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

give him a tight smile. He doesn’t look like a designer. The majority of designers we work with at Suave are greying, with enough botox to smooth out a Shar-Pei. He definitely isn’t greying. He can’t be out of his twenties, incredibly young for a designer. He drops his comic book print messenger bag on the table and leans back lazily in his seat, smirking. Great. He definitely remembers me. I can see it written all over his face. I stare back, taking in his chiselled jawbone and 5’o clock shadow. God, he is good looking. I feel my heart pound and tell myself to stop being such a girl and pull myself together.
    I rearrange my stack of papers on the table and fight the urge to run away. Why is he getting to me so much? He hasn’t so much as said a word to me, so why am so hot and bothered? I can feel his eyes burning into me and rack my brains for something to say to fill the awkward silence. I find myself cursing Marc, how long can it take to make three coffees?
    Thankfully, I am saved by Rebecca, who is teetering around the massive board room table with a tray of hot, frothy coffees. I accept mine and place it down in front of me, watching dubiously as Oliver takes a black coffee and adds an unhealthy amount of brown sugar to the mix.
    ‘Clara, could I just borrow you for two seconds?’ She smiles apologetically at Oliver as I follow her out into the lobby.
    ‘Marc has just had to run over to HR. There is a signature needed to complete Mr. Morgan’s working visa, but he won’t be too long. He said if you could go ahead and show Oliver last year’s autumn/winter lines for an idea of what we are going for, that would great.’ She hands me huge, purple folder and scurries back towards the glass lift.
    Wait a minute. Working visa? Where is he from? Maybe he doesn’t speak English! Oh please don’t let him speak English. I walk slowly back into the board room trying to work him out. German maybe? French? Dutch even? Are clogs back and I haven’t heard? I take my place at the table and take a deep breath.
    ‘Is there a problem, ma’am?’
    Oh God, he’s American. My decade long Matthew McConaughey obsession has given me the ability to recognise a southern drawl when I hear one. I seem to lose all strength in my legs and I’m suddenly grateful to be already sitting down. 
    ‘No, no. No problem. Just a little HR issue that Marc needs to deal with, but he shouldn’t be too long.’ I flip open the folder and position it between us.
    ‘He has asked that we go over the designs from last year’s line to get a feel for the vibe here at Suave,’ I flip through the plastic wallets until I come to a selection of beautiful, studded ankle boots and peep toe knee highs.
    He takes the folder and studies it for a second before nodding and slamming it shut.
    ‘Ok, I got it. Now what?’
    ’I’m sorry?’ I stammer, taking the folder back.
    ‘I said, I got it,’ he repeats with a smile.
    ‘Ok,’ I respond slowly. ‘Erm, do you have any questions at all? Anything I can help you with?’
    ‘Actually I do. Where is a decent place to grab some brunch around here?’
    I stare back at him incredulously, really not knowing what to say. How can he be so laid back and blasé about this? Who is he anyway? Suave may be relatively new to the fashion world, but it still carries a fair amount of prestige and is not a brand to be sniffed at. Now I know why Marc seemed so stressed earlier, this guy is not going to be easy to work with.
    ‘If you would just excuse me a minute,’ I grab my mobile and head to the lobby.
    ‘Again? You know if you are going to talk about me, you could at least do it to my face.’
    Flustered, I jab at the screen to bring up Marc’s number and tap impatiently on the window ledge as it rings.
    ‘Marc? It’s me,’ I babble as soon as he picks up. ‘This guy is a nightmare! He took one look at last year’s designs and said he wanted to go for brunch! How long are you going to be?’ I pause for