Free Air Kisses by Zoe Foster Page B

to reflect on what had just happened before Iz bowled into the hallway.
    ‘Oh! There you are!’ Her eyes went to my hand. ‘You’re all bandaged up. Good. He’s a good boy that Declan.’
    I blushed but she didn’t see it. Now would be the time to tell her. The
only
time. After this, she would feel like I’d kept something from her, and she’d get the shits.
    ‘Do you need a cab?’
    ‘Dec’s calling me one now.’
    ‘Ever the gentleman. I’m telling you, girl, you should make your move.’
    I cleared my throat. That’s what liars did, Mum always said, they cleared their throats in a subconscious effort to release the lie. ‘You’re crazy, my little Iz. Hey, thanks for dinner, it was just what I needed. The cut, too – I was dying to try out the sliced-skin look.’
    She laughed. ‘You’re always welcome here. Now, let’s get your bag and I’ll walk you out the front.’
    As we walked to the front door, I considered telling her that I had to say goodbye to Dec, but that would’ve been way too obvious.
    Our little secret it was, then.

Chapter Seven
Boozy the Clown
    Heading out for a party? The easiest way to ensure your make-up lasts is to use a make-up primer under your foundation. It contains silicon, which gives your make-up something to hold on to, and stops your skin from ‘eating’ your foundation.
    ‘But we need to make it look as though it’s editorial. Do you know what I mean?’
    ‘Yes, Marley, we did it for Crunch gym-wear, remember?’
    ‘Good, cool, nice one. Hey, is Hannah around?’
    ‘Not sure, she might be in the goo room.’
    ‘What do you think of her?’
    ‘I love her. Why?’
    ‘But isn’t she like, boring?’
    ‘You’re such a bitch. She’s gorgeous and cute and has become a very good friend while you’ve been away. Be nice.’
    ‘I’m always nice.’
    ‘No you’re not; you’re a bitch. A rotten advertising bitch, single-handedly proving why stereotypes exist.’
    ‘I resent that.’
    ‘You know it’s true.’
    ‘All right, but does she have to come tonight? You’ll have to babysit her all night and you’ll be boring.’
    ‘I will not. It’s
you
who’ll be hard work.’
    ‘All right, shit, I’ll be nice! Be ready at six. And can you wear your hair up? I love it up.’
    ‘Jesus, anything else? Should I buy a new top at lunch? Pop into Prada, maybe?’
    Still facing my computer, I turned my head a very surreptitious nineteen degrees to watch Marley leave. She was wearing possibly the best-fitting jeans I’d ever seen, lush brown boots that went past her knees to romantically cuddle her child-like thighs, layers of white and grey singlets, and a cool cropped black jacket that radiated a price in the high three digits or low four. Her hair was a shade of rich-woman caramel. Her arse was a video-clip arse. It was perfectly round and high and smugly suggested that she worked out with a handsome young personal trainer to maintain it.
    I knew she was close to Jay, but
why
mystified me. Jay was so warm and affectionate, while Marley strutted around the joint as though her last name were Beckert. She was on the
Gloss
advertising team. She was a demonic saleswoman, and earned triple the salary of us editorial kids, a fact her wardrobe reflected: she was always extraordinarily well-dressed.
    She was an account manager now, but there was talk she was soon going to be made advertising director of
Gloss
, aka ‘top dog’.
    Which meant I would have to deal with her. A lot. I was constantly being pulled into meetings to discuss events and sponsorships with Karen and Laura, the current ad director. Thing was, Laura was pregnant, and her pregnancy brain was becoming a major issue. She had recently presented us with a proposal fordoing a sponsorship deal with a lawnmower company.
    Despite the fact I found Marley to be a complete bitch, I desperately wanted her to like me. I tried to figure out why, and it took about three seconds: she’s pretty and dresses