Jaxxon, age fourteen

“B-but…but…but -”

“Oh stop snivelling, Jaxxon,” snapped Leah as she zipped up her tatty old

duffel bag. “You should be happy for me; I’m finally getting out of here.

I’m going to have my own place.”

Jaxxon Carter, who was curled up on her bed, watched as her older sister

stretched her long, lean body, looking much like a contented cat. “But -”

“Oi, what did I just say? Stop with the snivelling!”

Jaxxon took a deep breath and wiped her tear-stained cheeks with her

sleeve. But she could feel more tears brewing. “Will you come see me

sometimes?”

Leah snorted. “How can you even ask that? You know I’ll be busy going

for auditions and stuff.” A self-satisfied smile surfaced on her face. “Hey,

just think, you might see me on T.V soon, singing and doing concerts.”

As usual, Leah’s squinty hazel eyes – so very different from Jaxxon’s

own huge, brown ones – shone with confidence. That was one thing that

Leah had in abundance, though sometimes Jaxxon thought it bordered on

vanity.

“Won’t that make all the Foster Plonkers sorry for passing us off from

house to house.”

“But you’ll stay in touch, yeah?” Jaxxon could hear the uncertainty in her

own voice and didn’t like this feeling she suddenly had that she was losing

her sister for good. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if Leah would just

tell her the address of her flat, but she was refusing to tell her and had even

asked their Social Worker and the Glennons not to reveal it. Leah could be

strange like that sometimes. If she thought you desperately wanted

something from her, she would refuse to give it to you purely for that

reason.

Leah shrugged. “What are you panicking for? In two years you’ll be out

of here yourself.”

That was true enough. But two years would feel like a long time to

someone who was all alone. Once Leah, all she had left in the world, was

gone that was exactly what Jaxxon would be. Alone.

For the past six years Jaxxon had watched the only people she came to

care about disappear from her life. First went Mum. Suicide by heroin

overdose. Jaxxon – the one who had found her mother’s lifeless body on the

sofa – had been eight, Leah ten. There was no dad or other family to care

whether they lived or died, so into the social system they went.

It wasn’t until eighteen months ago, after pit-stopping in a series of foster

homes all over London, that they had come to live with the Glennon family.

They weren’t all that bad. Compared to some of the other foster parents,

these people were eligible for sainthood. Although they were – in a word –

slobs and not all that interested in what their foster children did, they didn’t

hit, they didn’t grope, and they didn’t decide to suddenly starve you for a

short while for their own entertainment like the last lot had. Where the

Glennons were concerned, as long as you didn’t raid Gloria Glennon’s stash

of chocolate or help yourself to one of Eric Glennon’s beloved beers, they’d

practise the principal of ‘live and let live’.

Still, Jaxxon knew that Leah would have, as she always did wherever

they were, played up and set out to annoy them if it hadn’t been for the

other foster kids. The gorgeous Connor McKenzie and the geeky Roland

Thompson had made the situation bearable. Both Jaxxon and Leah had had

a little thing for Connor. In fact, Jaxxon had become infatuated with him

and his cocky grin as only a teenage girl could. Not just because of how

gorgeous he was, but because Jaxxon soon found that underneath his temper

and broodiness was intelligence and even kindness. He had always looked

out for Jaxxon, always protected her, always chased off any boy within a

one mile radius of her. Everyone had feared him – probably because he

somehow had the look of a predator – but Jaxxon had never felt threatened

by him. In fact, strangely enough, this menacing person had been the only

one to ever make her feel safe, even when he was zooming her around town

at top speed in a car he had ‘borrowed’ for the night – which he had done

regularly but had never been prosecuted as he had never been caught.

Then six months ago, shortly after Connor had turned sixteen, he had

moved into a flat of his own just like Leah was doing now. Jaxxon vividly

remembered when he had kissed her the night before he left – something

which had shocked the hell out of her. He had promised that he would visit

sometimes and even take her to see his flat when it was fixed up, but so far

he hadn’t been in touch. Then three months after he had left, Roland’s

mother had finally sorted her situation out and taken her son back to live

with her. And now Jaxxon’s very own sister was leaving too. Sure, she’d

have the newest foster addition, Rhona, but the girl was far from friendly

and kept everyone at a distance.

“If you do get famous and stuff how will I get in touch with you when I

get out?”

Leah shrugged carelessly. “Maybe I’ll phone here on your sixteenth

birthday. Maybe I’ll even come get you in a limo. Can you imagine the look

on everyone’s faces if I turned up here in a limo!” Another squeal.

Her sixteenth birthday. It seemed so far away right now. Without thinking

about it, Jaxxon reached under her mattress and pulled out the photograph

that Gloria had let her have. Jaxxon was stood smiling in front of the wonky

Christmas tree with Roland on her right side looking absolutely bored and

with Connor on her left side wearing that cocky grin she loved so much

with his arm flung over her shoulder. Leah was in the background combing

her long blonde hair, glaring hard at them. She almost looked angry. This

was all Jaxxon had left of them all.

“Oh when are you going to stop pining for him?” groaned Leah. “He isn’t

coming back. Why would he? What’s he got to come back for?”

A pang struck Jaxxon in her chest at the impact of Leah’s words and that

condescending glare she had that could decrease a person’s own self-worth

by 90% just like that.

“Don’t worry,” continued Leah, “I’ll tell him you said ‘hi’.”

It took a few seconds for those last words to register. “What do you

mean?”

She gave Jaxxon a sympathetic smile but didn’t even try to conceal the

insincerity of it.  “Oh come on, Jaxxon, you didn’t honestly think that he

had any real interest in you, did you? Oh my God, you did. How cute. Or

stupid, whichever.”

Jaxxon felt as though she’d been slapped.

“He told me he only thought of you as a little sister, that it was me he

loved. We did it lots of times, you know. He made me promise to come find

him when I got out.” She sighed wistfully. “Soon me and him will be living

in L.A., our faces all over the magazines, I’ll be recording album after

album…Maybe we’ll even get married. Leah McKenzie…I like the sound

of it. It’s a lot better than Leah Carter anyway.”

In that one instant, Jaxxon almost hated her. Her and him. The tears

gathering in her eyes were ones of anger and despair now, no longer of the

fear of being alone. Why would he have kissed her that night before leaving

and then told her he had always cared about her if it was Leah he loved?

Leah who he had been sleeping with all this time? “He kissed me,” she

blurted out.

“Well of course he did. He felt sorry for you – you were getting all tearyeyed. I was the one who told him to kiss you. He hadn’t wanted to, but I

thought it might stop you from snivelling. Something you’re doing again

now.”

