All Chapters of Always Finding Mr Wrong: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Scott’s next series of seduction attempts aren’t much more successful. Although Katie and I aren’t supposed to be monitoring him, in the end it’s a good thing we have. Everything and I mean – absolutely everything - that he learned in our practice sessions is forgotten when he’s within a few feet of a real, live, in the flesh female. The main problem though, is how uncomfortable he looks. Every time he approaches someone, his worried eyes give off strange vibes that make the women glare at him suspiciously, as if wondering if they may have to use their rape alarm on him. When he finally does engage with a woman at the bar, she’s so drunk that she can barely stand up, let alone focus on Scott or any kind of conversation. After a few minutes of apparent conversation – which on Scott’s part involves spewing out over 100 words a minute and on her part involves a lot of slurring and dribbling, she slips off the bar stool and onto the floor. Scott rushes to her aid and is grabbed o

I’m trying my absolute best to look trendy, cool and confident. The sad truth is that unfortunately my neck has come out in hives again and my hands are sweating like mad. The reality of a second date with Chris the optician is too much to bear. My logic tells me that I should be excited and feel nothing but positive about the occasion. The fact that he liked me enough to ask me for a second date should bring some confidence. The problem is is, logic isn’t something that I have a grip on at the moment. And things haven’t been helped by his choice of venue.When Chris had first suggested Goathland, I had visions of a romantic lunch at the sport Heartbeat was filmed, maybe a relaxing stroll, or even a scenic train ride. Up until yesterday when we spoke on the phone – I hadn’t imagined a day of hiking. 10 miles to be precise, taking the popular trails to each landmark of note. And that was before I read about how slippery and difficult the routes can be. I’ve no one to blame but myself

“Oh Scott, he’s just a dream,” I say hazily as I lower myself onto a seat at the kitchen table with legs that are still trembling in pain. “We’ve so much in common, did I tell you?” By the next day, I’ve forgotten all the terrible parts of the date, and I’m finding it impossible to think about anything other than how drop dead gorgeous he is. The simmering sexual tension is no doubt fuelled by the fact that we still haven’t consummated the relationship yet. I’m determined to leave it a while with this one: Chris is boyfriend material – I can feel it. The last thing I want is to give in to temptation and get it on with him too soon, leaving him with any doubts about my girlfriend potential. So after our drive back to Hull, we had an old fashioned snog on the doorstep and said goodnight. I’m so bloody proud of myself. But, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to resist.Scott looks up from his daily paper and smiles, “Yes, you did.”“It’s amazing. He’s into stranger things – like me. An

Mike Stonehouse is a total sleazeball and a grade 1 arsehole. Political correctness gets a lot of stick these days, but there’s really no other way to describe Mike. With facial hair like an eighties porn star, a combover that does nothing to hide the male pattern baldness he has, and a semipermanent drool. He’s like a dog searching the for female in heat. I will give him his credit, he set up and owns multiple business in Yorkshire, two of which are our clients. But it’s hard to appreciate his accomplishments when he’s the sleaziest man you could meet, someone who, given the choice, I wouldn’t sit within a mile radius of, never mind next to. I didn’t even realise that men like him existed until I attended a similar event a couple of years ago and spotted him groping the backside of anything in a skirt. Karma came when a financial director turned around and slapped him across his face. Unfortunately, that only encouraged him. After half an hour of fighting him off, she gave up a

“Mr Brown, I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I really am desperately sorry.” Mr Brown takes another huge gulp of wine. “Let’s forget it, Emma, shall we?” His tone doesn’t reveal whether he’s to forgive me or kills me and bury my remains for the animals to eat. “We’ll talk about it at work tomorrow.” “You’re not going to fire me, are you? Oh god, Mr Brown! Please don’t fire me, I beg you. I love this job. I love the company. I love you, sir. I’d do anything..” “Emma, stop it. Please.” I think I’m about to cry. Again. It turns out, my boss had stepped out to take a call from his mother’s care home. She’s had a few funny turns lately and he won’t take any chances. Even if this time, she’s only phoning to request a new floral dressing gown. “I’m not going to sack you,” he sighs. “Luckily for you, your clients would object too much. Of course, how impressed they’ll continue to be after their marketing agent company’s director has been called Mr Bl