Page 11 of Joker in the Pack

Several of my clients have shown me the video of your shenanigans on Facebook, and I can’t express how disappointed I am at your lack of professionalism. First the “bushes” faux pas and now this. Regrettably, I’ll be taking my business elsewhere.

Camilla

And it got worse as I scrolled down.

Olivia,

I need you to discount all tracksuit prices by ten percent immediately.

Derek

Then when I didn’t reply straight away…

Olivia,

I see you haven’t made the changes. Is there a problem?

Derek

Twelve hours later…

Olivia,

Are you ignoring me?

Derek

And the final message, timed at eight o’clock this morning.

Olivia,

As you’re non-responsive, I’ve found another web designer. He’s cheaper too. Send your final invoice to my secretary when you eventually get around to reading your emails.

Derek

That…that…asshole! Without their recurring fees, my situation had become even more dire. I opened up my spreadsheet and recalculated everything. If I ate nothing but oatmeal and didn’t use the heating, ever, plus picked up one more decent client, I could just about afford to live. As long as nothing else went wrong, that was.

But what else could go wrong? My life disappeared down the toilet when Edward did the dirty on me. Taurus had only pressed the flush.

For so many years, I’d worn a mask, working to give the impression that I was of the same social standing as Edward and my friends, but with one drunken mistake, that illusion had been shattered. I’d been revealed for who I truly was. Common little Olivia Porter.

I’d been outed as an impostor.

How could things possibly get any worse?

CHAPTER 5

A MONTH LATER, I stood in the kitchen, surveying the horrific mess that only a burst pipe could cause. My tears had only added to the puddles shimmering under the single light bulb, now bare because I’d sold the shade.

I’d been out job-hunting when it happened. A day of futile sales pitches to small businesses in the local area had turned into a nightmare when I’d walked in to find Niagara Falls coming through a gaping hole in the ceiling and a furious downstairs neighbour hammering on my door.

How the heck did I turn off the water? Shouldn’t there be a master tap somewhere? I panicked and called Maddie, who put me on to Dave, who told me about the stopcock in my airing cupboard. The neighbour was still yelling as I paddled through and finally stopped the torrent.

Then the neighbour called the landlord, and he came around and shouted at me too.

“Look what you’ve done.”

I squelched across the carpet behind him as he examined the damage, cringing when I realised I’d left my underwear out on the bedroom windowsill to dry.

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