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What if your future was somewhere in your past?
Rosie Jones has been dumped by every boyfriend she’s ever had - most recently by Dinosaur Dave, live on TV, during the ‘phone-a-friend’ segment of a quiz show. After the footage goes viral Rosie receives a bunch of flowers with a message:
I love you, I should have never let you go, I want you back x
But who sent them?
At a loose end and with £50,000 prize money in her back pocket, Rosie decides to take a trip down memory lane, visiting each of her ex-boyfriends to see not just if they are the one who sent the flowers but if they are the one.
Her journey takes her back to the house she grew up in and on a transatlantic cruise to New York, but can Rosie figure out which ex-boyfriend is the love of her life, or should the past stay in the past?
A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from bestseller, Portia MacIntosh. Perfect for fans of Holly Martin, Sophie Ranald and Zara Stoneley.
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Praise for Portia MacIntosh:
'A hilarious, roaringly fun, feel good, sexy read. I LOVED it!' Holly Martin
'A feel good, funny and well written book. I read it in 2 days and enjoyed every second!' A.L. Michael
What readers are saying about My Great Ex-Scape:
'From beginning to a delightfully surprising end, I loved it!!!'
'This book is a definite must-read! Brilliant 5+ stars.'
'Well Portia has done it again. Another absolutely wonderful read which has gripped me from the very beginning.'
'I am a huge fan of Portia, every new book makes me have a new favourite. She is an extremely talented author who has the ability to create such magical and fantastic reads.'
It is definitely a must read and as always I wish I could give Portia more than five stars for this gorgeous read.'
'Five stars really does not do this wonderful read justice.'
'The perfect holiday read'
Extract
‘How would you like £50,000?’
I never expected to hear those words this evening. Who am I kidding? I never expected to hear those words ever.
I always try to look on the bright side of life, searching high and low for the positive in every negative situation. My mum calls this The Rosie Outlook – an obvious pun combining my name, Rosie, and my ability to always try and find the good, even when it seems impossible.
For example, not beating around the bush, I hate my job. I realise that hate is a strong word and not the kind of chat you would usually expect to hear from someone who prides herself on being positive, but I do, I absolutely hate my job.
When I was a kid, all I wanted was to be a detective. Not a police detective though, a private detective, the kind you see in film noir. You know the sort, the cigarette-toting, low-key sexist, wisecracking type in the long, plain coat with a fedora on top of their head – the only kind I saw on TV growing up. As I matured into my teens and this no longer seemed like a viable job (if it even seemed like a real job at all), I realised that a job did exist that involved exposing the truth. I wanted to be an investigative journalist, and this actually seemed like a goal I could achieve.
Flash-forward to me, here today, thirty-one years old, and I am a journalist… just not the kind I wanted to be. I work for the Salford News, just outside central Manchester. It’s only a small, local paper though, so not only is there not much room for an investigative journalist, but every page of the weekly paper is pretty much an advert. I spend most of my days writing paid advertorials – which is basically an advert hiding inside a news article – and given that the clients are paying for exactly what they want these pieces to say, it’s not exactly a challenge.
I don’t just hate my job, I resent it. I’m kind of trapped in it, until I can find something better – well, trapped by my finances at least, I’m technically a freelancer, so I’m not exactly bound by a contract. Unless I just want to stop paying my bills – but I’ve heard that doesn’t go down very well.
I did say there was a plus side though, and that plus side is Sam, my boss. I hate my job, but I love my boss. Sam is my editor and I can tell that she tries her best to give me the good jobs and, of the very few perks you get being a local faux journalist, she’ll often toss a few my way. She’s great when I need time off, she lets me off the hook when I arrive late – she even buys the office pizza on Fridays. Sam really is a wonderful boss.
Money isn’t great… I know, it’s not really great for anyone right now, is it? But I live within my means. My apartment is small (which means my rent is too), but at least it’s close enough to work for me to walk. I just keep doing what I’m doing and hoping things will get better.
I was a little down in the dumps today because David, my boyfriend of four months, cancelled our plans this evening because he needs to work late. He’s a lecturer at the university, teaching Palaeobiology (I didn’t know what it was either). I wrote my dissertation on yellow journalism and the paparazzi. David gets more excited about things like mass extinction. We might not have much in common, but we still get on really well. Sometimes opposites just attract, don’t they?
So David was going to be teaching young adults studying for their master’s degree all about macroevolution (I don’t know what it is either, I just remember seeing his lesson plan over his shoulder and feeling like a bit of a dummy) tonight and I was going home to my tiny apartment to watch Hollyoaks… or so I thought.
I was just about to leave work, after a particularly gruelling day writing an ‘article’ about a local window cleaning company, when Sam called me into her office. She had two tickets for the live filming on a new TV quiz show, but it was her husband’s birthday, so she wasn’t going to go. She offered them to me and Gemma, the other girl who does the same job as I do, so with nothing better planned I made the short trip to MediaCityUK – the development in Salford where all the big TV studios are based.
I didn’t think anything of it when they told us we had to download an app so we could play along, nor did I expect anything eventful to happen to me when I found out contestants would be plucked from the studio audience. But then I sat down and, as the filming started, I couldn’t believe it when my phone started ringing. Mine. I had been selected at random to play the game. Gemma was fuming, she’s not happy unless she’s the centre of attention. I was just a combination of embarrassed and terrified. I’ve never been on TV before – well, how many people have? – but I’m not really the kind of person who likes to be the centre of attention and I couldn’t even begin to imagine how many eyes would be on me – and not just here in the studio.
The show is called One Big Question. I’m guessing it’s aiming itself at millennials because the app seems to be at the heart of it. It can be used by people to play along at home, but here, in the studio, it’s what I can use to ask the public or the audience for help with answers.
I can’t actually believe my luck, but I’m on the final question – the titular one big question – and if I answer it correctly, I’ll win the money I’ve banked so far. A whopping £50,000.
‘I said, how would you like £50,000?’ Mike King, the host, asks again.
‘I’d love £50,000,’ I admit, my voice wobbling almost as much as I am on this tall chair.
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