teenage girl.
Jake had no idea why her words were echoing in his brain.
She was wrong, too. He remembered strength. And pain. And …
Need.
She’d needed him.
Just like …
The words he’d had piled up and waiting on the tip of his tongue—to end this unwanted, awkward meeting—stalled.
Jake watched her watching him. Had she guessed what he was about to say? He thought so.
And she wouldn’t just meekly leave; he knew it, absolutely. She was different—and it wasn’t just her clothes, or her hair. This Eleanor studied him with a hard edge he never would’ve imagined her capable of.
He couldn’t even begin to reconcile his memories with the woman standing before him now.
It was as if she were a different person. Certainly not Eleanor, his best friend through those awkward high-school years when they’d both been painfully stereotypical social pariahs.
They’d been straight out of Central Casting. Jake was The Geek, while Eleanor had been The Wallflower.
With no other friends, they’d initially banded together through necessity, the only two students on scholarships at their fancy private school—low socio-economic ones, too, just for that added stigma. The only two students who lived in government-subsidised housing, and the only two students with eccentric new-age parents—hers—or a drug-addled verging-on-neglectful mother—his.
Eleanor’s words still hung in the air between them.
‘So what you’re saying is that you’re not interested in a walk down memory lane. As far as you’re concerned, we met five minutes ago.’
That wasn’t even close to what he’d meant to say. Those words, waiting too long, had evaporated.
She beamed—but was her smile brittle? ‘Exactly.’
‘That’s kind of nuts.’
This was kind of nuts.
She blinked, but smiled on, undeterred. ‘That’s your opinion. Personally, that’s what I’d call dwelling on our past as—clearly—we’ve both moved on. I don’t remember either of us sending Christmas cards.’
Touché.
Yet, he still didn’t know quite what to make of this situation.
He wanted her to leave—but didn’t.
His confusion bothered him—after all, Jake Donner thought in black and white. Binary ones and zeros.
He’d never thought he’d see her again. It was a shock … no. Not even that. A surprise. Combined with the recently completed board meeting, it was hardly unexpected that his thought process would be a little … muddled.
But, one thing was clear.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘I’m going to make this easy. I don’t want an image consultant. So I’ll tell Cynthia, and—’
‘No!’
It was by far and away the most expressive word she’d uttered so far.
He watched her as she took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders slightly. ‘I mean, that’s unnecessary. I’m an experienced image consultant, Jake, with one hundred per cent positive feedback from my clients,’ she said. ‘My firm isn’t the biggest, but my track record is outstanding. As you know, Cynthia is one of my clients. But I’ve also assisted some of the most famous and powerful people in Sydney.’
She listed a few names, from singers, to television journalists to chief executives.
‘I assure you, you won’t find anyone better qualified than myself to help you,’ she said, finishing her little pitch.
‘That’s all well and good,’ he said, ‘but what if I don’t think I need an image consultant at all?’
She laughed, the first time her expression had diversified from its mask of professionalism.
Jake crossed his arms defensively, but he refused to ask for the cause of her mirth. He had no doubt she was about to tell him.
Just as soon as she—finally—stopped laughing.
Ella did her very best to silence the last little hiccups of laughter, frankly appalled at her reaction.
What had happened to Jake being ‘just another client’? As if she’d ever fall into fits of giggles with anyone else.
It was basically Image Consultant 101: Don’t laugh at your client. Ever.
Not exactly the ideal way to build up someone’s self-confidence, was it? And that was kind of the whole point of her job.
More importantly—he already didn’t want anything to do with her. It radiated from him in waves.
So, yeah, hysterical giggles were far from the most intelligent way to change his mind.
She cleared her throat. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘That was uncalled for.’
Jake was obviously waiting for her to elaborate, watching her with an oddly contradictory intensity—as if he was pushing her away while simultaneously filing her somewhere for future reference. Whatever it was, it did all sorts of unwanted things to her equilibrium.
Which just wasn’t acceptable. She’d learnt years ago how to present herself at her absolute best in all situations. The old Eleanor would’ve ducked her chin, and slouched, and blushed under the intensity of Jake’s attention.
It bothered the new Ella that her body was trying its best to do all those things. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to fight to project the confident, polished image she’d so carefully crafted.
It had been long enough that she hadn’t thought she was pretending any more—that she just was Ella. But five minutes with Jake and if she wasn’t careful, she’d be sixteen again.
And she was never going to let that happen.
Deliberately, she restraightened her already perfectly straight shoulders. Took a deep breath. Remembered the affirmations she’d once stuck to her bathroom mirror:
Confident. Polished. Successful.
‘Jake, you’re a walking “Before Picture”. Look at you,’ she said—and she was relieved her voice was back to cool and collected. ‘Hair that you don’t cut often enough—and I’d guess that when you do you go to those “no need to book” salons?’ Jake’s stony lack of denial she interpreted as a yes. ‘You’re wearing a T-shirt that looks at least five years old, your jeans have a rip in them, and to say your shoes were scuffed would be kind.’
To be fair, he did look rather hot in his super, super casual get-up—the
