Dead Romantic
“Susie is so shocked that her fork, laden with cheesy lasagne, is frozen halfway between the plate and her lips. Gloopy meat sauce splashes onto the white tablecloth, but for once I don’t move to mop it up. What are a few splashes of lasagne in the general scheme of things? Let’s face it: I’ve got a far bigger mess to clean up.It’s early evening and, after a fruitless day spent mostly pacing up and down my office muttering bastard at regular intervals, I’ve left work and met Susie for supper in a pretty little Italian restaurant just off Covent Garden. My head is still spinning and so far I’ve not touched my seafood risotto, but a fair amount of red wine seems to have slipped down my neck.“He stole all my research and passed it off as his own,” I repeat. “And then he swapped my application with his and now he’s the Assistant Director of our department.”Susie’s jaw falls open. More lasagne splatters onto the tablecloth. “No way! Seriously?”“Seriously. I know it sounds far-fetched, and b...elieve me he’s done a great job of making me look like a brain-injured lunatic at work, but that’s exactly what’s happened.”MoreLess
Write Review:
Guest
Read Also
7.6 / 10
9 / 10
User Reviews: