If the Shoe Fits (7 page)

“We were not flirting, Jake. I was merely explaining that I was talking about my cat the other morning. Anyway, you didn't have time to notice whether we were flirting or not, because as soon as you walked in I burned my hand. Not that we were flirting, because we definitely weren't.”

Jake gave her a knowing look and mimed zipping his lips shut.

“I was not flirting!”

Well, maybe she
had
been flirting, but Jake didn't need to know that, right?

• • •

“What did I say about being careful?” chided Muse later that evening. Jake had ordered and paid for Chinese take-out food to make up for his part in Eleanor's current injured state, and he had only just gone home. Typically, Muse had been silent for the duration of Jake's stay, which added to Eleanor's theory that she was definitely imagining her cat's recent conversation skills.

“I didn't fall over, I wasn't wearing heels, and I never lost any of my clothing,” she said, ticking off the items on her good hand. “This was definitely beyond the realms of personal control, Muse. It was an accident, that's all.”

“You're obviously distracted,” fretted Muse, pacing up and down the living room. “You need to start relaxing, dear, or you'll never get through all of the preparations we need to complete before next Friday.”

“Bugger the preparations.”

“Ella, dear,” reproached Muse. “Didn't we discuss your unladylike language a mere twenty-four hours ago?”

“No, we didn't.
You
discussed it; I did my best to ignore you.”

“Fine! If you want to be difficult, be difficult. There's no talking to you when you are pouting. I'll leave you to stew overnight, but I'm warning you, Eleanor Gibson, tomorrow you are going to knuckle down!”

Eleanor's jaw dropped as she watched Muse stomp from the room. Well, a cat's version of stomping, to be honest, because the sound of four furry feet on a deep, thick carpet was virtually silent. But it certainly looked like a stomp.

• • •

Muse was still sulking the following morning. At first, Eleanor thought that her pet had reverted to her normal non-speaking self, and congratulated herself on becoming a sane female again, but then Muse uttered a distinctly human-sounding, albeit ladylike, expletive, and Eleanor was resigned to still being a crazy woman.

The first person that Eleanor bumped into at work was Derek, who was sporting his now familiar sour-faced expression.

“I heard about the hand, Eleanor,” he said, pausing to lift her fingers in the act of examining them. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine,” she replied, extracting her hand from his grasp and pinning a bright smile to her face. “It was all a fuss over nothing.”

“Nonsense, we can't have our favorite coffee-girl in pain now, can we?”

As Eleanor was the only coffee-girl in the building, she decided not to comment.

“Make sure you let me know if you need any help today,” Derek added, smiling what he obviously thought was his best “charming” smile. In truth, it made him look a little creepy, but there was no point riling him this early in the morning, so Eleanor just murmured her thanks and headed straight for the kitchen.

She dumped her handbag on the counter and started on her first job of the day. She checked all of the cupboards, under the table, behind the kettles; in fact, she checked just about every nook and cranny in the room, but to no avail. Charming must have kept the thong in his possession.

“Damn and blast it,” she muttered crossly. She had hoped that he would have had the decency to leave them where she could find them, but apparently not. Now she would have to ask him for them, because from what she remembered, they were absolutely gorgeous. She may not be planning on going to Gerry's party, but she was a lover of thongs, and she really wanted to add those sparkly ones to her collection. She felt she deserved them too, after the whole hand-burning incident.

“Looking for something?”

Eleanor jumped up from under the table and almost knocked herself out in the process.

“What is it with people making me jump out of my skin these days?” she cried, rubbing a fast-rising lump on her head.

Charming looked dutifully contrite as he forced her on to the nearest chair. He took the seat next to her and handed over a familiar glittery thong.

“Peace offering?” he suggested.

“I suppose so,” she replied grudgingly.

“I didn't mean to make you jump. Let me look at that lump for you.”

“Oh no, I'm sure it's perfectly fine.”

Eleanor's voice trailed off as Charming used gentle fingers to probe her scalp. He found the lump and felt the area around it. Eleanor forgot about the pain because she now had a delicious prickling sensation replacing it.