Jaxxon squeezed her eyes shut against the pictures her mind was

tormenting her with of Leah and Connor together – kissing, touching,

sleeping together. And then them laughing at poor little infatuated Jaxxon.

“Well that’s me all packed.” She squealed again with excitement. After

casting one last look and at the plain, musty smelling, mostly bare room,

Leah threw her bag over her shoulder. “Gotta go.”

Jaxxon tried to get up from the bed. Maybe to hug her sister. Maybe to

slap her. Or maybe to follow her downstairs and wave at the front door. But

it was as though her body was depleted. As though her body was downright

sick of her mind ignoring Leah’s hurtful behaviour so had decided to

intervene before she ran after Leah like a little lost puppy. She did feel lost,

though. Jaxxon was a person who always looked on the bright side but right

now there didn’t seem to be one, and Jaxxon didn’t know how to function

without it.

So she sat there immobile as Leah’s singing gradually faded until she

could hear her no more. In that moment Jaxxon felt something change

within herself; it was the same sensation she’d gotten when her mother

died, and then again when Connor left. Like a piece of herself went with

them, leaving gaping holes that Jaxxon suspected might be permanent.

But wasn’t that her own fault for getting too close to people? Wasn’t it

her own fault that she was in such pain right now? It was stupid to have

ever thought that Connor would want her and not Leah. Her sister was

undeniably beautiful with her straight, sleek caramel-blonde hair and

piercing hazel eyes and tall, thin, lithe body. She would have the angelic

look down to a tee if it wasn’t for the fact that her smile always had a glint

of deviousness to it.

The two sisters were practically polar opposites in appearance. Jaxxon

sported a head of brown, untameable ringlets and a curvy body that she

despised because of the attention it gained her. She was, to her utter

annoyance, an early bloomer. Her generous-sized breasts and heart-shaped

butt were constantly groped, even by total strangers. It hadn’t been so bad

when Connor was around; boys had tended to leave her alone for fear of

what he would do. Things had changed drastically since he left. And now

that she was without her older sister things could only worsen.

Footsteps outside her bedroom door stole her attention from her thoughts.

Then the door swung lazily open as her relatively new foster sister, Rhona,

strode into the room, chewing gum, and plonked herself on the bed beside

Jaxxon. The smell of smoke clung to her dark skin and clothes. Jaxxon

wasn’t expecting any comfort from this anti-social girl who seemed to hate

everyone. She didn’t get it.

“So, Big Tits, how long do you think it’ll be before Queen ***** realises

she lives in a fantasy land? Singer, my arse.”

Jaxxon said nothing. Just continued to stare at the photograph in her

hand, wondering whether to kiss it or tear it up.

“You know she won’t come back, don’t you? She won’t. They never do,”

grumbled Rhona. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; just simply stating

what she believed was a fact.

“She’s my sister.”

“She’s also a self-absorbed, spiteful, selfish ***** who -”

“But -”

“But nothing, Jaxxon,” she said firmly. “Just because she’s blood doesn’t

mean anything. I’ll bet that girl has never done a single thing for you in her

life. She looks out for number one, and number one only. Just like the rest

of them. So wise up, Big Tits. And do it now. You’re on your own.” Just

before leaving the room, she turned back to Jaxxon. “Wanna know what the

trick is to getting through this shit? Never let anyone in.”

Alone again, Jaxxon stared down at the photograph as she deeply

considered Rhona’s departing words that had been both advising and

chastising. One thing that had kept Jaxxon from losing herself so far and

avoiding the bitterness that consumed Leah was to roll with the punches.

Just accept that suffering was part of life. The whole ‘woe is me’ thing

wasn’t for her. After all, what was so special about her that meant she could

flit through life without pain while others were swamped by it? So, she

reasoned, her being alone while Leah and Connor began a life together was

all just something else that she’d have to accept too, even though it cut

deeper than anything else ever had.

Finally, with a deep cleansing breath, Jaxxon tore the photograph to

pieces and slung them out of the partially open bedroom window. She

wouldn’t let this be an ending. She would try to instead make it a new start.

She’d do as Rhona said – wise up and face that she was alone, but she

wouldn’t cut herself off like Rhona had.

Little did Jaxxon know, but as from the following day her new start

would be tainted. Tainted by violence, struggle, and even more pain. With

all that would come her decision to never let anyone in again.

Eight years later

It was amazing how alcohol had the power to make people think that

they were attractive, mused Jaxxon. Or, in this case, some sort of gift to

women. Thank God there was the bar to separate her from this bald, heavyset bloke who was so drunk that both his eyes were fighting for the one

corner. For the past half hour while he swayed and slurred he had been

flirting shamelessly with her. His ‘come hither’ smile revealed a set of

Nicorette stained teeth – oh wait, it wasn’t actually a full set. And ‘flirting’

wasn’t quite accurate. Not unless you considered dirty talk, sexual

innuendos and being given flashes of body parts to be flirtatious behaviour.

More like sick-minded crap.

Needless to say she wasn’t inspired to welcome him into her arms and

body. Unfortunately, he just wasn’t getting the message. Even the words

‘get the **** out of my face’ hadn’t fazed him. Jaxxon was now itching to

get out of the dingy, stuffy pub – she was tired, hungry and feeling

homicidal. But she was pretty sure that Joe, the landlord of the pub,

wouldn’t be too impressed if his barmaid up and left. Jaxxon cast a quick

glance at her quickly aging, flabby boss only to find him smiling at her in

mock sympathy.

After serving another bloke – this one smiling shyly at her and blushing

like a ****** on a first date – Jaxxon switched her attention back to the pen

and clipboard in front of her, noting what needed stocking up on, and all the

while wondering how she managed to attract oddballs and plonkers. Not

that there was much chance of her being approached by someone who

might spark her interest in here. The pub didn’t exactly appeal to the

youthful. In fact, looking around at the punters, the place looked like a

bloody nursing home.

The bald bloke was now suggesting a ‘fuck festival’ with him and his

five friends – all of who shared two things in common. One, they were over

the age of fifty. Two, they had beer guts. She respectfully declined, but his

persistence earned him a ‘sod off you sick perv’ from her. Still he was

unfazed.

Then he leant across the bar, and by the look in his eyes Jaxxon knew he

was about to touch her. Jaxxon and ‘touch’ didn’t go well together. “Don’t

dare,” she warned. He ignored that warning and abruptly reached out and

squeezed her ****** painfully hard. Pure reflex, she gripped the pen tightly

and stabbed the web-like skin between the thumb and forefinger of his

roaming hand, not enough to draw blood but enough to wrench a cry of pain

from him.

