The model smiled and shook her head, managing to look regal as she did so. She grabbed an over-sized Louis Vuitton bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. “I’ve got to get going, got another shoot this afternoon. Have a good one.”

“Thanks,” Megan said with a smile. “You too.”

“And remember if anyone asks, Winter Shoes, featured on Ralph and Jayne this very morning.” He pressed a bunch of Megan’s business cards into the model’s palm. “You might as well be the trendsetter here.” He spread out his hands and looked at her feet. “Hey, look, you are. Enjoy it, darling, show it off, be loud and proud.”

She gave an amused huff and strode off, crossing her feet over a little with each step as though permanently on a catwalk.

“Holy crock-a-pot,” Brendon said, swiping Megan on the arm when she’d gone from earshot. “Seriously?”

“Ow, what?” Megan glared at him.

“Don’t give the bloody shoes away. That’s profit you’re tipping down the drain. You may as well burn your money.”

“It’s good advertising, besides she was nice.”

“Lots of people are nice, are you going to give them all a pair of designer shoes?”

“Well, no…”

He banged his palm on his head. “She would have bought a pair, likely by the time she’d reached her next gig they’d have been ordered with the power of her iPhone and dispatched.”

“But—”

“No buts, don’t give the shoes away, otherwise, well… I may have to quit as your chief PR director.” He tutted and tipped his chin.

“Oh.” Megan smiled. “Is that your title?”

“Yes, darling, it is, I’ve decided, and besides you need me, so do as I say when it comes to marketing.”

Megan reached for him and pulled him into a hug. “Thanks, for everything. This has been an amazing opportunity and an amazing experience. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Brendon hugged her back, the way he always did, with thin-armed urgency that squeezed air from her lungs.

“It’s the least I could do, you’ve had a rough time lately.”

“That’s just been made much, much better.”

Megan thought of the night before and being in James’ arms. He was the opposite of Brendon. His hold had been confident, possessive, appreciative of the female form. His kisses had been laced with desire and his muscles had held harnessed power that had made her quiver with need. And his scent had been rich and masculine, not flowery and soapy the way Brendon’s cologne smelt.

“Well let’s hope you get tons of sales and more opportunities off the back of this,” Brendon said, releasing her and turning to the dressing table. He leaned in to the mirror and checked his hair. “And that those other shops come up trumps with shelf space.”