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Chelsea Handler Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang (epub
Brit Brinson [Dia of the Dead Dia of the Dead (epub)
Cody Goodfellow [Radiant Dawn Radiant Dawn (epub)
Cate Tiernan [Immortal Belove Immortal Beloved (epub)
Carl Ashmore [Time Hunters 01 The Time Hunters (epub)
Drew Hayes [Super Powereds 02 Super Powereds Year 2 (epub) i
Beth Harbison [Shoe Addict 02 Secrets of a Shoe Addict (epub)
Buck Rogers 01 Buck Rogers in Addison E Steele (v1.0) (epub)
C M Kars [Never Been Kissed Never Been Kissed (epub)
C L Bevill [Lake People 02] Disembodied Bones (epub)

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.Despite her five-inch Manolo Blahnik stilettos, Alida had a fiery-quick pace that was hard to keep up with in my studded ballet flats.I trailed her through the circuitous route around the high-ceilinged fashion zone as she gave us the lay of the land, like the bar scene in Goodfellas, minus the guns.Gabe leaned in to whisper a hilarious running commentary, which had me in stitches.A crazy-looking woman stormed through the hall on her cell phone, ranting to Air France about lost luggage.“That’s your boss, CeCe Ward, the model bookings editor,” he said, wincing.My heart suddenly sank.“The rumor is if you bring her a latte with one percent milk instead of skim, she’ll not only throw it at you but also puke up the forbidden sips she already swallowed,” he testified.“Shut up!” I marveled incredulously.And horrified.“Oh yeah,” added Teagan.“She supposedly fainted at Fashion Week backstage at Galliano ’cause she’d eaten one croissant flake in three days.”I knew this world would be obsessed with image, but that was too much.I was in for it with this CeCe person.“This is the photo department,” Alida said, pointing to a sunlight-filled studio with drafting tables and loops to study negatives from recent shoots.“Pardon me,” said a voice behind us, interrupting my fascination with the flawless view of the Hudson River through the photo department’s panoramic window.I turned to find the most gorgeous guy carrying about five black briefcases.He was tall and thin, with brown hair and enormous caramel eyes flanked by the thickest eyelashes I had ever seen.“So sorry, it’s portfolio drop-off today,” he added, smiling as he lugged the piles of slick portfolios over to a corner drafting table.He walked back to where we stood in the arched doorway.“Hey, sorry about busting by there.I’m James.”He reached out to shake my hand, and before I even blurted out “Kira” I spied Gabe and Teagan nudge each other and smile.Alida had already moved on for the rest of the tour, and we hurried to catch up.We weren’t seven steps away when Gabe launched.“Honaaaay, you were blu-shing! Is he a scorcher or what?” he razzed.“James Carlson.We met him yesterday and I almost collapsed.I mean, I almost needed a defibrillator like in ER.He’s the photo assistant editor.He went to Brown, and is Zeus come down from Mount Olympus.I mean, bring me that on toast points for breakfast any day.”Shoot, I was blushing.My darn face always belied every emotion with a color—green for sick, yellow for tired, blue for cold, and red hot for the heat of embarrassment.“He is cute,” I admitted sheepishly.“And, drumroll—” said Teagan, winking at Gabe.“He’s straight.Sorry, Gabe, he doesn’t play for your team, my sweet.”“Alas,” mooned Gabe.“Thy speaketh the truth.He is as straight as the new Armani pencil skirts for fall.”We arrived in a corner section of the office that looked a lot less glamorous than the labyrinthine lanes we’d walked to get there.There was a bullpen of cubicles, each with a phone and computer.Gabe and Teagan plopped down at their desks and showed me my station next to them.“The Trumpettes got the best desks by the windows, naturally,” sneered Teagan.“Big shocker,” added Gabe.“The who?” I inquired.“The Trumpettes.You know, Daphne and her gang.It’s the clique of heiresses who get jobs here every summer ’cause Daddy’s an advertiser or BFFs with Genevieve West—the editor in chief—or someone megawatt,” Gabe explained.“Band of beeyotches.”“They all roll on in leisurely at like ten-fifteen on their studded cells with blown-dry locks.Total brats on parade,” said Teagan, rolling her eyes.“A bunch of years back, Cartier Trump had the gig thanks to her billionaire pop, and the name for their gaggle stuck.”“How’d you learn all this stuff in one day?” I asked.Just then, the answer came around the corner.“Hiiiiii, orphans!” squealed a gray-haired guy wearing a neck scarf and motorcycle boots.Someone actually topped Gabe in over-the-topness.“Oh, you’re cute.You are rocking that belt,” he said, looking me over.“Richard Finn, accessories director.”“Richard is the eyes and ears of this institution, like the janitor in Sixteen Candles,” Teagan said, “but without the broom.He filled us in on everything yesterday.”“Oh, I got your broom right here!” he said, patting his pants.I laughed, blushing again.“So, Kira, right? Aiiight, baby, we’re gonna throw you to the wolves today, baptism by fire, best way to learn.”Gulp.I just hoped I wouldn’t get burned.As Richard walked away, we all bemoaned the fact that we were not going to be working for someone like him.“It’s so effing unfair that those little heiresses can pick and choose who they want to work for,” lamented Teagan.“What a bummer that Daphne Hughes’s mute idiotic friend got Richard for a boss!”“I know.It would have been the best.He seems so nice.And so is Alida,” I added.“They know who is nice and who is mean.That’s why they snag all the good spots,” said Gabe.“And do no work,” said Teagan.“We heard they take two-hour lunches, which cost more than the editors make in a week, and then bail early to get ‘manis’!” she mocked with finger air quotes.I was neither a wealthy socialite who could call my own shots at Skirt nor a punkish rule breaker determined to make a statement, like Gabe and Teagan seemed to be.I guess I was somewhere in between.I had always thought I had killer style—in school, when all the girls in my class took to wearing exactly the same outfits that Jessica Simpson and Nicole Richie were wearing on the opposite coast, I didn’t let that influence me.I scavenged flea markets and vintage shops, raiding my great-aunt Mimi’s closet (she was something in her day, according to her, anyway), and put together a look that I felt was distinctly me.This was no Sienna Miller copying Kate Moss situation.I had my own thing goin’ on.My friends, while telling me I looked cool, all admitted that they would never have the nerve to wear the clothes that I did.Translation: Some of my stuff is semi-weird.Leg warmers in April? Vests over T-shirts? True, it all sounds pretty heinous when you dissect it like that, but the overall effect was pretty chicadelic, I swear.I felt that my fashion style is what separated me from the crowd, allowed me to express my individuality and all that new-agey stuff.(Paging Dr.Phil [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]