“Hurts like ****, doesn’t it,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t ever

touch me again.”

The creepy old sod actually grinned at her. Apparently pain made him

horny. Oh great – now, in his drunken mind, she had just flirted back. No

doubt he would have stayed exactly where he was, hoping for more, if his

friend hadn’t dragged him away.

Joe joined Jaxxon’s side, giggling. “Another satisfied customer.”

“He’s one sick bastard.”

“Sick bastards love you and your mean-arse streak.”

“It’s not mean to be honest and straight with people or insist on them not

being perverted.”

He nodded toward a particular table not far from the bar where a pair of

bashful looking blokes sat all leathered up. “The two Submissives are here

again. They still want you to be their Dom?” Joe giggled again.

“You enjoy all this far too much.”

“This place used to be boring ’til you started working here. I never

realised just how many blokes got their kicks from getting a good verbal

roast. It might help if you didn’t look even spicier when you’re fuming. It

seems to get their blood running.”

“You say all the right things,” said Jaxxon sarcastically.

“Oi, if I gave you a compliment or any sweet words you’d laugh in my

face just like you do with all the others.”

He was right there, which, she supposed, was why she had never been

with a truly decent bloke. Somehow she always ended up with controlling,

clingy weirdoes. It seemed like ‘nice’ blokes were often too intimidated by

her take-no-prisoners mentality to even approach her.

At the same time as the door flew open, a gruff voice rang out: “Jaxxon!”

Sigh. She had actually expected her twat-of-a-neighbour earlier. He must

have taken longer at his drug dealer’s flat than she’d anticipated. “Yes,

Sean, what can I get you? Budweiser? Guinness? Cyanide?”

“Where is she?” he demanded as he stood opposite Jaxxon panting like a

Bull Mastiff.

“She?” enquired Joe.

Sean looked at him, wearing a bitter smile. “Imagine my surprise when I

get back to my flat to find no Celia and no kid. Gone. Clothes and all.”

“Good,” said Jaxxon. “All’s going to plan then.”

“You helped his woman run off?” asked Joe, not all that surprised or

bothered.

Jaxxon held up her hand. “Correction: I helped a beaten, mistreated,

petrified woman and a bruised, starving, frightened little girl have a new

start somewhere away from this threat to their lives and sanity.”

“You interfering *****,” growled Sean.

“What can I say – it’s a gift.”

“You put ideas in her head. Celia wouldn’t have left me like that.”

“No she wouldn’t have,” agreed Jaxxon. “She was too scared to take a

piss without your say so.”

“Where did you get the idea that you had the right to stick your nose in?”

“I’m sure Jesus said something about loving thy neighbours.”

He spread his hands over the bar, his face contorting as his anger

intensified. “Where’s Celia?”

Jaxxon then noticed the tear in the arm of his jacket. She smirked. “So

you tried to break into my flat and ended up being used as a chew toy.”

“That dog is a hellhound.”

“A much loved hellhound. And I better not get back to find your blood

all over the carpet of my flat.” She had found the beautiful Great Dane,

Bronty, about a month or so ago lying in an alleyway covered in bites and

scratches. Without hesitation she took him back to her flat and got to work

on his injuries. From that point on Bronty had seemed to decide that she

was his, and had remained with her even once he was fully healed. Since

then, her flat hadn’t been broken into.

The first time her flat – which was more or less one single room – had

been ‘visited’ she had been both shocked and enraged, but soon she got

used to these regular ‘visits’ from who appeared to be mostly drug addicts

looking for money. Occasionally they took some of her underwear, too. It

was difficult to experience any anxiety over it anymore. How could she feel

territorial about a place that, to her, was not ‘home’ but merely just shelter?

Besides, Jaxxon didn’t have much by way of possessions that she could call

her own, especially not anything of worth.

She would never forget the day about three months back when she got

back to find that not only had her flat been broken into, but the culprit was

still inside. Not an addict looking for something they could sell, but a

twelve year old boy looking for food. Little David revealed that although he

lived with his mum in the flat above Jaxxon’s, the woman was hardly ever

home and when she was she barely took any notice of him. Despite his

insistence that he remain with his mum, who he was very protective of,

Jaxxon might have contacted the authorities if she hadn’t known from

personal experience that going into care didn’t mean you would be any

better off. So she had taken him to meet a friend of hers who worked in the

bakery at the corner of their street. Nora had told him that if he came each

day just before closing time she would give him any pastries or other foods

that were left over. Thank God. Jaxxon made a mental note to check on him

later.

“Where are they?”

Sean’s growl snatched Jaxxon from her thoughts. She groaned. “Are you

still here?”

“I won’t ask you again.”

“I’m curious, Sean, do you even know how old your little girl is? What

date her birthday is? What her favourite food was to eat – when you

bothered feeding her, of course.” If the man had truly known anything about

Celia and their daughter then he would know about Celia’s sister who lived

a few towns away. And if he had then suspected that that was where they

were, he would have been right.

Sean leant across the bar, his face becoming an ugly shade of purple, his

bloodshot eyes bulging. “You’ve always looked down your nose at me.”

“Now really, Sean, you make it impossible not to: You’re an abusive,

twisted, weak little twat who enjoys trying to assault young girls in his free

time.”

His smirk was crooked and callous. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t

you?” So close, he’d come so close to having that delicious body once.

Even though it had been something like eight years ago he could still

remember how arousing she’d looked in her school uniform that day. And

just how much more arousing she’d looked when they were tearing it off

her. So close. “I’d told Nick you wouldn’t just lie there shaking with fear

and not fight back. McKenzie had taught you better than that – before he

went off and became famous as a Formula One driver that is. If Nick had

listened to me and tied you up like I told him to, I reckon that afternoon in

the alley would’ve turned out very differently.”

“Such a shame.” She didn’t let it show that the memories were grating on

her control, or that the mention of Connor, however fleeting, had brassed

her off.

“You think that what we had in mind for you that day was bad? You think

that what I did to Celia and the kid was bad? It will be nothing compared to

what I do to you if you don’t cough up what I want to know. Oh yeah, I’d

have a lot of fun with you. Even more fun than what I had with that little

daughter of mine.”

Sick, perverted, evil bastard! Anger made her quick; without thought she

grabbed a fistful of his greasy dark hair and slammed his face down hard on

the bar. Once. Twice. Three times. “You ever even attempt to touch me with

these paedophilic hands of yours and not only will I castrate you but I’ll

ram your balls up your arse when I’m done.” She released her hold on his

hair with a shove.

Although Sean, steaming with infuriation, quietly made his way to the

door with that stealthy walk he had, she wasn’t mistakenly under the

impression that that was the end of the matter. She was right.

