was smoothing her hair down with a shaking hand and trying to pull herself together in the loos across from Xander’s studio when the door flew open and a tall, beautiful woman stormed in and slumped against the porcelain washbasin, swiping away a waterfall of tears that were making her meticulously applied make-up run.
‘Are you okay?’ Jess asked, grateful for a reprieve from worrying about her own problems for a moment. She wondered whether the woman was anything to do with Xander. She wouldn’t be at all surprised.
The woman glanced up into the mirror. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, giving a shaky smile before looking away again.
Jess went into the toilet to grab some tissue and placed it on the basin next to the woman before leaning back against the wall in companionable silence. The woman nodded in surprised thanks and picked up the tissue, dabbing under her eyes.
She was incredible-looking, all Bambi limbs and delicate bone structure. Her huge blue eyes seemed to glow with life—even through the tears—and her skin... What Jess wouldn’t give for flawless, soft skin like hers.
She pulled her long suit jacket around her, feeling like a massive frumpy lump in comparison.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Jess asked.
‘Yeah. Feeling humiliated and rejected, but I’ll survive.’
Jess snorted. ‘Join the club.’
The woman looked at her in confusion. ‘What happened to you?’
Jess sighed. ‘I was supposed to be interviewing Xander Heaton but he blew me off.’
The woman snorted. ‘Sounds like Xander. Does what he wants, when he feels like it and sod everyone else. He’s a law unto himself, that guy.’
Aha, so she was right.
‘What did he do to make you cry?’ Jess asked tentatively. If she couldn’t get an interview with the man himself, she could at least get some information from one of his disgruntled models to try and appease Pamela.
The model looked down at the sink. ‘I’ve been stupidly excited about working with him and I’ve been telling everyone I’m going to be in a famous painting, but apparently I’m totally uninspiring. He doesn’t think I’m attractive enough,’ she said quietly. ‘He was all sweetness one minute and cold as ice the next and I have no idea what I did wrong.’
A shot of anger fired through Jess’s veins. Just who did the guy think he was? ‘What’s your name?’ Jess asked gently.
‘Seraphina.’
‘Well, I think you’re a very beautiful woman and Xander’s an idiot to reject you,’ Jess said, giving the woman an encouraging smile. ‘From what I’ve heard about him you’ve had a lucky escape. He’s not exactly known for having meaningful relationships.’
The model snorted, but managed to raise a smile. ‘No, I guess not. And it’s not as if he made a move on me, but I hoped he might.’ She looked down at the floor. ‘I just got a bit swept away by the excitement of it all and he’s so damn hot. You can’t blame a girl for falling for him.’
Jess nodded. Okay, well, that answered the ‘are you sleeping with him?’ question. ‘Yeah, I imagine that’s easily done.’ She brushed a speck of dust off the sleeve of her jacket. ‘Right, well, I’d better go. I have to go back to work and persuade my editor not to fire me.’
Her stomach sank at the thought of returning and admitting she’d failed.
Seraphina gave Jess a sympathetic smile. ‘Good luck.’
‘You, too,’ Jess said, giving the girl’s arm a reassuring squeeze before leaving her alone in the bathroom—hot wrath at Xander rising like an out-of-control soufflé in her chest.
* * *
Xander was locking up the studio when the dark-haired journalist slammed through the ladies’ toilet door and stalked towards him. Her cheeks were flushed and disdain and anger flashed in those huge midnight-blue eyes of hers.
She jerked to a halt, a dark frown marring her face, before turning to go on her way. She’d only taken two steps before she swivelled back to face him again. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ she practically spat.
He took a step backwards in surprise. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The way you treated that woman is inhumane.’
He frowned at her hard, baffled. ‘What woman?’
She threw her hands up in disgust. ‘Seraphina.’
Her reprimanding tone bothered him. Who was she to tell him how to conduct himself? ‘She needs to toughen up if she’s going to make it as a model.’
Her eyes widened in contemptuous disbelief. ‘Not everyone has rhino skin. Can’t you remember what it feels like to be young and filled with hope and excitement for the future?’
There was a hint of expectation in her face, as if she wanted to hear him admit to his weaknesses out loud.
His automatic privacy barriers shot up.
Not a chance, journo.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been filled with hope. I may have filled a Hope in my time, though.’ He flashed her a grin and took a step towards her.
Her frown deepened and she took a shaky step away. ‘Have you always been this arrogant?’
He grinned. He couldn’t help it. It was too tempting not to tease her, to see that passion flash in those amazing eyes again. ‘Yes.’
Shaking her head, she looked away from him, over his shoulder at the closed studio door. ‘No wonder everyone’s beginning to think you’re just some washed-up playboy. I’m not surprised your reputation’s on the rocks if that’s the way you treat people.’
Indignation trickled through him. That was a low blow. He couldn’t let her get to him, though; she had no idea what it was like living in his world. Perhaps she wouldn’t be quite so quick to judge if she did.
The immense pressure to continually produce better and better work had been a killer to his self-confidence, and more importantly to his self-control when it came to distractions.
Not that he was about to explain that to her.
She turned back to face him and he stared into her eyes for a moment, lost in their depths. Her little show of snappy rebellion intrigued him—in more ways than one.
She was properly saucy, in a hands-off-the-merchandise kind of way. Her face wasn’t classically beautiful: her nose was a little too big, her eyes set too far apart, but there was definitely something striking about her. He was pretty sure there was more going on behind that guarded expression, too, that wasn’t quite reaching surface level. The suit that hung so badly on her curvy frame looked like something a fifty-year-old woman might choose to wear and the long bob of dark hair she sported dragged her already long face down. She was all buttoned up—her youth and vitality clearly being repressed and controlled.
The
