The Interview Read Online Donna Alam

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement1

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As well as not being deaf, Doreen isn’t Irish.

“You know, that’s kind of how I feel. I’m done living my life by other people’s rules.” I’d gone to the college my parents wanted me to, an all-girls Christian college just an hour from home. They said it would be for the best, but the best for who? Not me. It was the best they could do short of wrapping me in cotton and never letting me out of the house again. I’d done it because they were all so changed after Connor died, and I would’ve done anything to ease their pain. I’d toed the line, and I’d taken all the precautions, given Connor’s cardiac arrest. He was so fit and healthy—such a gym junkie—that we couldn’t believe it.

In the aftermath, I stayed close to home. I rarely drank, ate healthy meals, and promised I’d avoid strenuous activities. Including sex. I attended doctor appointments when I was supposed to—monitoring cardiology appointments, too. His death made me want to squeeze as much life in as I could. I wanted to travel and explore, but instead, I chose their needs over mine. But in the end, it made no difference. It makes me so sad when I think of all the time I’ve wasted, time I will never get again.

So I’m here, in London, with a list of experiences where I’ve wanted to live for years. Even staying with Doreen is a compromise to help my parents sleep at night. Someone to check on me and make sure I’m tucked safe in bed, not—

I cut off the internal noise, closing the door on a mind of crowded thoughts and recriminations.

“Screw what anyone else thinks,” I announce. “None of us are here forever, so we should make the most of it while we are.”

“You’re right. Of course you’re right. I just wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

“Whit isn’t like that. He’s one of the good guys.”

“I hope so,” she adds with a sad-looking smile. “Anyway, it’s not like you’ll be here long.”

“Ouch, Aunt Doreen. You never know when your number is up, but that was brutal!” This conversation might’ve turned a little dark, but perky is more my style.

“I meant here in London, you silly mare! It’s not as though you’re looking to make a life here, is it?”

Are we talking horses, or am I a nightmare? And what constitutes a life? Twenty-five years? Thirty-six? Fifty? All I know is I’m going to squeeze as much enjoyment into the time right in front of me because who knows what’s just over the next hill.

“Is Frank taking you to dinner?” I ask, segueing a change of topic.

“No, I bought a nice quiche from the bakery. I thought you and I could have that with a bit of salad.”

“Great.” But not as great as ordering in sushi. I guess my people-pleasing days aren’t exactly over because that’s how my day ends, eating cold quiche and salad with my elderly relation who, despite being more than three times my age, is definitely getting more bedroom action.

8

WHIT

I head back to the office after taking Mimi home when Mum texts.

Brin is coming for dinner this evening.

I stare at my phone, abandoning a dozen responses ranging from assumptions about his motives to him turning up with a bag of laundry.

Eventually, I settle on:

have fun!

Should I set you a place at the table?

Sorry. I’m busy this evening.

Doing anything nice?

I’ll be in the office quite late, and then I have a date.

With Mimi?

Bloody hell. That was quick. She must be using the talk-to-text function.

Mimi is my PA. She is not dating material.

Rubbish! Mimi is a doll. I can absolutely see you together.

I hope she hasn’t got binoculars.

Better get yourself to the opticians because that is NOT happening.

Who’s the date with, then?

Angelo from the Italian place on the corner.

Leaning back in my chair, I smile as I watch the little blue bubbles flutter across the screen of my phone. That’ll give her something to think about. How to answer that strategically.

You’re thirty-six. I think I would know by now if you were gay.

Maybe I’ve been keeping it a secret.

I’m sure you have lots of secrets, but one of them isn’t a hankering for a little man love.

Angelo isn’t little.

Angelo has hairy fingers and sweats excessively. If you were gay, in a million years I can’t see hirsute middle-aged men as being your type.

Maybe I’m into bears.

Darling, there’s more chance of you getting Yogi to roger you.

I burst out laughing, but she isn’t done.

Now, Mimi is another story. I see the way you look at her.

Bye, Mum.

Why does no one in this family want to give me grandchildren? I’ll have arthritic fingers before I get the chance.

Your grandchildren have four legs and shaggy coats.

Just like Angelo.

9

MIMI

The lights overhead flicker as they move faster and faster like some reverse runway. A girl in blue bends over me.


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