“Don’t be surprised if Don decides he wants his rent money early,” he

yelled as he reached the door.

Ah, yes. She had the company of her wookie lookalike landlord and his

grubby paws to look forward to later when he came asking where his rent

money was. It wouldn’t take much convincing from Sean to make Don be

awkward. It was even possible that wookie Don would repeat his cheeky

offer that Jaxxon could pay her rent with her body. She’d just have to knee

the perverted old fart in the balls like she did last time.

Sean began, “And another thing -”

“Oh for the love of God why don’t you just piss off out of here!”

A moment after a scowling Sean had left, she heard Joe groan loudly.

“What?” asked Jaxxon.

“There’s a bloke over there who’s been watching the whole thing and

rubbing his crotch like crazy at the same time.”

Oh bloody wonderful. Another sick perv.

Richie eyed the masturbating old age pensioner with the same disgust

as the young barmaid and the landlord were. Not that Richie blamed him

for being affected so strongly by the barmaid he had heard being called

Jaxxon. God, no. This girl was a walking wet-dream. He was willing to bet

that she could make even a gay **** rise to attention. She was unique.

Fresh. And exactly what he had been scouting for. The tabloids would love

her. He could have her on billboards all across the country.

Christ, it was difficult not to be mesmerised by her. She didn’t even seem

to realise how she naturally commanded the attention of those around her.

He doubted she was aware of just how sensual her every move was either.

The fluid, graceful way in which she conducted herself was almost feline.

The inner strength she had was so apparent it was like she wore it. Yet there

was no conceitedness about her; she wasn’t gazing around to see who might

be looking at her and she wasn’t dressed to impress. She just was. And that

was enough for any bloke to want her.

There was also her beauty. No, ‘beauty’ wasn’t the right word. ‘Beauty’

seemed to imply a certain degree of innocence. This young woman’s

appearance was not in the least angelic. That face, that body, that sultry

voice…It was a package meant to tempt a man to sin.

When looking at those long, wild, chocolate-brown ringlets a bloke

would only think of fisting his hands in them while covering her mouth

with his own. When gazing at those large, wild, brown eyes framed by a

thick set of eyelashes a bloke would want nothing more than to see them

looking glazed over and dreamy after an ******. And those lips…Christ, it

was as if they had been purposely designed to service a man’s ****. The

smooth olive skin would beckon even a priest. What’s more, she wasn’t

wafer thin like most of the girls he worked with. No. This girl had curves in

all the right places. Very nice set of breasts.

And, God, when her emotions were running high it was impossible to

look away from her. Anger was a good look for her, making her unique eyes

feral and become somehow hypnotic. There were no real words to explain

it. Whatever it was, it made his **** twitch. Just like everything else about

her.

Sinful. That was what she was.

Just what he needed.

Jaxxon had long ago noticed the long-legged, sandy-haired bloke who

was sat in the far corner, alone. She had also noticed that his eyes seemed to

follow her every movement. She was used to being stared at in this place,

though she could never for the life of her fathom what it was that people

thought was worth staring at. She blamed the big breasts and the fact that

she was usually the youngest female in here.

However, this bloke looked at her differently. Like he was studying her.

Like she was some kind of weird artefact that needed to be carefully

appraised. She didn’t like that. Although he was dressed as casually as all

the other punters, there was something about him that suggested he

somehow didn’t belong.

When his eyes met hers, Jaxxon raised a brow questioningly. Her

philosophy had always been that if you had something to say, say it. In

response he mimicked her movement. His expression seemed to be daring

her to approach him and act on her agitation. She merely snorted. The bloke

was very much mistaken if he thought that a little staring would unnerve her

– when you worked in a dodgy place like this you had to learn to get used to

it pretty quick. Maybe he would have had a chance at unnerving her if he

was dressed in leather and wearing a collar like the Submissives…Why

were they even still here?

Throughout her entire shift his gaze remained settled on her. Though it

hadn’t made her nervous, it had made her downright irritated. Still she had

ignored the out-of-place ogler. No, not ogler. His glare was studious. When

he was the last punter to leave, Jaxxon had expected that he might approach

her. He didn’t. It was Joe who he went to. For a moment Jaxxon wondered

if she had got it wrong and it had been Joe that the glarer was concentrated

on all along. Quickly she discarded that notion. No, she had felt his gaze.

“Jaxxon,” called Joe. He didn’t speak again until she reached his side.

“This punter here would like to speak to you.”

“Yeah, so?” It wasn’t exactly unusual for one of the oddballs drinking

here to want have a ‘chat’ with her – something they considered

preliminary to the sex they also had planned. It came with the barmaid

territory. It was a wonder she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to murder any

of them.

“So he’s paying me one hundred to accommodate a ten minute talk with

you, and I’m really fond of money so -”

“One hundred…to talk?”

“Just a verbal exchange, nothing more,” assured the stranger in a

shockingly well-spoken voice. But his words weren’t comforting at all.

What kind of person pays that kind of money for someone to talk to them?

Why didn’t the oddball just approach her himself?

Before Jaxxon could speak again, Joe added, “And seen as your shift

hasn’t technically finished yet, you can consider this a task from your

employer.”

She scowled at Joe but he simply giggled and left them to have their

private ‘verbal exchange’. The posh stranger instantly spoke. His voice was

reassuring.

“I realise that this might be quite an unorthodox way to arrange a

conversation with someone -”

“Oh really, you think so?”

He smiled. “I had the distinct feeling, after watching you closely tonight,

that any attempt I made to engage in conversation with you wouldn’t get me

very far.”

She nodded, conceding that.

“Plus, I wanted us to be able to speak privately and I understood that it

would need to be a place where you felt safe. I somehow couldn’t envision

you inviting me to your home, especially at midnight.”

“You going to tell me who you are and what you want?” He handed her a

business card which she read aloud. “Richie Moore. Moore’s Modelling

Agency. Partner.” Jaxxon scrutinised him through narrowed, keen eyes.

Maybe she could believe that an oddball recruiter might decide to approach

her thinking that they might get a shag in exchange for offering her a nonexistent modelling job, but a partner of a modelling agency?

“You are wondering why the top of the food chain would bother

personally with the hunt,” he guessed. “Please allow me to explain.” He

perched himself on the stool beside him. “A close friend of mine runs a

very successful cosmetic company, and he and I have come together on a

project, a joint venture you might say. A new range of cosmetics was

designed between the two of us; a line that is dramatic and echoes a bold

yet carefree mind-set, a collection that will cater for both the everyday look

and the socialising evening.”

“You really think you have products that can pull that off?”

