Meet Clara Andrews: A totally vacuous girl with a hangover... Read Free Page A

confident, elegant and creative, or at least one of the three.
    I must try on everything in my wardrobe at least twice over before deciding on some high waist, wide leg trousers, teamed with a sleeveless navy shirt and my killer black, patent courts. I attach my rose gold Michael Kors watch to my wrist and quickly run a brush through my hair. Rifling through my cosmetic case, I set to work on my face. Half an hour later I am blushed, concealed and highlighted to perfection. I gather my belongings and take a look at my watch, it’s only 8.15. I am actually going to be early. What a difference a good night’s sleep can make. As I walk out to the car, I decide the world would be a better place if only people slept more. After putting on my mirrored aviators and fastening my belt, I crank up the radio and pull out onto the road, telling myself that today is going to be a good day.
     
    By the time 9.30 comes around, I am sitting in the board room, complete with a large Americano and dossier of my many ideas for the winter range, piled neatly  on one side. I quickly pull out my compact mirror to ensure my makeup has stayed put in the warm summer sun. I am still touching up my eyeliner when I hear the lift doors ping open. Shoving my concealer back into my handbag and kicking it under the table, I smooth down my hair and stand up. The heavy board room doors swing open and in floats Rebecca, Marc’s P.A.
    ‘Just to let you know, Marc is on his way up with Oliver Morgan,’ Rebecca gives me a shy smile and disappears in a cloud of Chanel No 5 and Elnett hairspray.
    ‘Thanks Rebecca.’ I smile back and take a deep breath.
    Wait a minute. Oliver Morgan? I don’t know why, but I was convinced the new designer would be a woman. I suddenly feel a little cheated, like someone moved the goal post. I’ve always felt more comfortable around women, Marc is probably the only guy friend I have, but let’s face it he is the most feminine straight guy to ever have walked this planet.
    It must be all of 30 seconds later that the lift doors ping again. This time there are two sets of footsteps, accompanied by two voices, men’s voices. Definitely not a woman then, I sigh with disappointment. The footsteps get louder and closer until the board room doors swing open once more and in strides Marc. I can tell by the strained smile plastered across his face that something is wrong. I shoot him a quizzical look, but he just responds with a quick shake of the head and rolls his eyes. As Marc holds open the door, I tuck my hair behind my ears and attempt to smooth down my trousers, succeeding only in knocking my building pass out of my blouse pocket. Bloody hell! I push my chair back and reach under the table in a desperate bid to locate the card.
    ‘Oliver Morgan, this is our junior designer, Clara Andrews, who will be working with you at each stage of the design process.’
    I jump to my feet and set my mouth into a joker worthy smile. Only I am not smiling for long, as stood in the doorway, is Mr Checked Shirt.

Chapter 5
     
    OK. Don’t panic. Just take a deep breath and...
    ‘Clara? Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?’ Marc is looking at me bewildered.
    ‘Clara?’
    I somehow manage to regain the use of my tongue and try to form something of a sentence.
    ‘Yes! Hi! Hello! I’m Clara. It’s very nice to meet you.’ I raise my hand and wave erratically, feeling my cheeks start to burn.
    Why do I feel so embarrassed?
    The little voice in my head reminds me that it may have something to do with the fact that he has seen me with vomit in my hair and Pepto Bismol down my dress. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!
    As Marc pulls out chairs and excuses himself to grab some coffees, I tell myself to get a grip. I mean, what is the big deal really? Just be a professional, Clara. I mean, what evidence is there that he even remembers you and even if he does, who is to say that you remember him? Yes, ignorance is bliss.
    I look up from the floor and