Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s. Alexandra Brown

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СКАЧАТЬ The Heff continues, and my mind is working overtime. Everyone knows rationalising really means downsizing, which means fewer staff.

      I guess in the current climate it was inevitable, with so many shops going to the wall. Tension starts to creep down from my shoulders, slowly trickling around to clutch my heart. If I lose my job then I might as well kiss goodbye to everything. Everyone knows how hard it is to find a new job these days. And besides, I love working for Carrington’s. My happy memories with Mum are here.

      ‘Make a note of your meeting time, and it goes without saying that you will all extend a warm welcome to Maxine who will be working here as of tomorrow.’ My head feels as if it’s bobbing around under water, I can’t think straight. I turn towards James and see that his face has paled. He doesn’t look back at me. Instead he bows his head slightly and mumbles something that I can’t quite hear. Eddie is handing out pieces of paper to us all as The Heff turns around and strides back towards the glass doors.

      Immediately, there’s a noise. Everyone is talking, and Eddie is surrounded by people all asking him why he didn’t say something.

      ‘I didn’t know. Jesus, I only found out myself an hour ago and I’ve been working my fingers to stumps typing out these meeting times at breakneck speed, thanks to that Burberry-clad tapeworm host, Maxine.’ He spits the word ‘Burberry’ like it’s a rancid piece of cheese that he’s just been force-fed. ‘Honestly, if she thinks I’m doubling up as her BA as well, then she can dream on up into her own skinny arse.’ Eddie grabs a plastic cup from one of the tables and downs it in one, before crushing it in the palm of his hand and letting out a dramatic gasp.

      So much for The Heff leaving then. This is worse – much worse. Eddie’s face has suddenly turned a violent rhubarb-red colour and there’s a hunted look in his eyes, the line of which I follow and immediately see why. The Heff has returned back through the doors and standing next to him is a very tall, absolutely stunning and exceedingly skinny woman. I’m pretty certain my hands could span her waist. She’s wearing a clinging crimson dress that wouldn’t look out of place on Joan Holloway in an episode of Mad Men, carrying a matching real Hermès Birkin and standing on five-inch blush patent Loubs to balance out her silicone-enhanced super-bust. And if that wasn’t enough, she has perfect, big, flame-red hair.

      I manage to stick a smile across my face as I surreptitiously push a lock of my own limp spaniel’s ear hair back into place before 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

      The 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, ‘Hard?’

      ‘I was not. I was merely trying to invoke a sense of calm,’ I reply, trying not to laugh.

      ‘Well, next time you want to relax, pop up here for a camomile tea. Very soothing.’ Sam shakes her head. ‘Come on.’ She helps me out of the sofa. ‘Soo, what do you think of my Valentine theme?’ she says, letting go of me and running a hand over the back of the sofa.

      ‘I love it. And it’s different.’

      ‘Good. My idea of a decent Valentine’s Day is sex. S-E-X. And plenty of it. I want decadence. I want tease. And a bit of debauchery thrown in for good measure,’ she says, grinning naughtily as she loops her arm through mine. ‘Ooh, hang on.’ She stops still and beckons upwards with her eyes. ‘My favourite is coming up next. Tom Ford. Yes, yes I know he’s gay … but will you just look at him?’ We both stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds. ‘Utter perfection.’

      Sam steers me towards one of the train seat booths.

      ‘Ta dah!’ she says, gesturing towards a three-tiered cake stand crammed with all kinds of delicious gooey-looking cakes next to a big green spotty teapot.

      ‘Wow,’ I say, giving her a quick hug. ‘You didn’t have to do all this. A vanilla slice would have sufficed.’ She gives me a look.

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