His grin was dripping with confidence. “Oh indeed I do. And so now we

are searching for the face that will set it off. When you open magazines you

have your sweet, open, angelic faces that look ridiculously happy, and you

have those who have mastered the sexy, seductive, erotic look. In both mine

and my partner’s opinion, neither are particularly representative of true life.

After all, if all people were truly so happy or so sexy, there would be no

need for cosmetics or other such things.”

She guessed that much was true but she didn’t comment.

“Neither look echoes the product line. What he and I have been looking

for is someone real. Someone truly representative of life as it really is. And,

unfortunately, life has its fair share of pain, suffering and tests.” It had

therefore been Richie’s idea to look in areas like this where poverty and

crime was prominent, where silver-spoon lifestyles were alien. Thank God

he had. “I believe that you, Jaxxon, know a depth of pain that some may

never experience. I have sat and observed tonight as many others who know

pain were drawn to you; as if they look at you and see another wounded

soul, and your strength is like a homing beacon to them.”

Homing beacon? This all sounded like psychological bollocks to her.

Jaxxon gave him a sceptical look but he seemed to ignore it.

“That kind of strength can only come from being accepting of what you

have endured and who you truly are. I like that you refuse to act as society

expects you to act. You’re not civil if you do not believe the person you are

speaking to deserves it, you’re not patient if you do not believe the person

trying your patience is worthy of it. You’re true to yourself, you’re real.

And that is what we need: someone who is bold and dramatic just like the

range itself.”

Richie gave her a moment to digest all that he had said. Anyone else may

have become defensive during someone’s analysis of them, or argue with

the conclusions of that analysis. But no, this young woman was totally

accepting of who she was and cared not what others thought. He deeply

admired and respected her for it.

“As you are undoubtedly aware,” he continued, “in my line of business,

beauty is a large part of a model’s success. You have a natural and uniquely

strong glamour. Your desirability is not something that need be enhanced;

your appearance is just as compelling as your character.” He smiled widely.

“What will be the key to your success, young Jaxxon, is that pair of eyes

you have. They take on a certain intensity when you are…shall we say

frustrated? They literally smoulder. It is most entrancing. I’ve honestly

never seen anything like it. I’m sure we can somehow manage to frustrate

you a little during the photo-shoot.”

The latter sentence distracted Jaxxon from her contemplating whether he

was a little nuts and had missed his medication. “Photo-shoot?”

“Yes, I’d like you to come and meet my business partner, have some test

shots, and then together we can go from there if this is something that we

would all be happy with.”

Jaxxon might have sent him on his way with a snort and an insult if it

weren’t for the fact that her instincts seemed to like him. She trapped his

gaze with hers, searching for the truth. “You’re really who you say you

are?”

Richie wondered if she had any idea just how enthralling her gaze could

be. Like she was literally yanking the truth from his soul. “Indeed I am.”

“This isn’t some kind of scam?”

“No, it is not.”

“You are honestly considering me as the face of your new cosmetics

range?” She didn’t hide how idiotic she found that idea.

“Yes I am.”

“You’re not a fruitcake?”

Richie laughed at that. “I understand this may seem a little surreal. I

don’t suppose opportunities like this just crop up all the time.”

He had that right. It was certainly not every day that someone like her

was approached by a modelling agency, and then be told that she was super

because she was sort of damaged and rude. It would have made sense for

her to be experiencing some kind of shock at this moment. However Jaxxon

had long ago concluded that life had so many twists and turns that trying to

anticipate anything in life would be downright stupid. Expect the

unexpected – isn’t that what they say? She still lived according to the theory

that it was best to always roll with the punches. And as punches went, this

risk wasn’t even a slap. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose.

And yet, for her to reach for this opportunity would make her feel

somewhat of a fraud. Sure she knew suffering and pain but so did a

gazillion other people, it made her nothing special. “Listen, if what you’re

looking for is someone who’s experienced real pain then you should go

further down the poverty drainpipe; plenty of people have been through

worse than me.”

“True, but the depth of your pain is not the main factor here.”

“And I really don’t get this ‘entrancing’, ‘compelling’ crap that you’re

saying about me.”

Richie’s lips curved into a smile, he liked that she wasn’t vain. “That is

merely a matter of self-confidence. We can work on that.”

“The trouble is you’re not really considering what you’d be letting

yourself in for. Something tells me I’m not the kind of person you’re used

to having around you.”

“How so?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not friendly or polite.”

“Most pleasantries, pleases and thank-yous are insincere, I find.”

“I don’t smile much.”

“Your intensity is what I like.”

“I don’t pose and I don’t know how to strut – nor would I want to learn.”

“Has nobody ever told you that there is an effortless sensuality to your

movements?”

God this bloke was persistent. “I don’t work well by myself or as part of

a group.”

“Then you’ll be dearly frustrated which will very conveniently bring that

incredible spark in your eyes for the photos.”

“I wouldn’t think twice about hurting someone who tried to touch me if I

felt I needed to.”

“I shouldn’t worry about that; you’re scary enough to make people

hesitate to touch you anyway.”

“I curse like a sailor.”

“We can always say you have Tourette’s Syndrome.”

“Even someone with Tourette’s Syndrome would be wide-eyed by some

of the things that come out of my mouth.”

He shrugged. “That is simply because you are an expressive person.

There is nothing at all wrong with that. It is part of what makes you so

intense and puts that look in your eyes.”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you want me as the face for this

range of yours because I’m a ***** who doesn’t care that she’s one.”

He grinned at her opinion of herself. “Even bitches can get a break in

life.”

A week later Jaxxon found herself standing outside Westwood Studios

shaking her head and wondering what the bloody hell she was doing there.

Her a model? Compelling character? Entrancing eyes? What a load of old

shit. That Richie bloke had to be some sort of fruitcake if he really believed

all that. She was just a person the same as everybody else. She didn’t see

anything special when she looked in the mirror. For the life of her she

couldn’t figure how being a ***** would land her a job. Particularly a

modelling job.

Even if Jaxxon had thought ‘big’ in terms of her future, modelling would

never have held any appeal for her. Nor would fame. Fortune might be nice.

Or at least enough for her to move out of that shithole that Don had the

nerve to call a flat and to escape the crap situation that she was currently in.

But modelling…She couldn’t see how she could pull it off.

So then why was she stood there?

Two simple reasons: Firstly, curiosity. Wouldn’t it be nice to just go in

there and have a peak into that world? Secondly, she had never been one to

miss an opportunity, even if the outcome wasn’t likely to be in her favour.

Jaxxon was pretty certain that when she got in there and dazzled Richie’s

friend with her lack-of-charm she would be thrown out without so much as

a pat on the head. But the fact was that she needed to get out of that mangy

flat so why not go for it?