“That doesn't feel too life-threatening,” remarked Charming, though he continued to rub her head as if to make sure he'd done a thorough job of assessing the damage.

Eleanor had a mad urge to tell him that she was hurting all over the place, and had to bite her lips together hastily.

“Are you all right? You feel awfully tense.”

“I'm good,” said Eleanor fervently.

“Let me rub your shoulders, if I may? You've had a stressful couple of days.”

“That might be nice,” said Eleanor carefully.
You can rub any part of me that you want
, she added silently.

Eleanor lost herself as Charming rubbed and kneaded at her shoulders. Honestly, if it meant getting a massage like this, she'd burn her hand and bump her head on a daily basis.

You're a bad girl, Eleanor Gibson.

Eleanor was still feeling relaxed, if somewhat frustrated, later that day. She'd gone about her daily duties in a dreamy haze with a stupid smile plastered permanently to her face.

“You're looking decidedly cheerful today, Ella,” remarked Jake, as she gave him his afternoon coffee.

“Am I?”

“You know you are, you sneaky madam. What's put that naughty glint in your eye?”

“Nothing!”

“A-ha! So you admit that you
do
have a naughty glint in your eye!”

“I refuse to say anything without the presence of my lawyer,” she said lightly.

“Ooh, something has happened with Prince Charming, hasn't it?”

Eleanor spluttered up some of her coffee.

“Prince Charming?”

“That's what me and Danny are calling the new boss. All that lovely dark hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and a body that begs to be greased up like a Chippendale. Apt, don't you think?”

“Bloody Hell, Jake, you'll be drooling over the guy soon.”

“I'll leave that to you, darling,” he said, winking cheekily at her.

Eleanor smiled over the rim of her coffee cup, but inwardly she frowned. First Muse had drawn comparisons with Cinderella, and now Jake had added his own.

Honestly, anyone would think this was a fairy tale, for crying out loud.

• • •

“Okay, Muse, you can stop sulking. I'm in a much better mood tonight,” said Eleanor as she entered her house. She hummed under her breath as she kicked off her shoes and headed to the fridge, unearthing a leftover bottle of wine from last week's impromptu dinner party.

“At least you're not diving into a vodka bottle,” said Muse with approval. “That's a step in the right direction.”

“It is, isn't it?” declared Eleanor happily.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” asked Muse suspiciously.

Eleanor, who by now realized that she liked having a talking cat, even if it meant that she was crazy, smiled at her feline friend and saluted her.

“I had my shoulders rubbed by Prince Charming this morning.”

“Excellent! You are making progress!”

“Progress at what?” asked Eleanor vaguely, having immersed herself firmly in the memory of that morning's delightfully thrilling interlude.

“Why, the ‘Marry Prince Charming Plan', of course!” said Muse. “Isn't it obvious?”

“What?” spluttered Eleanor. Honestly, if people kept making her spit up her drinks, she was going to have to start wearing a bib. “What do you mean, the ‘Marry Prince Charming Plan'? I'm not marrying anyone!”

“Of course you aren't, dear,” said Muse, who used her paw to pat Eleanor's foot soothingly. “Not quite yet, at any rate.”

“Not at all, you mean.”

“Ella, dear, did you honestly think that I became your Fairy Godmother just so that you could have a fling with your new boss?”

“I don't see why not,” said Eleanor. “This is not some medieval storybook romance, you know. This is the twenty-first century. People don't have to get married to get it on.”

“Get it on?
Get it on?
”

“Yeah, get it on! Honestly, Muse, you need to bring yourself up to date. The divorce rate alone in this day and age is enough to put anyone off the idea of marriage.”

“Eleanor Gibson, you will marry your Prince Charming, or you won't be getting anything ‘on' apart from a chastity belt.”

“You've got to be kidding me!”

“I never kid,” said Muse darkly.

“I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Muse, but I honestly don't see a ‘happily ever after' here.”

“That's because you're too narrow-minded.”

