A Heart to Heal (32 page)

Jenni Hope and Heather Kennedy were Cardiff Mode's top two models. Both were classically beautiful blondes with the required legs up to their armpits, non-existent boobs and toothy grins. Unlike most models, though, they were fabulously down to earth. Just as well, really, because Jake and Danny ribbed them for the entire shoot.

“Dumb, you need to look towards me, darling! And Dumber, bend over a tad, there's a good girl. And squash your arms together a bit, the boys like a little cleavage. That's the spirit!”

“It's a good job the boys like a
little
cleavage, because that's all I've got,” snorted Jenni half an hour later.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” said Heather, giggling. “God may have given me legs to die for, but my boobs apparently already died before they'd finished growing.”

“You can have some of mine, if you like,” offered Eleanor. Truthfully, she was rather proud of her cleavage. She wasn't overly large in the chest area, but because she was so slim everywhere else, it looked like she had the boobs of Jessica Rabbit.

“They're wasted on you,” said Jenni, eyeing Eleanor's chest a little enviously. “All you ever wear are sweaters and jackets. You want to get a low-cut top and an underwire bra. I would, if I were you.”

“Jenni, if I put these puppies into an underwire bra, I'd be walking around blind.”

“Oh, to have a problem like that,” sighed Heather.

“Girls, girls, enough of the breast conversation, please! You're putting me off my work.”

“Ah, put a sock in it, Jake. You're done playing with your camera for today; go digitalize them, or whatever it is that you do with them. Jenni and I are taking Ella for bite to eat.”

“You are?” asked Eleanor.

“Make sure it's more than a bite, there's a good girl. Our Ella had an exhausting evening last night and she needs her strength built up again.”

“Ooh, you'll have to tell us over lunch,” said Heather, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Don't get excited, I had an evening with Cruella De Ville last night, that's all.”

“Oh dear. We'll get you a cream cake to cheer you up,” said Jenni, linking her arm through Eleanor's.

“You're on.”

• • •

Lunch with the girls lifted Eleanor's spirits no end. She was still giggling when she returned to Jake's office, and was even too happy to be annoyed with Derek when he tried accosting her outside the elevator.

The afternoon was spent making copious amounts of coffee and running messages between the offices. Cardiff Mode's computers were notorious for breaking down, so Eleanor was usually to be found running around in the form of a human email. By the time four o'clock arrived, Eleanor had never been so thankful that it was tea break.

“I'm sure people wait until the computers crash and then decide they need to send a million messages,” she groaned, taking her shoes off and rubbing her feet.

“Coffee round finished?” asked Jake sympathetically.

“Yeah, everyone on the floor has been served with a steaming brew. Now it's my turn.”

“There you go, sweetie, I made one already. Thought you might need it.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

Eleanor sipped the hot beverage gratefully and stretched her toes.

“Did you manage to get everything you wanted from the shoot?” she asked idly.

“What a question,” said Jake in mock-horror. “As if I could leave a shoot without at least a
hundred
fabulous photos.”

“I know,” grinned Eleanor. “I just love it when you raise your eyebrows.”

“Beast,” he muttered affectionately.

Jake spent the next ten minutes showing Eleanor the shots he had chosen to print up for his portfolio. As usual, he had managed to catch Jenni and Heather in all of their fabulous glory. Jake refused to allow any “touch-ups” to his pictures, and was gifted enough with his camera to get away with it.

“The girls will be pleased,” said Eleanor.

“Of course they will. When have I ever not pleased them?”

Eleanor grinned, drained her cup with regret, and stood up.

“Only another hour or so, and then I can go home.”

“More messages to run?”

“Only the one, but I have to make copies for everyone first.”

“We're all getting one?”

“Yes, from the M.D. I don't think it's anything to worry about, though. You know Mr. Lomax. His face always gives it away if it's bad news and he was smiling like the proverbial Cheshire Cat when I saw him earlier.”

Blowing a kiss at Jake, Eleanor headed for the copier and pulled out the envelope that Mr. Lomax had pressed into her hands earlier that afternoon.

“Make sure you get a copy to everyone, there's a good girl. Do it after the tea break if you can. I have a feeling everyone will be a little distracted when they've read it, and all work will be forgotten for the day.”

The words had sounded a little ominous, but Mr. Lomax's eyes had been twinkling, so Eleanor hadn't been worried. Now, as she switched on the copier, she opened the envelope with interest.

“That'll go down a treat,” she muttered as she fed the paper into the machine. Gerry Lomax was loved by all of the staff, and everyone was sad to see him retire. Of course, almost every department head had secretly hoped that they could move their things into the Managing Director's office. Max Charming would be a blow to them all.

Still, Eleanor rather liked the idea of somebody new joining the team. Maybe they would offer her a promotion in the near future. Gerry was a great boss, but he didn't like change. Eleanor would always be that “sweet little girl who makes the coffee and runs errands.” Maybe Mr. Charming would look a little closer and find that Eleanor Gibson was more than the office gopher. Maybe he would see that she also had plans for her future, plans that included all sorts of exciting things.

All right, she didn't actually know what these exciting plans might be at the moment, but she was sure they would become clearer over the course of time.

Smiling at her inner rambling, Eleanor hit “copy” and began to daydream.

“Miss Gibson! Miss Gibson! Kerry Poole here from
The Sun
! How does it feel to be the owner of Britain's top modeling agency?”

Eleanor, smoothly dressed and looking fabulous, laughed coyly before she replied.

“Oh, it's just fantastic, Kerry. I've dreamed of this moment since I was a little girl. Of course, I can't take all of the credit. I've had help from some wonderful people over the years, and I wouldn't be standing here talking to you now if it wasn't for them.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Eleanor, shaking her head. “This is why you failed your exams, Eleanor Gibson. Get your head out of the clouds. And stop talking to yourself.”

• • •

As predicted, work stopped for everyone as soon as they got their “emails”. Some of the staff were relieved that it was somebody new taking the helm, mostly because it meant that nobody would be rubbing their noses in failed applications, but a lot of the staff were worried at the idea of somebody unknown breathing down their necks.

The main topic of conversation at the habitual end-of-work meeting at the elevator was, of course, Max Charming.

“I've heard he's a bit of a bastard,” said Derek, looking suitably worried.

“That's funny, because Gerry seems to think he's lovely,” said Jake.

“Yeah, I overheard him talking about this Charming feller last week,” piped up Susie. Susie Rawlings was PA to Gerry, and consequently was the required fountain of knowledge for the rest of the staff. “Come to think of it, I should have put two and two together at the time.”

“Slipping a bit there, Sus,” sniggered Jake. “We can't have that. I need you to fill my gossip needs on an hourly basis, you know that, darling.”

“I still say I heard he was a bastard,” said Derek huffily.

“Don't listen to Derek, he's just jealous. I don't know about his personality, but Max Charming is a stud. Dark hair, blue eyes, and a butt that brings new meaning to the word ‘squeezable'. Derek's just got his nose out of joint because he knows all the ladies will be panting after the new guy.”

“Jake!” said Susie reprovingly.

“Excuse me, but women don't pant.” added Eleanor.

“Trust me, you'll be panting harder than dog on heat when you see this guy. He's hot with a capital ‘H'.”

Better and better
, thought Eleanor happily.

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