Had Leah ever been to a studio like this?

No, she wouldn’t think about Leah. Just like Leah didn’t think about her;

she couldn’t possibly think about her considering that Jaxxon hadn’t seen or

heard from her since that day Leah left her at the foster home alone. Shrug.

Sometimes people who you loved just didn’t love you back, even if they

were supposed to. Thinking about it or dwelling on it only wasted minutes

out of your life. What was the sense in doing that?

With a clear mind and a loud sigh, Jaxxon allowed her curious side freereign, and was soon stood in a stylish, bright reception area facing an

extremely pretty redhead. Jaxxon would have shot her a brief smile if she

wasn’t staring at her as though she had walked in with dog shit on her

shoes. It seemed that the redhead didn’t approve of Jaxxon’s casual look; a

simple black t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans. It was a proper Ugly Betty

scenario.

“Whoa, tone down your cheeriness,” said Jaxxon with heavy sarcasm.

The redhead forced a smile, though it seemed to kill her.

“Good morning and welcome to -”

“Yeah, thanks, I’m supposed to be meeting Richie Moore at nine.” Which

was ten minutes from now. With a twist of her over-glossed lips, the

redhead consulted the fancy computer which Jaxxon knew cost more than

triple her own yearly expenditure, including food, rent and clothing.

“Mr Moore and Mr Miller,” muttered the redhead to the computer.

Jaxxon thought she sounded a mixture of impressed and bitter. Mr Miller

had to be the friend Richie talked about. Hang on a sec…Miller? Miller as

in Ollie Miller, the make-up artist on all the commercials for Storm

Cosmetics? Bloody hell. Jaxxon wasn’t big on make-up and only really

bothered with mascara but even she knew who he was. Not that she’d ever

been able to afford any Storm stuff so she couldn’t say whether they were

any good or not, but God they were international best-selling products. She

hadn’t realised Ollie Miller ran the company. Well this might turn out to be

an interesting morning.

“Jaxxon Carter, I presume?” said the redhead. “If you take a seat,

someone will be down shortly to escort you to see Mr Moore and Mr

Miller.”

Jaxxon nodded and slouched into one of the seats, which was really

comfy she noticed. She also noticed that apparently her attire wasn’t

appreciated by the girls seated around her either – particularly the one

beside her who was wearing something that may as well have been a

flannel. They all looked at Jaxxon as though she was a failed science

experiment or something, though they were quick to look away if Jaxxon

even half scowled at them. Inside, she was smiling. If her casual appearance

made them feel uncomfortable then they had to lead very sad lives.

It was something like five minutes later when she heard her name being

called by a familiar voice. Lifting her head, she saw Richie heading towards

her grinning. She could only guess from the whispers and looks of shock on

the other girls’ faces that it wasn’t commonplace for him to come and

personally greet whoever he had an appointment with.

There was an incredible amount of awe and devotion on the face of the

girl seated beside her but Richie didn’t spare her a glance, just as he hadn’t

the others. Jaxxon murmured to her, “You should have worn your jeans.”

Then she rose and made her way to Richie. “Hi.”

“Very nice to see you again, Jaxxon.” When she simply nodded rather

than return the sentiment, he grinned. “I like that you don’t tell people what

you think they want to hear. It’s very refreshing. Now, let me introduce you

to my newest business partner, Oliver Miller.”

After a short elevator ride and a series of lefts and rights that made

Jaxxon feel as though she was in a labyrinth, they finally reached a small,

modern office. Ollie looked up from the computer as they entered. Up close

he resembled Bob Hoskins. Used to Richie’s gentle, eloquent voice, it was

slightly surprising to hear Ollie’s rough and deep cockney accent.

“Alright, luv, you must be Jaxxon.”

Unlike Richie who was all suited-up, Ollie was dressed in a pair of jeans

and a thin jumper. Oh yes, she and him would get along just fine. “Yep.”

“Odd name,” he mused, “but I like it. Unique. Memorable. If someone

was to refer to ‘the model, Jaxxon’, there wouldn’t be much mistaking who

they were talking about.”

Richie and Jaxxon both took a seat opposite Ollie as he leant forward in

his chair, fiddling with his pen. A lot of girls had walked through that door

but none had done so without looking a bag of nerves. The one in front of

him was as cool as a cucumber; someone who had nothing to lose. For her

not to be twitchy and jittery at the thought of what she could gain she had

obviously entered that door believing the answer was a resounding no.

“So,” he finally said, “you want to be a model.”

“No,” she replied honestly. “What I want is a better job and better life

than what I’ve already got so I can get out of where I’m living before I end

up bashing my landlord’s head against the toilet that he denies needs fixing.

Richie just happens to have come along at the right time. I’m not one to

look a gift horse in the mouth, even if I’m not all that keen on the horse.”

Ollie smiled approvingly at her before looking at Richie. “You were

right, she’s very different.”

“I’ll give you the same warning I gave Richie Rich,” said Jaxxon. “I’m

not easy to have around, you’ll never find me full of the joys of spring, and

I don’t mince my words.”

Ollie’s smile widened. “Then I think you’ll find that you and I have a lot

in common. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Older than I usually like, but not too old. Especially since you look

around eighteen anyway and our range is aimed at young women. Ever

done any modelling work before?”

Jaxxon shook her head. “In fact, I don’t really like cameras much.”

He laughed silently as he made his way around the table to stand in front

of her. Just as he raised his hand to touch her face, Jaxxon reflexively raised

her own to block his move.

“Jaxxon has a slight aversion to touch, especially when it comes to

strangers,” explained Richie quickly.

Ollie supposed by the kind of background that she had that she hadn’t

known much gentleness in her life and perhaps had also encountered much

roughness. It would make any touch seem too intimate. Dropping his hand,

he said, “Could you please slowly move your head from side to side for me.

That’s it. Like that.”

Studying her face very closely, he was pleased to see that it was almost

completely symmetrical. Not too long, not too round. Full, sensual lips.

Well-proportioned nose. Perfect lashes and brows. No blemishes, moles or

spots. Her skin was practically flawless and her bone structure made her a

photographer’s dream. It was a wonder no one had snapped her up before

now.

“Lovely. Now, what we’d like is to take you down to one of the studios

for a few test shots. Richie told me that he explained to you that he and I

have joined on a project together and are bringing out a whole new range of

cosmetics. We intend to call the range Allure. If today goes well, it may be

that your face will be what sells those products.”

Jaxxon couldn’t imagine her face inspiring anyone to buy anything, but

let these poor sods figure that out for themselves after the test shots.

