Love at First Slice by Mandy Baggot EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Mandy Baggot
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
‘Damn it!’ George yelled, racing over to the tap with her bloodied finger.
Cuts were an occupational hazard, but this time she’d been slicing up
chillies. Sliced pepper, sliced finger, and now the spicy contents of the
Mexican plant felt like they were burrowing to her core. This was typical.
She was under pressure, she was rushing to get things finished and her mind
was on another job. Sometimes multitasking was just plain dangerous.
‘Bugger!’ George roared angrily as she continued to hold her finger
under the tap.
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What she really wanted to say was fuck, really, really loud. She wanted
to stand in the middle of the kitchen and release the word from her mouth
with the ferocity and venom of a wronged banshee or, maybe, P!nk. She
took a deep breath and tried to swallow down the feeling. Nope, it was still
there.
‘You all right? Or are we having flesh sandwiches again?’ Marisa asked,
raising her low-lighted head to look at her boss.
‘Have you finished buttering yet?’ George questioned in reply.
She wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm, particularly sarcasm with a thick
Welsh accent and plenty of attitude. Marisa had already pissed her off
singing badly to Beyoncé all morning; she didn’t need her questioning her
ability right now.
‘No, like there’s loads.’
‘Well, stop worrying about what I’m doing and get on with it. Or it’s
only thirty minutes for lunch,’ George told her.
‘That’s like totally not fair; in fact, I think it’s against the law,’ Marisa
remarked, jabbing her knife into the margarine tub.
Nothing had gone right today. George was short of supplies, the radio
couldn’t find a decent station and they were behind schedule. She could
also feel a headache coming on. It always started in her ears, a build-up of
pressure like she was at thirty thousand feet, then the pain would slowly
move to the back of her head and spread until it had enveloped her entire
skull. Then she couldn’t think, let alone function. She needed ibuprofen
washed down with a nice cold beer. There was a six pack of bottles in the
fridge. They were Mexican too. How ironic was that?
It was only 3.00 p.m. though and having beer would be wrong when she
was so busy. She needed to stay focussed; she needed to regain some
momentum on the order they were finalising. And drinking beer in the
afternoon was highly unacceptable in front of someone as impressionable as
seventeen-year-old Marisa. She already knew Marisa dabbled in alcopops
and needed little encouragement.
She caught her once, snogging the lad
from the butchers outside the Co-op, a half empty bottle of WKD in her
hand. At 10.30 a.m. George had laid out Butcher Boy when he’d suggested
she ‘fuck off and mind her own business’. Marisa was frogmarched back to
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