Martha Fletcher has only ever had one job- Executive Assistant to Sam Courtenay.
She'll schedule his diary, pick up his dry cleaning, usher girls out of his apartment first thing in the morning... nothing was out of bounds until one night, that blur...
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
"My mum is coming to London," Martha grunts as she throws herself into the seat opposite my desk and shakes her head in agitation. "Crazy bitch actually text me to ask if I wanted to go for afternoon tea with her. Can you believe that?"
It was common knowledge that Martha and her mother- I forget her name- are not at all close but it wasn't something that my girlfriend would openly talk about. The least said about her mum, the better because, as Martha herself would say, the only family she really needs is Isaac, Charlotte and Sera. A baby brother wouldn't go amiss, but that was something she was happy to wait for.
I studied her carefully but said nothing. When Martha gets worked up, it's best not to poke the bear; letting her get her frustration out of her system was the only way forward, even if it took all day. In the meantime, seeing her huff and puff and jig her knee up and down amused me. The interesting thing about Martha Fletcher is that while she comes across as very mature most of the time, there are occasions when her age is apparent. Right now, the way she pouts and blows stray strands of hair from her face, I'm reminded that she's only eighteen years old.
Pinching my eyes closed, I try to get my mind off my girlfriend's age so I feel a little less predatory about dating a teenager. For some reason, my mind whirled to thoughts of my own mother, the woman who practically abandoned Dan and me when we were kids so she could flounce around the world with whichever toy boy she was paying to service her. I lost count of how many men she's been through a long time ago and at the moment, I wouldn't know where she is, let alone who she's with. As a five-year-old, that would sometimes bother me but now that I'm twenty-five, I just feel sorry for the woman.
The last time I saw her, Sophie was threatening to ruin her already precarious standing in London and British society after she turned up for my father's funeral and proceeded to trash talk Evelyn. Since then, almost two years ago, I haven't seen nor spoken to my mother. It's not a great loss; I have my grandmother and Evelyn, as well as Sophie, protecting me. Plus, I have Martha.
"Does Charlotte ever talk about her?" Martha randomly asks, turning to stare at me with curious eyes.
I crinkle my eyebrows together. "About your mother?" Giving me a small nod, Martha waits for my answer. "Not as far as I know. She doesn't really talk about, uh... sorry, I forgot your mum's name."
"Alyssa," Martha scoffs. "But you can call her Crazy Bitch if you'd like. I do."
"Thanks for the offer but I think I'll stick with the name her mother gave her," I laugh.
Martha grins. "Grams gave her the name Crazy Bitch."
"Nice try but I'm not buying the bullshit you're selling," I tell her, sending a wink her way. She rolls those beautiful blue orbs at me and clicks her tongue before looking away and childishly folding her arms across her chest. "No, Char doesn't talk about Alyssa. Maybe when Alyssa came on the scene the first time but since then, nothing. She's too secure in her relationship with Isaac to really give two shits about your mum. Actually, come to think about it, she may have mentioned her once or twice but always with regards to you. Char worries about you a lot when it comes to your mum."