“So let’s get you down to make-up and then after that you’ll be brought

to one of the studios where we’ll be waiting.”

It sounded so much like an order that she could only reply, “Copy that.”

After an hour of being handled by make-up artists, hairstylists and

wardrobe assistants Jaxxon was ushered over to a mirror. She had expected

to look extremely different, to not look at all like herself, but that wasn’t the

effect at all. She was still in jeans and a t-shirt, although both were skintight and the t-shirt showed off her cleavage. Her curls had been smoothed

with some kind of serum which didn’t take the wildness away but hid the

split ends and made it look as though it had been polished. Her face had

been treated with a minimum amount of make-up apart from her eyes which

had been mascaraed to death and her lips which had been heavily coated

with a rich cherry gloss.

The studio she was then escorted to was not anything like she had

pictured. It was massive and almost perfectly square. Everything in it was

either black or white. The walls, floor, seats and even the small, simple

kitchenette were white. The ceiling, cameras, lighting equipment, laptop,

shelves and the mirror frames were all black. Weird, but not in a bad way.

Standing near the kitchenette was Richie, Ollie, a tall, shaggy-haired

bloke and an equally shaggy-haired teenager. All turned and appraised her

from head to toe and toe to head. “What?” she snapped, uncomfortable

under their scrutiny.

“Perfect,” said Ollie. “It’s you, but with everything enhanced.” Seeing

the surprise on her face he added, “I don’t want to turn you into someone

else, Jaxxon. I want your identity just as much as I want your appearance to

represent the new range. Now, meet Tony. You’ve probably worked out that

he’s a photographer going by the fact that he’s holding a camera. He also

has massive shares in Storm Cosmetics so he’s who I use. The young lad

behind him is his son, Ant. He’s sort of like his apprentice.”

“Very intense,” commented Tony as he once again appraised her.

She was getting a little sick of being called that. “Can we get this over

with? I’ve been pampered and groomed like a bloody poodle so I’m not in

the best of moods.”

Richie smiled in amusement. “If you’re already frustrated this should

make things go quite quickly and smoothly.”

As directed by Tony the pushy photographer – who she was pretty certain

was instructed to purposely irritate her – Jaxxon stood on a small platform

with her back straight, one shoulder slightly down, neck arched, head tilted

to one side, lips parted, and glaring into the camera. He was talking at her,

not to her, and it was cheesing her off. His barking earned him a lot of

expletives from her, which seemed to amuse them all no end.

“Well as I live and breathe,” drawled Tony as the three blokes and the

teenager examined the test shots. “Would you look at those eyes. The heat

in them. It’s like the look of primal lust you see shooting out the eyes of like

a jungle cat or something.”

Richie pointed at him, smiling. “Exactly. I couldn’t think of any words to

describe it.”

“I’ve truly never seen anything like it.”

Ollie was shaking his head in disbelief. “The look shoots through you

like a spear, doesn’t it.”

Tony nodded. “What’s amazing is that it’s all eyes. Her face is

completely expressionless. She’s not scowling or snarling or even frowning,

it’s all coming from the eyes.”

Jaxxon was getting rather sick of being spoken about like she wasn’t

there. “Well?” she demanded, hands on hips. “Can I get down from this

sodding platform now or what?”

“Congratulations,” said Ollie in a smooth voice as he shot her a wide,

excited smile. “You are now the face of Allure Cosmetics.”

Two Months Later

At forty years of age and after twenty-four years in the cosmetics

industry, Ollie was no stranger to campaign launches…but this was like no

other. Oh everything was normal in terms of schedule: there had been no

delays and the reporters were waiting patiently in the elegantly prepared

convention room of the five-star-plus hotel for the speakers to introduce the

face of Allure. Everything was normal in terms of the preparations; the

presentation platform was all set up, the impeccably packaged Allure

products were on display in a neat yet arty arrangement, everyone was

where they were supposed to be, and everything was ready for the Launch

Party that was due to start shortly in the ballroom of the hotel. But what he

saw when he walked into the upstairs suite where Jaxxon was being

‘groomed’, as she called it, knocked him for six.

Usually he would have to make an entrance with a booming voice to

attract the attention of all the people nervously fussing and busy-bodying

around while obsessing over every little detail of the model – hair, make-up,

clothes, posture – but in this suite was total silence. Not only that, but there

weren’t make-up products lying here there and everywhere. Not one soul in

the room was standing. His instinct was to seize up; something had to have

gone wrong. But it wasn’t a mortified or nervous silence.

His eyes were drawn immediately to the stunning young woman perched

on the arm of a bulky chair. She was dressed in the stylishly casual D & G

outfit that was designed especially and exclusively for her: a pair of seablue, skin-tight jeans that were a kind of velvety denim, and a light-lemon

V-neck top that casually drooped at one shoulder. They hadn’t wanted her in

an extravagant dress; that just didn’t suit her character – which was just as

well because she was refusing to ‘look like an ornament’ anyway. As casual

as her outfit was designed to be, it was still chic and cutting-edge and it

highlighted each of her sinful curves. That along with the subtle yet eyecatching use of Allure products on her face and Jaxxon looked as

glamorous as all hell.

“You alright?” Jaxxon asked Ollie, who seemed a little odd at the minute.

“Just wondering why there’s a deathly silence in here.”

“I haven’t threatened them with the loss of important body parts if that’s

what you’re wondering. They’re fine, watch.” Then she smiled as she sang

the nursery rhyme words, “If you’re happy and you know it clap your

hands.”

There was then laughter and clapping. Ollie could only shake his head

and chuckle.

“She told us to put everything away,” said Louisa as she gazed at Jaxxon

fondly.

Ollie found that he hadn’t been able to look at Louisa very long without

laughing since Jaxxon had pointed out that she had a Morticia Addams vibe

about her. Jaxxon hadn’t been poking fun or making an insult, it was purely

an observation. Louisa even agreed with her. Oh Ollie did love her

bluntness.

“Yes because there was a bloody self-correction epidemic going on,” said

Jaxxon. “They were all done with the grooming ages ago but kept

constantly coming back fixing what didn’t need to be fixed and seeing

mistakes that weren’t even there. Then Louisa nearly had a panic attack

when she discovered that I hadn’t been exaggerating when I said that no

matter what brush or gel or spray she used these curls of mine always did

their own thing.”

“That’s what I like about them. They’re wild like you and those eyes of

yours.”

Just then Richie appeared behind Ollie and experienced the same

confusion and panic. “Is something wrong?”

“Jaxxon insisted we pack up our stuff and just sit and relax,” said Kieran,

the chief make-up artist. “We’ve been talking about that new soap on telly

about Scousers. Did you watch the first episode last week?”

