A Girl Less Ordinary. Leah Ashton
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was simple: brazen it out, and hope for the best.
The alternative could not possibly be considered.
Jake’s gaze was unreadable as the silence stretched. Stubbornly, Ella kept her hand right where it was, and her stare did not waver.
Not that it didn’t want to. Her eyes wanted to drop to the floor—desperately. Her shoulders wanted to slouch. Her arms wanted to cross and form a useless shield.
And most of all, her body wanted to sprint as fast as her spiky heels would carry her—out of this room and infinitely far, far away.
But she’d never do any of those things. Not any more. The girl Jake had known would have. Definitely.
With no other option but to look at him, she did, her gaze travelling across a face—despite all the photos she’d seen of him over the years—that was still a surprise. He was just so different from the boy she remembered.
He was more. More broad, with muscles clearly outlined by the thin fabric of his T-shirt. More handsome, with any hint of softness long ago erased by the harsh angles of age, and a sharper edge to the line of his jaw to complement the hollowing out of his cheeks. And more dark, with his hair bereft of its splashes of sun-streaked blond and now simply the colour of her morning espresso.
She’d once thought him cute. Gorgeous, even. But that no longer covered it.
Devastatingly handsome came closer.
Finally, she let her hand drop. She smoothed it over her hip, the fine fabric of her wool pencil skirt just the slightest bit rough under her palm.
She nodded, a brisk, workmanlike movement. ‘Well, then. I guess our first task will be to discuss the value of a good first impression.’
Again, she sounded absolutely normal. She even managed a smile, although her lips felt as if they stretched across her teeth.
Ella was definitely able to read Jake’s expression clearly now: guarded and wary—following just the briefest flash of confusion.
‘Is that your expert opinion…. Ella?’
She held her breath, sure Jake was going to announce that he already knew her. Reveal in one fell swoop the past she’d gone to such great lengths to hide—and to her star client, no less.
And then inspiration hit. She needed to talk to Jake—alone.
‘It is,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry,’ she said, turning to Cynthia. ‘I’ll get him from surly to suave in no time.’
In her peripheral vision Ella was sure she saw Jake’s jaw drop. He went to speak, but she cut him off.
‘Actually, Cynthia—would you mind leaving us for a few minutes? I know this was supposed to be a brief meet and greet, but, really, there’s no time like the present. And obviously we have lots of work to do.’
The older lady grinned. ‘That you do,’ she said, and her eyes were sparkling as she looked from Jake to Ella and back again. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered as she paused briefly beside Ella on her way out. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not normally this prickly. He just needs a little time to adjust to his new role.’
If only that were the real reason Jake was currently near burning her skin with the intensity of his glare.
But Ella just laughed, smiling as if she were a woman with infallible confidence—and not at all concerned that she was about to be alone in a room with Jake Donner.
An instant later, as the door clicked shut, she was.
The next second he was on his feet. Then, suddenly—horribly—he was standing far too close to her. Close enough that she could smell the clean, fresh scent of him—not cologne, something else. Maybe whatever he washed his clothes in? An innocuous, friendly scent that did not match the reaction he triggered in her.
Blood thrummed through her veins and the hairs on her arms stood on end.
And then warmth collected low in her belly, the sensation shocking her. Surely he couldn’t still affect her in that way? Hadn’t she learnt the hard way what a mistake it was to want Jake Donner?
He waited before he spoke, for what felt like hours. Could he sense her tension, even though she did nothing—not a blink—to give herself away?
Finally, finally, he spoke.
‘What the hell is going on, Eleanor?’
CHAPTER TWO
ELEANOR CARTWRIGHT.
Jake couldn’t quite grasp the frankly crazy concept that the woman before him, this woman who didn’t so much as flinch as he delivered his trademark—or so the papers said—glower, was Eleanor.
It didn’t make any sense.
He’d recognised her immediately, of course.
Or maybe not immediately. All he’d heard was Cynthia starting to talk some rubbish about hiring him an image consultant—an image consultant? That was a job?—and then he’d turned around ready to tell this consultant that he had no requirement for her services. He’d barely been paying attention when Cynthia had mentioned the consultant’s name, too focused on ending this latest bout of high-handedness as quickly as possible.
The board might have got away with it this morning—due to very specific extenuating circumstances—but Jake Donner did not get pushed around. He never had been, and he never would. It was yet another reason why he avoided the corporate world.
He had no time to pander to the whims of others.
But then, with the words Unfortunately you’ve wasted your time right on the tip of his tongue—he’d seen her.
His gaze had caught with hers, instantly. And his first reaction, if he were brutally honest, had been something hot, and primal, and male. His body had registered the obvious: a beautiful woman stood before him. A woman with brilliant emerald eyes and thick lashes of blackest black.
But then his mind had kicked into gear, and he’d recognised her.
It had been a long time. A very, very long time. Long enough that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of her.
But he hadn’t forgotten Eleanor.
Although his memories clashed dramatically with the woman who stood before him now.
Because the transformation was complete.
Hair, teeth, glasses—lack of—everything had changed. Where Eleanor had once had nicely rounded curves she was now willowy, bordering on thin. Her dirty blonde hair had become auburn-streaked mahogany and her pale skin now had a golden hue. The braces were gone, the glasses as well, and—he was sure—she was wearing those coloured contact lenses. As at sixteen, Eleanor Cartwright’s eyes had definitely been brown.
And finally, her nose … It was long, thin and straight. The bump she’d hated so much conspicuously absent.
At a glance, he’d been right—she was beautiful. But if you looked past the dazzling camouflage of her hair and make-up, the reality was quite different.
Full lips, but her mouth veered closer to wide than delicate. And while she did have defined cheekbones, her jaw was strong, not elegant. Plus her eyes, once you saw beyond all the make-up, were pretty, but certainly not spectacular.
So, no, she wasn’t beautiful, if you really looked. But as a whole package—from her perfectly fitted suit, to the soft elegance of her upswept hair and the aura of confidence she just oozed from every pore—it would be easy to think she was.
She still hadn’t answered his question.
‘Eleanor—’
‘That’s not my name,’ she said. Snapped, really.
She