  As I look at him, I’m going to go out on a whim and guess this must be his superior man pose. His perfected superior alpha male stance to prove that yes, he’s the male, and he needs no one. However, would it be rude for me to point out that actually, right now he needs socks, and worse still, this big, burly alpha needs little old me to find him a pair?

  See, I knew allowing him to stay over on a work night would turn out to be a bad idea. “What?” I ask when he continues to stare at me, his arms still crossed. Oh, this feisty beast doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to move.

  “Socks…” he mouths slowly at me.

  “Seriously Matthew.” Flaming hell, are we really doing this? Having a bloody to-do over socks of all things at six thirty on a Monday morning? “You’ve got eyes so go use them.” Jesus, what does he expect me to do, drop everything and go rushing around to find him a pair? I can just about manage to roll my eyes at him.

  “Ah, come on. I’m gonna be late for work. Help me out, please?” Yes, that’s exactly what he expects me to do. Bloody typical male. However, I’m not going to take his bait. Instead I keep my eyes locked on his through the mirror and try to show him how much of an annoying shit bag he’s being right now while I finish up at the sink, making sure to take my time as I slowly rinse out my mouth.

  “What exactly would you like me to do, Matthew?” I ask, sarcasm heavy in my voice, yet all he can do is shrug back at me. What is it with the male species? No matter what, they just can’t do anything for themselves, can they? “Well?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe finding me a pair of socks would be a good place to start, no?”

  My eyes instantly roll at him again. This is becoming quite the habit. I can’t help it though, the guy’s unreal. How on earth can a fully grown man struggle to find an item of clothing?

  If I was going to be smug about it, this would be the perfect opportunity to boost my little ego with the fact that he so desperately needs me, but in all honesty, I don’t even think that’s the case. Personally, I think he’s subject to little boy syndrome and expects everyone around him to happily cater to his every bloody need.

  Well, not on my watch, sunshine. I’m afraid it looks like little old Matthew is going to be in for a right shock now that he’s with me. Oh yes, things are going to change around here that’s for sure. Sooner or later he will find out that I don’t have a domestic bo
ne in my body.

  “Here, you’ll have to make do with these.” I shout out and grab the first pair that I come across when I step into the bedroom. Didn’t really look all that hard to begin with, did he? I hear a sharp gasp behind me and jump a little. He’s just gasped out loud like a little girl. My manly-man of a boyfriend making a noise that wouldn’t even fall out of Rachel’s mouth. It’s true what they say, you definitely do learn something new every day.

  Scared for what I might find behind me, I turn around slowly and cautiously, careful not to scare the beast that awaits me. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? Emily, are these slipper socks?”

  “Yep.” I answer shortly. I don’t have enough time to spare to watch him have a mini-meltdown. “Look, they’re socks,” I point out, rather helpfully. “You need socks, I have socks, problem solved.” I bite back, quickly losing any pre-caffeine patience that I had. Jesus, he can be such a child at times. Thank God, I don’t have to work beside him anymore. If I did, then I’m pretty sure we’d no longer have a relationship left.

  “They’re bright pink, Emily. Are you taking the piss?”

  “No, I’m not.” I pull my dress up and try to ignore the chub-rub that’s starting to take hold and set in around my arse and waist. Why couldn’t it have piled onto my boobs first? I could have handled that, not these new found love handles. I can’t ignore it anymore, I will have to do something about it soon, otherwise none of my beautiful and slightly expensive clothes will fit. All that money wasted… just for me to turn in to a fat bitch. We can’t be having that, oh no. “Unfortunately for you it’s the only pair that I have to hand, but look on the bright side…”