Richie stared at the young woman in awe. Dear God, he and Ollie in all

their years had never mastered the art of calming the team. She had won

people over so effortlessly, even the rather antisocial wardrobe assistant.

“Who sent the flowers?”

“Oh they’re from Tony and his wife,” she said. On the day that Ollie and

Richie had chosen her as the face of Allure, Tony had insisted on giving her

a lift home after the photo-shoot – then he had seen the block of flats she

lived in and turned right back around, refusing to let her go back there.

After much disputing Tony apologised for his daddy approach and, in a

much gentler tone, offered for her to rent – because she refused to stay there

for free – the annexe of his house. Only when he agreed for her to bring

Bronty was the deal sealed. Both he and his wife were trying to discourage

her from getting an apartment and to stay in their annexe but Jaxxon had

been looking forward to having something that was hers. Plus, as much as

she adored Lily and Tony, they tried to baby her through the process of

going from one lifestyle to another. The gentle approach wasn’t Jaxxon’s

way. She wanted to face all the sudden changes head-on and find her own

two feet.

“Now remember, Jaxxon,” said Ollie in a serious tone, “because your

name was leaked to the tabloids they’ll have done some digging and will

know a bit about you and there’s a good chance they’ll shoot some

questions at you that you might find uncomfortable.”

“You mean about my past. Personal stuff.”

He nodded. “If there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable answering

just signal to me by tucking your curls behind your ear and I’ll tackle the

question for you.”

Richie shot her a reassuring look. “I’m sure you’ll be fine but I know this

is all new to you so if at any time you feel overwhelmed just signal to me

by joining your hands behind your back.”

“Jesus, you’re making this sound like a covert operation,” said Jaxxon,

which received plenty of chuckles. “I take it you’re here to take me down

now.” She would never have admitted it, but she was so nervous she was

close to shaking.

“Indeed we are,” confirmed Richie, ushering her out of the room. He

waited while everyone from the team wished her good luck and told her

how amazing she looked, something he very much agreed with. Something

that he was sure the entire world would agree with.

Once they reached the convention room, Ollie – as Chairman of the

cosmetics house – and Richie – as vice president of it – took their places on

the presentation podium, keeping Jaxxon hidden behind the curtains at the

rear of it. The two men each made a speech about the innovative and stylish

Allure products themselves and revealed that the release date was exactly

three weeks from this day. Then, after indicating the free samples around

the reporters, Ollie introduced ‘the face of Allure’.

He watched as Jaxxon – in that natural catlike grace that she had – came

to join them at the front of the podium. She was as breath-taking and

mesmerising as always and received a massive, welcoming applause. She

didn’t smile and pose for the flashing cameras, just as he knew she

wouldn’t. But she wasn’t distancing herself from these reporters, it wasn’t

an act of ignorance. She somehow managed to make eye contact with each

person in the room, as if she was acknowledging them. Didn’t everyone

enjoy the idea of being acknowledged by a woman so entrancing and

captivating? More amazingly, all this was done on a subconscious level on

her part. She clearly had no idea of the kind of effect she had on others

around her.

It wasn’t long before questions were being shot at her from all angles.

The first few were benign and related to the campaign and her contract and

what was happening next and the designer of her outfit. Then, of course, the

subject of her past was brought up. First it was relatively simple questions

such as where she grew up, but then a particular question made Ollie tense

even though he had been expecting it.

“Is it true, Jaxxon, that you spent the majority of your childhood in foster

care?” one reporter asked.

“Yes,” Jaxxon answered simply and clearly. There was no shame or

discomfort in her tone, and she noticed that that seemed to have surprised

people. Why should she be embarrassed?

“And is it true that your mother committed suicide?” the same reported

asked.

“Yes,” she said just as clearly and, still, with no shame or embarrassment.

Then a question was fired at Richie from a different reporter: “The

rumour, Mr Moore, is that you discovered Jaxxon when she was working in

a run-down pub.”

Richie smiled. “It’s always a surprise when a rumour is true. In this case,

yes.”

After another series of questions at Richie a new male reporter: “Did it

not concern you that her poor upbringing might make it extremely difficult

for her to deal with a lifestyle that is at the other end of the spectrum? That

perhaps she might find the pressures hard to bear?”

“You know, I really don’t like it when people talk like I’m not there,”

said Jaxxon with a sigh. “Here’s something for you all to jot down on your

little pads: a crap upbringing doesn’t make someone weak, it makes them

strong or how else could they get through it? I’ve never liked that people

seem to think that anyone who’s been brought up in care are destined to

lead a life of poverty and crime. It’s postcode lottery.”

“I hope this shows those prejudiced people and those who are brought up

in care that it doesn’t always have to work that way,” said Richie.

“That they can find themselves a fairy Godmother” – the reporter

gestured at Richie, smiling – “and have a happy ending.”

“Oh no,” Jaxxon quickly objected as she heard the reference to

Cinderella. “If you were hoping to find that despite my background I’m

some kind of lovely young lady who birds tweet at, prepare to be

disappointed. I’m a moody cow and I know it. This isn’t a Cinderella story,

this is more like Harry Potter and the Gob of Ire.”

Ollie had to admire her straightforwardness; and it seemed like everyone

else did as well. They chuckled and smiled and were totally taken in by her

and how refreshing she was. More questions were fired at her but she

handled them all with the same ease and bluntness as the others. Oh he

could see she was still frustrated. The trouble was that her frustration only

seemed to please the reporters, bringing that feral gleam to her eyes. He was

truly proud of her and also relieved to see that she might just be able to

handle how being the face of Allure was about to catapult her to the peak of

success.

He hadn’t mentioned to Jaxxon that he was a little concerned about how

some might treat her at the Launch Party. There were some guests he knew

of who would enjoy flinging a few degrading insults at her, things aimed to

eat at her confidence or belittle her or test her responses; jealousy and

prejudice, of course, being the main motives. He couldn’t visualise her

crumbling, but he had to remind himself that this young woman came from

nothing and was about to enter a world where people competed over who

had the biggest yacht or wore pearls and sapphires. He wondered if Jaxxon

had any real concept of how famous this was all going to make her. As from

tomorrow, her life was going to be dramatically different.

“One last question,” a reporter quickly shouted as the presentation ended.

Jaxxon groaned internally. This was something like the sixth time

someone had launched a ‘last question’ while they were trying to leave and

she was getting cheesed off now.

“We’ve noticed that haircare products are included in the beauty range,

which isn’t usual. Any comments on that?”

“Yeah,” answered Jaxxon snappily. “Lather, rinse, repeat.”