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Copyright © Lindsey Kelk 2012
Lindsey Kelk asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is a work of fiction.
The incidents and some of the characters portrayed in it, while based on real historical events and figures, are the work of the authorâs imagination.
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EBook Edition © June 2012 ISBN: 9780007383733
Version: 2017-08-10
âIâm so sorry Iâm late,â I babbled as I ran into the Gloss magazine office, unbuttoning my top as I pushed the door open with my arse. âI had a Jenny emergency and lost my shoes and couldnât get a cab, and how come itâs so hot today? Oh and my shirt is covered in crap but I think I left a T-shirt here soââ
âMs Clark.â
My blouse was halfway over my head and my arms were tangled upwards in a dying swan when I heard someone who most certainly was not Delia Spencer say my name. The reason I knew it was not my colleague and friend Delia Spencer was because it was a manâs voice. And it was one I had heard before.
âMr Spencer?â I peeped through a buttonhole to see Deliaâs grandfather, owner of Spencer Media and ultimately my boss, leaning against Deliaâs desk with a very grim look on his face. Behind him, Delia sat in her squishy leather chair biting her lip and trying not to laugh. Neither of them seemed terribly impressed by my bra. It wasnât one of my best.
âHow lovely to see you,â I said, trying to pull my shirt back down over my head as casually as possible before offering Mr Spencer a handshake and a dazzling smile. âIâm very sorry.â
âDonât worry about it,â he said. Then he stood up, ignoring my hand, and walked straight into our tiny meeting room. âI understand you had an emergency and are covered in crap.â
âAnd I lost my shoes,â I whispered to Delia with a wince.
âHappy Monday,â she whispered back, following her grandfather into the meeting room. âJenny emergency? What threat level are we on there?â
âOrange? Maybe even a lovely reddish coral. Sheâs losing it. I had to intervene.â
âAs long as sheâs OK now,â Delia gave me a sympathetic look and opened the door to the meeting room. âThereâs a spare sweater on my chair. It doesnât have any crap on it.â
Delia had enjoyed my BFF, Jennyâs downward spiral as much as anyone over the last few months. It had been six months since sheâd broken up with her ex-ex and since then sheâd been doing a fine job of ruining her life. That or she was auditioning for a role on the next Jersey Shore. I hoped that was it, she was definitely going to need a new job soon if she didnât sort herself out.
âPerfect,â I muttered to myself, hurriedly changing shirts and checking out my blouse for permanent damage. âNo good deed goes unpunished.â
âSo the launch phase will take place in Q three so we can be out for fashion week, with Gloss on limited availability in New York,â I said, as confidently as I could. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Delia nodding confirmation. Directly in front of me, Mr Spencer, my boss, formerly known as Bob, was not nodding. He was sipping coffee and fixing me with a gaze so steely I was fairly certain it could cut through a tin can. I concealed a tiny squeak and clicked onto the final slide of my PowerPoint presentation. Oh yes, I was a PowerPoint person now. âOnce weâre out there and have established a solid audience, weâll launch on the West Coast in Q four, and then, Q one, we go nationwide with a long-term view to international expansion in Q three the following year.â
I was incredibly proud of myself. After a less than promising beginning, Iâd got through all my slides without cocking up and I hadnât spilled a single thing down Deliaâs jumper. Things were looking up. Now all we needed was Mr Spencerâs go-ahead and we were quite literally in business. I attempted my best