“I'm sitting here talking to my cat,” said Eleanor dryly. “I think I can safely say that narrow-mindedness is not one of my failings.”

“Stubborn, then,” amended Muse. “You can't deny that you're stubborn.”

“Well, no, I can't deny that. But that doesn't make much difference to the whole ‘happy ever after' thing, does it?”

“Of course it does! You've thought of yourself as a less-than-attractive female for far too long. You need to embrace your Inner Princess.”

“Inner Princess? You really should get together with Jake, you know. You'd get on like a house on fire.”

“I don't think so,” said Muse disdainfully.

“And you said
I
was stubborn,” muttered Eleanor.

“I'm not stubborn,” said Muse with dignity. “I just prefer to work alone.”

“Ha! You're as stubborn as I am. Admit it!”

“Maybe I am,” said Muse with a hint of triumph. “But I got you to admit to your own stubbornness, so I don't think that you have anything to crow about.”

“Crap.”

Muse stared at her.

“Er, I mean, oh dear.”

• • •

The burn on Eleanor's hand felt much better the following morning, but she had a slight headache from the wine that she had consumed the previous evening.

“One of these days I'll wake up feeling normal,” she muttered as she got out of bed.

“Perhaps you should consume your alcohol by the glass rather than the bottle,” suggested Muse, who very obviously felt perfectly fine, judging by the way she was leaping about the place.

“I'm not hung over,” said Eleanor in a bracing voice. To be truthful, she did feel a bit delicate, but she figured she needed to convince herself otherwise. After all, she wanted to arrive at work early enough to stage an ‘accidental' meeting with Charming. She reckoned one of his massages would set her up nicely for the entire day.

She quickly showered and chose something a bit more exciting to wear than her usual jeans and T-shirt. She stuck with the denim, but picked out her favorite pair which she usually wore on nights out. They were the only pair in her wardrobe that actually fit her properly; they hugged her bottom and didn't make her belly feel as if she had consumed far too many sweets.

Scanning her wardrobe, she selected a shirt that looked deceptively innocent on its hanger. Long-sleeved and V-necked, it was a perfectly respectable looking garment — until you put it on. The V-neck looked demure enough from the front, but anyone looking over her shoulder was greeted with a cleavage that would stop traffic.

“Perfect,” said Eleanor, grinning at the thought of Charming's gaze being arrested by the sight that awaited him. After all, most men loved boobs, didn't they?

Unfortunately, Eleanor's plan backfired on here. Charming was out for the entire day at a conference. This would have been bad enough, but to add to her disappointment, Eleanor had to fend off Derek's attentions, not to mention the bus driver's leering gaze, and possibly illegal proposition.

Danny took pity on her at lunchtime and took her out for lunch. Jake was busy arranging his next big photo shoot, so he declined to join them.

“For God's sake, though, cover that cleavage up, Ella,” begged Danny. “It's enough to distract a comatose octogenarian, never mind Cardiff's general population of sex-starved men.”

Eleanor glared at Danny and grabbed the cardigan that she kept for emergencies from Jake's bottom drawer. It was chunky and long, and far too warm for the current weather, but it covered up the offending cleavage and made Danny nod with approval.

“I thought you wanted me to be a little more glamorous,” said Eleanor half an hour later. They were sat at a table in the local pub waiting for their orders to arrive, with Eleanor sipping a mineral water and Danny sampling a new cocktail.

“I do, darling, but cleavage explosions just aren't suitable in some situations.”

“Cleavage explosions?” repeated Eleanor, raising her eyebrow.

“Darling, you need to manage your cleavage to fit the situation. Explosions are fine for evening entertainment, but you need to aim for teasing cleavages during daylight hours. What made you decide to bombard everyone with your boobs today, anyway?”

“No reason,” said Eleanor shiftily. “Just an experiment of sorts.”

“What kind of experiment?”

“It doesn't matter now. I won't be doing it again, that's for sure. Do you know, Derek practically tripped over his own tongue earlier? And that was from a distance. When he was standing right next to me, his eyes glazed over.”