Better Left Unsent by Lia Louis EPUB & PDF

Better Left Unsent by Lia Louis EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online

• Status: Available for Free Download
• Authors: Lia Louis
• Language: English
• Genre: contemporary romance
• Format: PDF / EPUB
• Size: 2.8 MB
• Price: Free

I am going to vomit. I’m going to have a heart attack, right here, on a
scratchy office chair and in Boardroom Two, which, for some reason,
always smells faintly of Pecorino cheese. Perhaps I’ll even – die? I mean,
that’s surely possible given the circumstances and that my poor heart is
thumping so hard, so quickly, my body must be convinced I’m running a
marathon completely untrained. Deaths happen all the time at marathons,
don’t they? It’s why I don’t run.

(That, and the fact that sweating always
turns my face to the colour of a shiny, embarrassing, prize red cabbage.)
But now – now I’m seriously considering running. Running and not
stopping. Running until this stuffy boardroom is nothing but a tiny,
unidentifiable speck in the distance. Running until I get to the border, until I
meet a nameless man in dark sunglasses who’ll shove a fake passport in my
hand, along with a false beard, and a one-way ticket to a tiny, hidden-away
desert town in the Outback somewhere.

Because – God, this is awful. My worst, worst, worst possible
nightmare. Probably anyone’s worst nightmare, for that matter, but most
definitely, beyond a doubt, mine – and it’s happening. Right now. To me.
Actual me. Millie Chandler. Live, and in stereo.

Nobody’s even said it out loud yet either; why on a totally normalseeming, run-of-the-mill Thursday morning at nine-fifteen I find myself
summoned here, in a boardroom of people mere receptionists like me only
ever see when redundancies are announced (or when they’re drunkenly
tightrope-walking the sexual harassment borderline at after-work drinks).

But I already know. Without anyone uttering a single word, I know why I’m
sitting here, in front of three of my bosses, plus Ann-Christin, our
incompetent but sweet HR manager whose blank face stares through a
laptop screen like a Star Trek villain. I knew almost the second I walked
into the room a few moments ago, trailing behind Petra, my boss (and I
hope, still my friend) and saw my name projected from a computer onto the
screen on the wall. A uniformed stack of them. Millie Chandler. Millie
Chandler. Millie Chandler. Millie Chandler.
Because it seems, somehow, emails that shouldn’t have been sent, have
been sent.

Lots of them.
So, so, so many of them.
Emails I wrote, but never sent. And ‘never sent’ was how they should
have always, always stayed.

Oh my God, I really am going to be sick. Or pass out. Or both. (But
then – passing out would definitely get me out of this, wouldn’t it? And I
want, so much, to bloody get out of this.)

‘We’re just waiting for Paul to arrive,’ sighs Michael Waterstreet, more
hard-hearted cop than managing director, and although I manage to nod, let
out a shaky little whimper of an ‘OK,’ I’m so rigid in this chair, it’s hard to
tell if I actually moved at all or if I’ve perhaps, due to all the shame and
terror and utter embarrassment, turned to stone like a petrified fossil.

How has this even happened? How? Five years, I’ve worked here at
Flye TV, a small, slightly disorganised (but mostly successful) TV sports
broadcasting company. Five whole years I’ve given it my all, like an

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