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office, and he didn't even know what the hell they were talking about.                                                                                                               
    "Would you like me to read it out to you, sir?" Mike offered. Adam was about to object, but Mike had all ready started reading:
     
    “Who would have thought a very wealthy business man (and a dishy one too, at that point) and a lonely girl (but a sexy one too) working in bog standard adverts would have fallen in love? But keep your eyes peeled, folks, because it has all ready happened. Adam Attenborough and Sophie Steele are in love.”                                          
     
    "That's enough, thanks Mike. I'm in enough of a bad mood all ready, and I don't want to hear any more. So please, just for now, I'm begging you; SHUT UP!"              Adam roared viciously.                                         
    "Sorry, sir. My mistake. I've met this woman and she's by no means trouble,” Mike confessed, but he couldn’t control his laughter. “So the thing is, what are we going to do about it?"                            
     
    "We could phone the magazine editors and tell them it's all lies," Chris suggested.                           
     
    "No, that's not enough. Then the whole thing would turn into a massive scandal, and I’d be accused of being too embarrassed to tell the world about this story. The press makes up all sorts of bullshit.” Adam paused. “We need to think of a better punishment. Let me meet her."                                                                                                               
    "We’ll arrange an appointment for sure," Mike said. "I'll phone the office."                                                                                    
     
    "OK," Adam agreed. "But do it quickly. This fucking little bitch has a lot to explain."             
     
    "Ooh, getting feisty, sir! Haven’t heard you swear in a very long time!" Chris grinned.                                                                                                 
    "Just shut up, Chris. Stop wasting my time by showing me, your fucking BOSS, that you believe this crap. Now go to Mike and help him with whatever he needs doing - you got that?"                                                                                                                
    "Yes, sir," Chris replied obediently, his head bowed down low.

 
     
    Chapter Eleven
    Driving to the office
     
    Adam Attenborough sat in his expensive car. Every inch of the car was beautiful: it was the most perfect glossy white, with state-of-the-art facilities inside. It was incredibly comfortable, with padded seats and a portable television for entertainment. This car was one of Adam’s most prized possessions.
     
    The drivers name was Rhys Downend. He had a smug pink face that made him literally look like a pig in human form. He was always drenched in sweat, for reasons too disturbing to explain. The car reeked of him, so Adam would have to get it sprayed with a hell of a lot of air conditioner, and would have to take extra special measures in distinguishing the damp on the drivers seat from where Rhys was sitting.