Cupcakes at Carrington’s (Carringtons Department Store 1) by Alexandra Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

folding my arms across my B-cup boobs. She spreads her red pencil-lined mouth into a dazzling beauty pageant-style smile that I notice doesn’t reach her eyes that are bulging like a pair of Buddhas’ bellies. No, instead, they are fixed firmly on Eddie, who has now adopted a strange facial contortion that he attempts to hide by busying himself inside his clipboard.
    ‘For those of you who haven’t met her before, this is Maxine,’ The Heff booms, and attempts a little clap that he quickly halts on realising that nobody else is joining in. We all mutter words of welcome that sound distinctly hollow. I wonder what her surname is. Or maybe she’s too important to have one.
    ‘And this is Tom Rossi …’ and we all glance towards the doors again.
    For a glimmer of a second my heart feels as though it might have stopped beating. I feel light-headed. I steady myself against the table and realise my mouth is actually hanging open. I quickly close it and pray none of the others noticed. I see what can only be described as pure unadulterated sex striding towards us. Oh my actual God. This man is a vision. He’s wearing a gorgeous suit that I’d say has been stitched lovingly by hand in Italy or somewhere equally seductive. It’s the perfect shade of ink-blue and frames a crisp white shirt, the collar of which is undone to reveal a teaser of his black curly-haired and very firm tanned chest that has just the right hint of sheen. His eyes are the darkest brown and nestling in sumptuous eyelashes that make me want to lick them right here and now. I can feel my cheeks warming and my stomach flipping. The last time I felt like this was when I first clapped eyes on Henry Cavill when he turned towards the camera in
The
Count of Monte Cristo
. Every woman in the cinema, and some men too, let out a little gasp of pleasure. I was only a teenager at the time, and raging with hormones that feel as though they’ve just made a very sudden and momentous return.
    ‘He’s joining us from next Monday,’ The Heff continues. I quickly pull myself together, remembering I’m at work and that this man probably dates the likes of supermodels and
Made in Chelsea
girls, and only then if
they
are really lucky.
    ‘Pleased to meet you all,’ Tom says, with the hint of a
Downton
accent (upstairs, naturally) and the sensual precision of a Ferrari. I glance over and notice that Eddie is positively drooling. He’s actually licking his lips lasciviously. But there’s no way this man, sorry, this
delicious Adonis
is gay, because if he is then I think I might quite possibly die. Right here next to the help-yourself salad bar.

6
    T he glorious smell of cakey-sweet loveliness engulfs the air as soon as I push open the door to Sam’s café. Instantly I feel my body starting to relax. Every time I come in here it’s as though I’ve entered an oasis of calm, a stark contrast to the bustling atmosphere just a few floors below.
    The cosy lounge area has been swathed in decadent plum and rich emerald-green colours, offset with opulent rose-gold cushions scattered all over the huge squishy sofas. Sultry Burlesque-style music is playing and tea lights flicker all around. A projector is displaying a montage of iconic beautiful men across the ceiling.
    Collapsing into a sofa by the faux fire, I exhale a long breath and look around while I wait for Sam. She’s not behind the counter, so I’m guessing she must be busy in the kitchen. I feel myself relaxing – in through the nose, and exhale out through my mouth. In for six … out for six … or maybe it’s four. I speed up a bit. A pair of small cold hands appear from behind my head and cover my eyes.
    ‘What are you doing, Miss Hart?’ I instantly recognise the voice as Sam’s.
    ‘Trying to relax. Seeing as I’m early for a change.’
    ‘Relax?’ she gasps. ‘I thought you were channelling childbirth or something. Did you know that you were practically panting?’ She pauses, and then adds,